Page 17 of One Last Whisper

But as poor Sean will attest, I am rarely prudent in these circumstances. “Forgive me,” I say, “but I’m worried for Sarah. That’s the maid who’s gone missing. If you know something, please—”

“I don’t know but one thing,” Gavin interrupts. “And that’s this: Sarah ain’t the first girl to go missing in that house. She won’t be the last. But there’s nothing we can’t do about that. Best not to meddle with the affairs of a high lord.”

He hands me my bag and says, “Have a good day.” His tone makes it clear he’s not interested in further conversation.

His advice is sound, but as I say before, I am not good at being prudent when justice is at stake.

And now I know for sure that I’m not alone in my suspicions. Something terrible is happening at that castle.

And it’s up to me to find out what and put a stop to it if I can.

CHAPTER EIGHT

I muse over what I’ve heard on the drive back to the manor. I can now be certain that Sarah’s disappearance is not unique. I can also be reasonably sure that it was her screams I heard two nights ago. Oliver and I both heard those cries, and Theresa also suspects foul play. Lord Edmund’s dismissiveness of Theresa’s concerns combined with the townspeople’s suspicions of him identifies him as a suspect in her disappearance, and, I fear, her murder.

And this wasn’t the first time. Others have disappeared.

I realize my mistake and smack the steering wheel in frustration. I should have asked Gavin who else has gone missing. That would have given me somewhere else to look.

Then again, it’s not likely he would have talked to me. He seemed decidedly unhappy with the fact that I overheard his conversation with the fisherman, and once he learned who I was, he shut down completely. Lord Edmund must indeed be as formidable as Sean suggested. The people here are terrified of him.

I feel awful for not looking harder when I hear Sarah’s screams. I so easily dismiss them as a figment of my own imagination. If I’d kept searching after finding the basement empty, could I have found her, perhaps even saved her? Maybe not, but I might have at least learned what happened to her and taken steps to punish the guilty.

I have good reason to question my sanity, though. I’ve had trouble in the past with imagining things that aren’t true. My old nightmare of Annie consists of a vision of me waking in a forest lit by moonlight filtered through clouds. The trees are all bare of leaves. Annie wears a nightgown. Her skin is pale and almost translucent, and she is always facing away from me. When sheturns to me, her eyes are gone, their empty sockets black holes that draw me inward until I wake screaming.

I haven’t had that nightmare in months, thank God. But when it occurred frequently, I would often imagine I saw that image in paintings or that I saw that ghostly vision of my sister watching me out of the corner of my eye. It got to a point at my last job where I would have blackouts of several hours and awake not remembering what happened and unaware of the passage of time.

I don’t admit this to anyone, but that’s part of the reason I let go of my sister’s mystery. The closer I get to an answer, the more damaging the toll on my psyche. When I lost her the first time, I spent eleven weeks involuntarily committed to a mental hospital. I remember almost nothing of my time there, but what I remember convinces me that it’s not an experience I care to repeat.

So it’s not too surprising that I believe the voice I hear calling for help the other night is a lingering remnant of the dream I have where my sister calls for help. I can’t be blamed for not looking into the call further.

Tell that to Sarah.

I sigh and run my hands through my hair. Then a rush of emotion takes me, and I smack the steering wheel again. Damn it, I wanted so much to return to normal work. I didn’t want to be involved in another mystery. I’ve gotten all the closure I need about Annie, and I’m too old to fight demons everywhere I go. I’m too old to chase ghosts.

But here I am again, the only person willing to chase that ghost, the only person willing to fight the demon. If there was someone else willing to fight for justice for Sarah and whoever else this house has claimed, maybe I could content myself with being a governess.

But until then, I must fight. Someone has to.

I reach the estate and park the car. I’m unsure where to go from here, but if I am committed to this mystery, I will be committed fully. Perhaps it’s time to talk to Theresa alone and insist that she tell me what’s going on in this house.

As I walk up the porch steps, I see something out of the corner of my eye. I glance up at a second-floor window, and my heart stops. Annie is staring at me from the window, the ghostly Annie of my nightmares. Her eyes are black holes, and they draw me inward where no light escapes.

I blink, and Annie is gone. In her place is the Lady Cordelia. A wave of relief washes over me, but that relief is short-lived when I take a closer look at her Ladyship.

Cordelia is fidgeting, tapping her thigh and turning her head from side to side in short, rapid tics. Her lips move, too, but I can't tell if she speaks aloud. I realize the longer I look that she is standing uncomfortably close to the window. The glass is closed, and the window itself is so recessed in the battlement that I feel it would be difficult if not impossible for her to accidentally fall through.

Still, the way she stands there twitching…

“Miss Wilcox?”

Lord Edmund’s voice startles me. I jump and cry out a little. When I meet his eyes, they are narrow and shooting icy glares my direction.

I stammer, “M… My apologies, L… Lord Edmund.”

“What the devil are you staring at?”

“I…”

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