Page 39 of A Spell of Midlife Mayhem

‘Only that I convinced a couple that Scruffles was a pipe smoker.’

Melissa laughed. ‘Good one. The things people—’

A shriek came from the countess’s bedchamber. A moment later, the couple I’d been speaking with minutes earlier scampered from the room, eyes wide and faces white. The woman whimpered, and her husband gasped in his effort to keep up with her. They dashed past us and headed for the grand staircase.

I glanced at Melissa. ‘Should we go after them?’

She shook her head. ‘Lydia’s down there. She’s good at calming down any visitors who experience a shock.’

‘Okay.’ I turned and advanced towards the countess’s bedroom.

Melissa grabbed my arm. ‘Don’t. Best to let things settle for a while.’

I pulled my arm free. Melissa had experience of this situation. I didn’t. But I needed it.

‘It’s fine,’ I breathed. ‘I’ll only peek in the door in case someone is still in there.’ I was damn well certain there wasn’t, but I wanted to check inside for myself. Maybe I was wrong, and whoever—or whatever—had startled the couple was hanging around.

I opened the door and paused, aware that Melissa was a few paces behind me. She stopped. There was no one in sight, so I went inside.

A chill came over me, as if stepping outside into a frosty morning, despite the sunlight streaming through the windows. Something was there; a presence, like when my mother’s ghost had appeared before me. Nothing was visible, though. Yet.

The bed cover, always smoothly spread over the linen, was rumpled. An image of the old couple romping on the old bed and messing it up came unbidden to my mind, and I dismissed it.

I peered closer. The bed had a depression in it, like someone was lying in there.

But there wasn’t anyone.

‘Heather!’ hissed Melissa. ‘What are you doing? I thought you were only going to look from the doorway.’

‘There’s nothing in here.’ I wasn’t so sure, though.

‘Let’s go downstairs and get a cup of tea.’

‘You go ahead. I’ll catch up.’

Melissa waited a few moments before she headed for the stairs.

I edged towards the bed, hand outstretched.

The lump vanished.

I drew in a deep breath. What in the hell was going on?

Laughter came from behind me. Not Melissa’s polite twittering. Or Penny’s or Lydia’s.

I turned, my chest tightening.

The mirror appeared odd, more like a window opening into a darkened space than a mirror, as there was no reflection. A tall woman came into view. Her face was attractive, yet pale. Her midnight-black hair flowed halfway down her back like a river of darkness. She wore an open high-necked chemise, dark green sleeves tied on with ribbons, and a broad-brimmed, plumed black hat. Round her neck, she wore a bejewelled heart pendant with a ruby in the centre.

She continued to cackle while I regarded her. The mysterious woman wasn’t a reflection. She was in the mirror itself.

‘What are you laughing at?’ I demanded.

Her hilarity cut short. ‘Art thou able to perceive my presence?’

I jutted my chin out. ‘Yes. I know who you are. You’re the countess, right?’

She grew curious. ‘I am Lady Charlotte Deaville, Countess Chirtle. Pray tell, who might thee be?’

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