As she refolded the note, Anne noticed writing on the back. “Look, a postscript.”
She could almost hear Lady Celia’s wry voice say the words aloud:
Dispose of this after you read it, so no one else will happen upon it and think I’ve become sentimental in my old age.
Anne bit back a grin, but when Katherine chuckled, Anne joined her.
“So like Mamma to have the last laugh.”
With the servants’ help, they moved aside furniture in the old courtroom, which had long ago been remodeled into a formal parlour. They positioned a low table in a place of prominence, where the coffin would be laid for the viewing, and swathed it in black draperies, along with the windows and paneled walls.
When all was ready, the undertaker and his assistants delivered the coffin. While Miss Fitzjohn looked on, quietly weeping and holding Anne’s hand, they carried it up the stairs and carefully moved Lady Celia into it.
“I wish Jasper were here,” Katherine whispered, throat hoarse with tears.
Anne squeezed her hand. “So do I.”
Where was he?
Then the undertaker, his assistants, and strapping young Toby carried the coffin bearing Lady Celia’s earthly remains down the stairs and through the corridors to the former courtroom. They placed it on the low table and surrounded the coffin with fragrant lilies and candelabra.
Anne, Rosa, and Katherine decided to take turns sitting vigil with the deceased while her body remained in the house. Early the first evening, the women sat together for a time,talking in quiet voices, but after Rosa and then Katherine went to bed, Anne was left alone on the late-night shift. She had offered to take it. As a nurse, she had become accustomed to odd hours and less sleep. Even so, she didn’t like sitting alone in that blackened chamber, the air heavy with the cloying scent of lilies.
The room was set apart in the oldest wing of the house and seemed perpetually cold despite the summer weather. Perhaps that was one of the reasons it had been chosen, to better preserve the body.
Determined to make the best of the situation, Anne read by candlelight for a time, again fromNorthanger Abbey.
The verycurtains of her bed seemed at one moment in motion,and at another the lock of her door was agitated,as if by the attempt of somebody to enter. Hollowmurmurs seemed to creep along the gallery,and more thanonce her blood was chilled by the sound of distantmoans....
Anne shivered. She set the book down and hugged herself, rubbing her arms. She should have worn a shawl. Rising, she decided to walk back to the library, where she had seen a knitted blanket over the arm of a sofa.
After lighting a lamp from one of the branches of candles, Anne left on her errand. She did not rush. She was in no great hurry to return to that room and its silent occupant. She even took a few minutes to select a recent magazine from the library table. Perhaps it would be betternotto read about haunted abbeys and suspicions of murder on such a night.
She tucked the blanket and magazine under one arm, lifted the lamp with the other, and started back to her lonely vigil.
As she walked down the dark corridor, she heard something—a cough?—in the room ahead, and her heart jolted.Surely not. Lady Celia would not “waken” during this wake, she was sure.
Footsteps.
No one should be in there. Not at this hour. Had one of the family come down to relieve her? Or a servant? All tucked in their beds hours ago, she would have thought.
Her shoes tapping on the wide plank floor must have announced her approach. She had no wish to catch anyone unawares. From inside the room came the whining creak of something opening followed by aclack, like the shutting of a drawer or door. A cabinet door? She didn’t recall seeing one, although she was not as familiar with this room, especially now with most of the remaining furniture and all the windows covered in black baize.
Probably Rosa, come to relieve her, she told herself. She certainly hoped it was not Mr. Dalby.
As she stepped over the threshold, a cold draught snaked over her, making the flame of her candle flicker and gutter. Had someone opened a window? She looked all around the candlelit room.
No one was there.
A tremor crept up Anne’s spine. There was no other exit from this room, yet she was sure she’d heard someone in there. She forced away the thought of ghosts.
Nothing in the room appeared to be disturbed. The coffin was quiet. She lifted the black cloth covering the windows to make sure they were closed and then sat in an armchair and cocooned herself in the blanket to ward off a persistent chill.
She found herself thinking of Jasper showing her the cells somewhere beneath this room. And the eerie look in his eyes when he recalled being locked down there and nobody hearing his calls for help. Now, no one seemed to know where he was. Surely he had not been locked in there again, had he?
No. Of course not.She was being fanciful, her mind conjuring vile images of Jasper trapped and forgotten in a cold, dark cell. She shivered again, just as she had when Jasper had first shown her the place. Should she go and look, just to make sure? Did she have the courage to go down there alone? She very much doubted she did. Especially not now, in the dead of night, when she was supposed to be sitting vigil. Perhaps in the morning.
Yet the thought of him, potentially trapped, would give her no peace, so she picked up the candle lamp once more and made her way through the house and down the kitchen stairs.
