Page 102 of Winterset
I stood at the front of the room. “I’m pleased you were all brave enough to attend this ghost-story reading tonight. Winterset has a long and tragic history, and I have it on the best authority that ghosts haunt these halls. We shall have to hope they behave tonight.”
Charlie, who’d entered the room unnoticed behind my guests, began to play an eerie song on the pianoforte. The ladies were startled, but when they saw that it was a servant, not a spirit playing the instrument, they giggled at being so easily scared.
“Tonight,” I continued in a low and ominous tone, “I offer you a reading fromThe Wraiths of Dunmore Abbeyby Mr. Laurence Fairfax, a gripping ghost story that may stretch the limits of your sensibilities. Prepare yourselves to hear a terrifying tale.”
I retrieved the book from the top of the trunk and turned to the bookmarked page.
“Once upon a time,” I began in a low voice. “In a home very much like this one, there lived a man, though some believed him more a monster than a man ...”
As I read, the women clasped hands, hanging on my every word. I varied the tone and volume of my voice to build tension. When I reached a particularly suspenseful passage, I paused.
The silence stretched into the stillness, and then there came a scraping sound from inside the wall behind me. My guests’ eyes widened, not knowing it was only Bexley inside the derelict passageway.
Page after page, I read, and my guests hung on my every word. When I reached the climax of the story, Charlie played the pianoforte at a feverish pace, then stopped suddenly, and Mrs. Owensby screamed, splitting the night.
I snapped the book closed, signaling the end of the reading and gestured for Bexley, Mrs. Owensby, and Charlie to join me onstage to take a bow.
Everyone applauded enthusiastically.
“Bravo!” the women cheered.
“Most entertaining!” Mr. Dalton said.
And Markham nodded his approval.
I breathed a sigh of relief.
We’d done it.
The night had gone off without a hitch. I could not wait to tell Kate about it tomorrow morning. To hold her in my arms again, to kiss her.
I walked my guests to the drive and was handing Miss Dalton into the carriage when Markham discovered he’d forgotten his gloves.
“Blast! I’ll return shortly,” he said and ran back inside.
The Daltons lingered longer than I liked, reissuing their invitation to dine with them next. I evaded acceptance, and when they finally left, Markham’s carriage inched forward on the drive.
But he hadn’t returned.
I went inside to find him, but the drawing room was empty. I checked the dining hall next, but he wasn’t there either. I passed through the entrance hall to recheck the drawing room when I heard a sound in my study.
Markham? I walked to the door and found him standing by my desk. His back was to me, so he didn’t see me right away. His shoulders were rounded, and his head was down as though he were looking at something in his hands.
“Are you lost, Lord Markham?” I asked.
He turned to face me. In his hands was a piece of paper, but it was too dark to see what was written on it. “What can I say? It is a big house.”
“It’s not, actually.”
“Well, saying so is far less embarrassing than admitting I have no sense of direction.”
“What are you doing in my private study, Lord Markham?”
“Thatis an excellent question. I’m so glad you asked. I believe you are hiding something that belongs to me, Jennings, and I had to investigate for myself.”
“Something that belongs to you? Your gloves? I assure you I didn’t take them, if that’s—”
“Not my gloves.” He huffed a humorless laugh. “You know, I never thought it odd that Miss Lockwood’s body wasn’t found until you appeared in the tavern raving like a lunatic about seeing a ghost.” He shook his head and laughed lightly. “She really played me for a fool, didn’t she?” He sneered down at the paper in his hands—the heavilycrumpledpaper—and I realized it was one of the many drafts of my letter to Kate that I’d discarded. Proof of her survival.
