“Pardon me,” Evangeline said, careful to keep her voice soft so as not to startle him.
The hand pouring burgundy liquid into the crystal vessel never faltered, as if the servants of Blackberry Manor were quite used to being dropped in on unexpectedly. The footman capped the decanter before turning to Evangeline, his dull eyes devoid of curiosity.
“How may I assist you?”
Evangeline offered him a small smile. His expression did not change. “I’m looking for a maid by the name of Ginny. She’s perhaps a few inches shorter than me, with a slender frame, quick blue eyes, hair the color of—”
“I know no maid by that name.”
Evangeline blinked at him. Back home, the servants in any given house were not only familiar with the names of all those who worked under their roofs, but also knew the faces and histories of every other servant in the village. But, she reminded herself again, Blackberry Manor was not home.
“Perhaps you could tell me where to find the footmen who worked in the music room earlier,” she suggested hesitantly. “One of them might be more familiar with the staff, and better able to help me find—”
“The footmen,” came the pointed reply, “returned the dishes to the scullery as the gentlemen left to rejoin the ladies. They are no doubt settling themselves in for the night. I assure you, no maid by that name works in this house.”
A frustrated sigh hissed softly between Evangeline’s teeth. Granted, she was hardly one of the aristocracy, but this footman’s tone and demeanor were a far cry from the solicitousness his fellows had shown in the music room. But perhaps…for the same reason?
“Sir,” she began, and paused when the salutation made him blink. “Are you displeased with me for some reason?”
The footman hesitated, but when at last he spoke, his words were honest. “I do not trust witchery.”
Her jaw dropped. “Then you do know Ginny!”
“I know only rumors.” His expression went cold. “And my master has had enough trouble in his life without adding more from you.” When Evangeline proved momentarily speechless, he murmured, “If you’ll excuse me,” and strode out the door, leaving her alone in the library.
“Well,” she huffed to the empty room, following up with a muttered, “Damn.”
She could not locate the maid responsible for turning half the Blackberry Manor staff into conspicuously attentive fools, and the other half completely against her.
Frustrated, Evangeline was sorely tempted to select a novel from the many shelves lining the library. Unfortunately, the dying fire offered little light and even less warmth. With a defeated sigh, she plucked a book at random from the shadowy shelves and crossed quickly to the hallway in order to head back to her bedchamber in the guest quarters. She hoped the fire there would burn bright enough for her to read.
Not two steps down the sconce-dotted passageway, an odd noise froze Evangeline where she stood. A slow but steadydrag…thump! drag…thump!came from one of the myriad connecting corridors, a sound too eerie to be human footfalls.
With dread slithering in her stomach, she clutched the dusty book to her chest and did her very best not to move so much as an eyelash.
The dragging and thumping grew closer.
Evangeline dashed back to the relative safety of the darkened library, just Mr. Teasdale, his wrinkled face twisting into a grimace, limped across the hall, his palsied hand bearing down heavily on a gold-tipped cane as he dragged his lame leg behind him a few inches at a time.
He didn’t look like a doddering, sleepy old man. He looked…furious. Ducking out of sight into the library was no doubt a far better choice of action than to interrupt him on his journey.
After the eerie sounds receded at last, Evangeline stepped from the shadows, once again intending to make her way to her chamber in the guest wing. She had no sooner turned toward the same corridor into which Mr. Teasdale had vanished when a horrid series of wracking coughs barked from down a different hallway.
Only one guest had lungs like that. Since Evangeline had even less desire to explain her unchaperoned presence to Benedict Rutherford than she did to Mr. Teasdale, she sprinted down a random sequence of passageways—and almost found herself face-to-face with a distracted-looking Francine Rutherford.
Fumbling for the handle of the closest door in order to hide herself from the quickly approaching woman, Evangeline twisted the knob and fell backward into blackness just as the plumed and rouged blonde glided past with a frighteningly feline smile. After a moment, Francine Rutherford disappeared around a corner with a swish of her lime green skirts.
Good heavens. Waseveryoneskulking about Blackberry Manor tonight?
Evangeline slumped against the blessedly solid doorframe. She rested her head against the wooden frame until her breath and her pulse returned to normal. Once assured of both her calmed nerves and her renewed solitude, she pushed off to step back into the hallway.
“Leaving so soon?” came a deep voice from the shadows behind her.
She shrieked and spun about, one hand clapped to her chest. Mr. Lioncroft’s eyes glittered somewhere in the gloomy murk. So much for the calm state of her lungs and heart.
“What are you doing here?” she managed, the words tumbling out frantic and breathless.
“I live here.”
