Page 28 of Boy of Chaotic Making

“I’m curious about the incident with your guest room,” she explained, then hid a wince when Lady Helen blanched. “I’m sure it’s no misconduct of yours,” she hurried to add. “Indeed, Merritt told me your gift was advantageous in clearing the air after it happened.”

“Well, thank you.” She rubbed her hands together, perhaps banishing the chill from her walk. “And you are, of course, more than welcome to stay. I know LIKER is accommodating, but we’ve rooms to spare, and the others shouldn’t collapse. Oh dear.” She touched a hand to her face.

“That is very generous of you. I would love to accept, if it doesn’t put you out.” Hulda had been hoping the offer would come along; she’d rather be near Merritt and Owein than across town at LIKER headquarters. Especially with yet another magicked house mystery to solve. She happened to be a specialist in that area.

Her acceptance seemed to warm Lady Helen, who lowered her hand and smiled. “It’s always lovely to have guests. But about my father?”

“Did he,” Merritt asked, “pass away in that same room?”

Lady Helen’s eyelashes fluttered as she blinked, gaze shifting from Merritt to Hulda. “Hm? Let me think ... No, I believe he was staying elsewhere, near Briar’s old room.”

“We ask,” Hulda explained, “because I wonder if his spirit might not be inhabiting Cyprus Hall.”

“Oh.Oh.” Lady Helen pressed a palm to her chest. “Oh dear, I see. That can happen, can’t it?” She looked upward, as though her deceased father might manifest himself in the moldings.

“Have there been any other manifestations of magic not intentionally caused by you or members of the family?” Hulda asked, mayhap with a little too much animation. If the hunch proved sound, it would both elucidate their problem and allow for it to be quickly resolved.

Lady Helen took a moment to consider. “No ... none that I can think of at all, though I will ask the staff. But my father ... he wasn’t a destructive fellow.”

“Nothing less than a gentleman, or so I thought when I had the pleasure of meeting him,” Hulda agreed. “But death can be, understandably, a shocking experience.”

Lady Helen nodded. “Of course. But it’s been ... oh, almost two weeks now.” She blinked rapidly, then smiled. “I’ve seen and heard nothing that might indicate a ... ahaunting. But if you think there might be a chance, is there something you or LIKER could do? Don’t misunderstand me, I loved the marquess, but I also love my house being in order and ... standing.”

Merritt chuckled.

“Once I confirm a haunting, the London Institute for the Keeping of Enchanted Rooms would be more than happy to offer assistance in keeping Cyprus Hall tamed and protected. Enchanted homes are becoming quite singular; I would take care of the registry, special staff, and auxiliaries personally.”

Lady Helen folded her hands together. “I appreciate the offer, Miss Larkin, but there is plenty enough magic in this house as there is.”

Hulda tipped her head in acquiescence. The world could do with more magicked abodes, but she had to respect the wishes of the family. And of course, if the spirit was indeed in residence, hewascausingexorbitant destruction, which was a non sequitur, given her past experiences. “I’ll perform an exorcism to be thorough,” Hulda offered. She’d love to dive in deeper, but Cyprus Hall was a large abode, and not one she’d been hired to oversee. She’d be overstepping her bounds. “I’ll collect what I need today.”

“Let me send for our driver, if you need to head out.”

Hulda smiled. “Thank you. That would make it easier.” She glanced at Merritt, wishing she could commune with him mind to mind the way Owein did.

Fortunately, Merritt caught her intention. “Afterward,LadyHelen”—he bit down on a smile, and Hulda knew the emphasis had been for her benefit—“I know you and your husband have been eager about the contract.”

She lit up. “Yes! The contract.”

“If I could review it. Just to assure everything is in order.”

“Of course, of course. And Miss Larkin, I’ll have a very sturdy and nonhaunted room ready for you by supper. I can situate you near Mr. Fernsby. Oh”—she touched her bottom lip—“that is, unless a farther room would be more appropriate?”

Hulda’s ears warmed. “I’m happy to go with your recommendation.”

“Wonderful. Freddy!” she called past them, and Hulda turned to see a footman passing by. “Would you alert Mr. Hensfork to bring the curricle around for Miss Larkin? She has some business in town.”

The footman nodded and departed.

A curricle was a two-person carriage, so it wouldn’t do to ask Merritt to come along with her. Best he stay with Owein. With the puzzle of her vision so nearly solved, she felt comfortable leaving for a short time. She nodded her thanks. “I’ll be sure to return in time for supper.”

After Hulda departed, Merritt put on his coat and stepped outside for some fresh air and fresh thinking. The idea of dealing with another ghost, oddly enough, lent him some confidence, but the thought of the marriage contract still made him uneasy. Then again, if a usable body wasn’t found—a very likely outcome given the demanded ethics clauses—the issue would be null. Of course, Merritt had no idea how the extended royal family worked behind the curtains. They could simply kidnap someone, annex his spirit, and present a body and an entirely innocent backstory, and Merritt would be none the wiser.

That idea sat uncomfortably in his gut as he passed by a winter-trodden flower garden. Spring was on its way and would certainly brighten up the gray grounds, but Merritt didn’t intend to stay long enough to witness it.

An icy drop of rain hit his cheek. Merritt glanced skyward, waiting for another to fall. If it did, it struck him where he couldn’t feel it. He quickened his pace. He’d like to get at least a lap in before returning indoors. The Leiningens were hospitable folk, but Merritt wouldn’t say he wascomfortablehere. Especially if there was a ghost lurking in the walls. But in truth, he got his best thinking done when he could walk out in nature. Figuring out what to eat for dinner, unwinding plot holes in stories, deducing how to best confess his feelings for his housekeeper ... all had been accomplished on purposeful strolls.

While he’d intended to sort out this mess with Owein on this particular jaunt, he passed a leafless rosebush, which made him think ofRose, his mother, and the tight redness on the face of his father, Peter Fernsby, when Merritt had finally returned home. It had so starkly contrasted his mother’s teary joy.

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