Page 31 of Winterset
There didn’t seem to be a commonality between all the items redacted. I looked over the list again. A few were directly related to the Lockwoods, such as removing their portraits, but not all.Vanquish ghost, yes;remove wall papers, no.
HadImade these redactions? I’d been overwhelmed by all the needed repairs, but no, I would remember doing something like this. Someone had been in this room, someone who had a preference for how things should be run at Winterset. And I had a good idea who it was.
Not two minutes later, Mrs. Owensby appeared at the study door with my dinner tray. She placed it on my desk in front of me, then stepped back, looking up to meet my gaze.
“Mrs. Owensby. Has anyone been in this room?” I asked, my voice stern.
Her brow furrowed. “No, sir.”
“You are sure?” I held her gaze and pointed at my notebook. “My notes have been defaced.”
Her eyes widened. “You don’t thinkIdid that, do you?”
“Bexley was working to clear the gate of ivy all afternoon. Charlie was with me. And you were—”
“At the market.”
My confidence wavered.
“I needed to purchase provisions,” she continued, “f-for your meals. Meat, vegetables. Everything is in the kitchen. I can show you, if you desire.”
Lud, I’d scared her again.
“Not necessary,” I said. “I am not angry, Mrs. Owensby. I only wish for an explanation for how this happened.” I indicated the notebook.
“May I?”
I pushed it across the desk and gave her a few moments to examine it. “Well?” I said, keeping my tone even so as not to frighten her again. “Do you have any explanation?”
“I don’t think she likes your plans for Winterset,” Mrs. Owensby mumbled.
“Shewho?”
“Kate. That is, Miss Katherine Lockwood. Your previous tenant’s daughter.”
Miss Katherine Lockwood.
The beautiful young lady in the portrait.Shewas the ghost? I suddenly did not mind so much Winterset being haunted. I might even welcome it.
Kate.
Her name matched my vision of her: Headstrong. Confident. But also lovely.
I cleared my throat, pushing away the thought. “To be clear, Mrs. Owensby, you believe it was a ghost, Miss Katherine Lockwood, who defaced my notes?”
“I wouldn’t put it in quite that way, but yes, sir. I believe it was she who did this. Though she should not be blamed.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose and took a deep breath. Surely Mrs. Owensby didn’t expect me to believe an apparition was capable of committing this crime. I had no desire to embark on yet another circular conversation with my housekeeper, but alas, here we were.
“A ghost cannot pick up a quill pen, much less write with one,” I said. “And I cannot imagine why a ghost would mind whether or not I removed damaged papers from the walls in the drawing room.”
“Seeing asshepainted the papers, I can.”
I took back my notebook from Mrs. Owensby. “I suppose that explains why she took exception to my turning the art gallery into a billiard hall and the white room—herroom—into a hat room.”
“I would say so.” Mrs. Owensby’s chin quivered as she nodded.
Suddenly, it dawned on me. It was Mrs. Owensby’s show of emotion that led to the realization that itwasMrs. Owensby who had redacted my notes. She’d not done it maliciously but, rather, out of grief. “Miss Lockwood must have been very dear to you,” I said, softening.
