Chapter Five

V iolet swore and walked from the library with purpose, looking this way and that. Where had he gone? She'd only been talking with him for a short time. It didn't make sense. Why would he leave her side?

She kept walking through the large corridor, which bore suits of armor and along the walls, as well as impressive displays of medieval and restoration-era spears and weaponry, including blades, pistols, and muskets. Her shoes echoed on the polished floors, and she slowly turned around, just as a suit of armor came crashing down before her.

She jumped and shrieked. The candlestick fell from her hands. Fortunately, the candle's little flame sputtered but did not go out and didn't catch on anything.

With shaking hands, she bent down and reached for it, quickly standing up after she grasped it.

"What was that?" a voice called out, making her jump.

Mr. Fairbanks came toward her, turning his head to the side. A small candle in his hands offered a bit of light and played shadows on his face. "I say, are you all right?" Violet shook her head as he approached. "My word. The suit of armor fell?"

She nodded. "Y-Yes."

"You've had a fright, no doubt about that. Come on, let's get you a drink. The servants will clear that up." He offered her his arm and she took it, grasping the sputtering candle in her other hand.

They walked down the hall and back into the main study, where he sat her down on a sofa and walked over to the drinks trolley to pour her a drink.

Once he'd poured her a stiff brandy, she sipped it and choked, coughing as the warm liquid burned down her throat and made her eyes water.

He smiled. "It's strong stuff. But you've had a shock, so I don't think anyone will mind. Why were you walking in the corridor alone?"

"I lost my uncle. We went in the library, but when I turned around to speak to him, he was gone. I went into the corridor and then the suit of armor fell." She stared at him. "Where is Miss Eagle?"

He shrugged. "She asked me to accompany her and her maid to her room after her fainting spell and decided to rest. I think she does believe in ghosts, if you can believe it." His smile was disarming.

"What do you think?" she asked.

"I think your uncle has called us all here to play a silly game, and someone is playing jokes on us. Like that suit of armor. They don't just topple over."

"You think someone pushed it?"

He shrugged.

"But how? I was alone in the corridor. Unless…" She paused. "Someone could have attached a string to the armor and waited till I was near, then pulled the string and hidden. It's so dark and spooky around this house, I'd have nearly fainted."

"Exactly." He poured himself a drink. "What say we pair up? Two minds together will work better, I dare say. Do you believe in this nonsense about the ghostly lover?"

She sipped her brandy and coughed a little but less this time. It still warmed her throat, and she set the glass down on a side table. "No. But I think my uncle has good reason for wanting us here. And he is kind. It is a kindness, I think, that he's giving us all the chance to earn a hundred pounds."

He surveyed her. "That is unique."

"What is?"

"Your sentiment toward your uncle. I often find young women are too mercenary and keen to learn when their relatives are soon to die, rather than wish to spend time with them. They'd much prefer to dally the hours away at their modiste, or milliner."

Violet gazed askance at him. What did he mean, soon to die ? Her uncle was old, but not ill by any means. She looked down at her lap, noticing the rich, purple dress and polished shoes she wore. She too, was guilty of a love of fashion, but she did not think that was so bad a thing. She also loved her uncle and at that moment, she was concerned about him.

"Cannot a woman be guilty of both? Of having an interest in fine clothing and caring for her relatives? I do."

He saluted her with his brandy glass. "You are the exception."

"Or perhaps you don't meet many fashionable yet caring women," she quipped.

"Perhaps not. But I'm glad I have now," he said, his voice low.

She swallowed.

After a moment, he spoke again. "May I ask you a question?"

"Go on."

"Why does your uncle call you ‘Thorny'?"

She smiled tightly and took up her brandy again, swirling the amber liquid in the delicate glass.

Her cheeks felt warm, as she was very conscious it was but the two of them, alone in the room together. Polite society would demand they have a third person there, but then of course, her parents had given up all hopes of her finding a husband and hadn't wanted to waste the expense of providing her with a chaperone when she was, in their minds, a spinster.

She rose from her seat. "A pet name for me. His little way of teasing me. And on that note, I should go look for him."

"I will come with you." Mr. Fairbanks set down his glass.

"Thank you. I do not know this house."

"The storm outside makes me want to leap away from every shadow," he said poetically.

"Yes, exactly. Even the curtains look like they're reaching for me," she said.

"Then let us go." He held out a hand for her to precede him.

She quit the room, walking out into the hall.

"Where were you when you lost sight of him?" Mr. Fairbanks asked.

"In the library."

"Then let us go there."

They walked past the dining room and small parlor, when Mr. Fairbanks said, "If you check the library, I'll check the room next to it. Together, we'll have checked all of these rooms in no time. It will be most efficient. What do you say?"

"All right." She left him and entered the grand library again. She no longer held a candle in her hands and instead ran her hand along the old and worn titles of the great bound tomes that were nearest on the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. They were so grand, she never wanted to leave.

Then somehow, she knew she wasn't alone. A cold chill slipped down her spine, and the hairs on the back of her neck rose. She shivered and rubbed her arms, grateful that she'd chosen a sensible, long-sleeved, purple dress to wear that evening. Even so, she was chilly, for it was a large room.

There was a subtle breeze as the wind whistled against the windows, and the poor insulation of the old house made the curtains tremble and waver like rippling water, almost as if an unseen hand reached out toward her.

She took a breath and let out a little laugh. "It's nothing." She approached the large windows and pushed one set of curtains aside, exposing nothing but cool glass. She did the same with the opposite set of curtains and then exhaled, nodding. She was right. She glanced in the window's reflection.

A veiled woman stood behind her, staring at her.