Barlow cleared his throat again. “Assessment and inspection. Royal favor.”
“Right, sir. Come, then. Let’s do this quickly.”
The faux inspection committee followed the soldiers up a stone incline that led into the second floor of the keep. They entered through a door puncturing the several-foot thick wall to find a mostly empty room illuminated by a single tall window. Carver stopped to address them.
“This is a storeroom, although it stores nothing.”
“And the prayer room?” Adam said.
The soldier led them through an archway to another room nearly identical to the first. “Another storeroom, again storing nothing.”
Adam nodded. “About the prayer room.”
Carver swallowed hard and pointed to a dark opening in the far wall. A single pitiful candle burned on a stand just outside the door. “Just there. Left is the jail. Right is the prayer room. Enter if you must, but I will remain here.”
“As will I,” said Simms. Both men set the butts of their rifles on the floor and folded their arms to demonstrate resolve. Adam rolled his eyes. Ghosts, indeed.
“Very well.”
With his traveling companions close behind, he approached the dark opening and lifted the candle. A faint breeze pricking his skin brought him to an abrupt halt. A hand captured his elbow from behind. He jumped and swiveled his head to find Jane smirking.
“Afraid of the dark, Mr. Ashford?”
“No. But I am afraid of Oxfordshire witches.”
He glanced aside to spy Hester clinging to Barlow’s arm. She was clearly unsettled.
“Perhaps we will remain here,” said the solicitor. “We would not want to crowd such a small space, after all.”
Adam chuckled. “Of course. Jane and I will investigate. If we encounter any ghosts, we will be certain to call for help.”
He moved slowly through the opening with Jane still clutching his elbow. Beyond the gap, a narrow hallway traveled in either direction, each fork long enough that the candle did not penetrate the darkness. A wicked thought occurred to him, and he froze.
“Stop. I see something there.” He tried to whisper as ominously as possible. Jane’s grip became tighter. “Something ethereal. Like a man kneeling… Oh, now he’s standing. He’s turning…”
When Jane shrieked and burrowed into his back, he let loose a laugh. “What’s wrong, Jane? Afraid of the dark?”
She punched him in the back of his shoulder hard enough to sting. “Adam Ashford. You are still well-suited to pulling a manure cart.”
“Point taken. My apologies, but I could not resist. Shall we continue?”
“Yes. But do that again and I will be forced to add yet another ghost to the keep.”
“Fair enough.”
He followed the candlelight with Jane on his elbow until the hallway terminated in a small, windowless room devoid of anything but cobwebs and ancient memories. “Here we are standing in the darkness. Now, we must return to the light.”
“No, Adam.” He glanced down to find candlelight shining in her eyes. “We must offer a prayer as the letter instructs.”
“I’m not sure that is necessary.”
She smiled. “Afraid of a little prayer?”
“Of course not. I have prayed prolifically and fearlessly since childhood. But perhaps you might demonstrate your invocational expertise.”
“Very well.” She descended to her knees, folded her hands, and began praying. “Almighty God, grant me thy patience to suffer fools, grant me thy guidance to find salvation, and grant me thy divine intervention in the tossing of the coin.”
Adam grinned, dropped to his knees, and began praying an attempt to reverse Jane’s prayer. They continued praying over the top of each other, she for an escape from debtor’s prison and he for his estate, their voices rising until both were nearly shouting. However, they froze simultaneously as an eerie sound began rising in the room. As if someone were wailing in the walls. He shot to his feet and dragged Jane up with him.
