all remains quiet, I make my way toward the ball only to hear the trio of gossiping women have entered the corridor. To return the way I came means passing them. I should, chin high, but I can’t be bothered. Not if I don’t have to. There’s another way around, and I decide to take it rather than risk any scene that might torpedo my perfect evening.
I head down a hall, and then another and then . . .
And then I am lost.
Seriously? It’s a house. You can’t get lost in a house.
You can if it’s an estate like this, with a dozen bedrooms and a half-dozen sitting rooms. When I spot narrow steps leading up to the second level, I realize I’ve reached the servant wing.
I’m turning around, orienting myself, when I catch a flicker of movement out of the corner of my eye. I spin to see the hem of a dress flipping around a corner.
“Miss?” I call.
I hurry to the corner. There’s a young woman ahead. Light hair. A pale blue dress. Moving soundlessly as her feet seem to float an inch above the floor.
A chill runs through me.
I shake it off. I don’t see ghosts. Okay, I have seen them, but only at Thorne Manor, and those have all been laid to rest. I haven’t seen one since. Nor have I seen one anyplace else.
This isn’t a ghost. It’s just a maid wearing slippers, a maid who has learned to move noiselessly through the house.
“Miss?” I call again.
She disappears around another corner.
I sigh and lift my skirts to follow. “Miss?” I call. “I’m a guest from the ball. I seem to have lost my way. If you could direct me . . .”
I trail off as I catch a low laugh. A laugh I recognize as the earl’s. I slow and turn the corner to see the young woman looking back at me, her pale face in shadow. She lifts one hand, as if in a wave, and I take a tentative step forward. She moves through a doorway, vanishing again.
Another chuckle from somewhere ahead and around yet another corner. Definitely Everett Courtenay. I do not want to bump into him, and I presume the maid’s thinking the same, waving me into a side room until he’s passed. Skirts lifted again, I jog along the hall and veer into the room she’d entered.
It’s empty.
No, it simply seems empty. It’s a music lounge, complete with a gorgeous little piano and seating that rings the walls. It’s also dark, and I walk in, squinting to see where the girl is hiding.
“Hello?” I whisper.
No answer. I take another step and my knee thumps against a stool. I stifle a yelp of surprise and bend to move it aside, my fingers sliding over crushed velvet.
Something moves alongside me, and I jump, straightening fast.
“Hello?” I try again.
Nothing. The room is silent and still, the only light coming from the hall. I squint and struggle to see, until I’ve surveyed the entire room.
The maid is gone.
I firmly remind myself that I do not see ghosts outside Thorne Manor. Well, the manor and the moors. Still, they’d all been connected to a single killer, and they’ve been laid to rest. Therefore this is not a ghost.
Then what is it? A teleporting maid?
No, it’s a maid playing a game. I couldn’t see her well enough to guess her age. She could be a parlor maid or a between maid, young enough to have a bit of fun with the fancy guests. Or young enough to want to see the ball, and now she’s hiding before her master catches her. I thought she was waving me into the music parlor, but she could have been waving me on, telling me which way to go to return to the party.
A perfectly reasonable explanation. And I don’t buy it for a second.
I saw the ghost of a woman in a blue dress. Not a maid’s uniform, but a lady’s dress. A fair-haired woman, small of stature.
When I’d been secretly trying to identify the ghosts at Thorne Manor, I’d asked William to describe Rosalind. Could she be tall and dark-haired? No, the opposite. Tiny and blond.
Like the figure I just saw.
I take a step deeper into the room and whisper, “If you want to speak to me—”
A yelp sounds outside the door. A young woman’s cry of surprise, dissolving into nervous laughter. I consider, and then I back up to the doorway to listen.