Page 27 of One Last Whisper

Lady Cordelia claims to have seen a ghost. Twice now, I am certain I heard one. Thrice, a woman, has gone missing from this house under mysterious circumstances. I do not believe in ghosts, not truly, but I do believe that Lady Cordelia’s outburst was prompted by more than just superstition.

Something is haunting this house.

CHAPTER TWELVE

I make breakfast for Oliver while Theresa tends to Lady Cordelia. Oliver asks several times how his aunt is doing and if he can go see her. It’s touching to see how worried he is, but I am worried myself, and that fear dominates my thoughts.

Just yesterday, she was standing in front of her window, staring outside and muttering to herself like an insane woman. I could understand how the stress of this environment would get to her, but considering what I've learned so far, I can't believe that there's no basis to her fears. She couldn't have seen a ghost, but if she knows about what's happening here…

That thought hits me like a freight train. What if Lady Cordeliadoesknow what’s going on? It’s tiring to be married to a lord, surely, far more tiring to be married to a murderer. Could she be aware of her husband’s habits?

I must be careful not to assume. Lord Edmund is the most likely suspect, but I don’t know that for sure. I’ve been wrong in the past when I assume the most likely candidate to be the murderer.

I must learn more. I need to understand the history of this house. Only when I am fully aware of everything that’s happened here can I form any solid conclusions.

Theresa returns downstairs just as Oliver finishes his breakfast. Oliver immediately turns to her. “Is aunt Cordelia all right? Can I go see her?”

“She’s resting right now, dear,” Theresa says. “She’s all right. She’s only had a fright. A nightmare that lingered upon waking.”

Oliver frowned. I can tell he won’t be satisfied until he can see his aunt and verify with his own two eyes that she’s alive and well.

I meet Theresa’s eyes, and her expression makes me fear that sheisn’twell.

“I just…” Oliver begins. “I…”

His lips tremble. I believe he’s about to cry, but an instant later, he begins to cough. This fit is not like the others. They are loud, horrible, whooping sounds that shake the poor child’s body as though tearing him apart from the inside. I rush to his side. “Oliver? Are you all right?”

It’s truly incredible how our first instinct upon any sign of distress is to ask a question which has an obvious answer. I wonder if that question has ever been asked when it wasn’t clear that the person questioned wasnotall right.

He gasps, trying to catch his breath. “I’m…”

That’s all he gets out before he coughs again. The coughs are so powerful he nearly slides from his chair. I steady him and tell Theresa, “Bring some tea, please. Chamomile and peppermint.”

“Right away, Mary,” Theresa says.

The poor woman’s face is white as snow. In the span of an hour, she has seen her mistress nearly prostrate with terror and the heir to the family unable to breathe due to illness. On top of that, her master is the primary suspect in a string of disappearances. I wouldn’t blame her for fearing the end of House Blackwood is approaching rapidly.

Oliver gasps, grimaces, and this time is able to catch his breath.

But the fit has weakened him. He takes a puff from his inhaler, but that only helps a little. He trembles in my arms, and when I ask if he needs a blanket, he nods weakly.

I go to his room for a blanket, and when I return, Theresa is helping him drink tea. A touch of color returns to him when he sips, but his eyes are heavy-lidded and sit above dark circles. Theresa gives me a pleading look, and I make an executive decision.

“There will be no school today,” I tell him. “You need rest. I will find some documentaries so you’ll receive some education. Perhaps the latest nature documentary the BBC released. Do you like animals?”

Oliver nods. “There’s an ocean one I’ve wanted to watch.”

“We’ll start with that one, then.”

He gives me a weak smile. “Will you sit with me?”

“Of course I will. Finish your tea. I’m going to speak to Miss Theresa for a moment.”

He nods and lifts the cup to his lips. I take Theresa’s arm and lead her to the kitchen. When we’re alone, I ask, “How is Lady Cordelia? Really?”

She shakes her head. “She’s resting now. The poor woman wouldn’t stop insisting that she saw a ghost in her mirror. She claims she’s seen one ever since Sarah went missing. Said the cries weren’t the storm but Sarah begging for help.” She wrings her hands. “I fear for her, Mary, I do. She’s… well, she’s so delicate. Living here in this old castle with a stern old Lord and now there’s a girl missing. I’m just worried that it’s too much for her constitution to take.”

I take a moment to digest this. I am also concerned for Lady Cordelia, but I must think of Oliver first. “For today, we’ll let both of them rest. Let’s hope by tomorrow that Lady Cordelia is well enough to see Oliver, but…”

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