He felt the faintest crackle of energy. Was she trying to use a glamour upon him? But she wasn’t fae, he was certain of that. Ray sniffed the room, and it smelled faintly of herbs. Around her, he could see the faint outline of a thread, likely some sort of charm. A hedge witch. He’d never noticed before, but then again, he’d never paid that much attention. But if she were inclined to wipe his memory rather than ask a question, he was more than willing to play along.
He slackened his expression and said, “I understand,” in a droning monotone of someone ensorcelled.
She leaned back with a faint smile. “Good, you are dismissed.”
Ray showed himself out into the hall. A few staff members scurried away from the door where they’d likely been eavesdropping. Would she wipe their memories to keep Lady Thornton’s fainting a secret? Humans were funny creatures. He’d gotten away easily this time, but once that body was discovered, he doubted he would be as lucky. Something should be done, he supposed. Ray gave a heavy sigh. His work never ended, it seemed.
* * *
Something damp restedon Catherine’s forehead. A single drop rolled over her temple. With leaden arms, Catherine reached up to bat it away. When had she fallen asleep? She blinked up at the draped purple velvet canopy. Where was she? Sunlight streamed in from a window, and she screwed her eyes shut. Her thoughts moved like mud.
“Is she coming to?” Edward asked. He sounded panicked
Catherine squinted and saw Mrs. Rosewood and Edward staring down at her.
“Don’t crowd, let her breathe,” Mrs. Rosewood said with her hand on Edward’s shoulder.
They stepped back from her bedside. Catherine blinked, taking in the room. The vanity with the bottles of perfume and hair oils, the privacy screen with the painting of a tranquil countryside, and on the nightstand a bowl of water a rag slung over the rim. Her room at Thornwood Abbey.
Her head felt full of cotton, and connecting was like stumbling in the dark. How had she gotten into bed? The last she’d seen Edward had been in his study. Then she’d gone to take a walk; she recalled the crisp air. The thick banks of fog. A pale foot, a bloody dress, a gash in Miss Ashton’s chest where her heart had been.
Catherine shot up. The damp cloth on her forehead slid off and fell into her lap with a wet plop.
“Miss Ashton. Someone—” Catherine’s throat tightened. She couldn’t say the words. It was too late. Miss Ashton was dead. She clamped her hand to her mouth. She’d seen a dead body. It had been real this time. Mr. Thorn had seen it as well. But who would have done such a horrid thing?
Edward took a seat on the edge of her bed with brow furrowed. “Catherine, darling, what are you talking about?” He reached to grasp her hand, but she pulled back on instinct. He blinked at her before resting his hands in his lap.
“Does your head hurt? Mrs. Morgan said they found you after you fainted on your morning walk. If only I had joined you, this wouldn’t have happened.”
She shook her head. Her mouth felt so dry. “Miss Ashton, she’s been—” Catherine swallowed hard. She had seen it. Miss Ashton’s vacant blue eyes were burned into her memory. If the ghost reappeared, would it have Miss Ashton’s face? Looming in the shadows and issuing dire warnings.
Edward turned to Mrs. Rosewood. “Why would she be talking about Mary? They’ve never met.”
“But I did. Just yesterday when I delivered the basket to Mrs. Rosewood,” Catherine said, looking to Mrs. Rosewood for confirmation. She should have told Edward when she had the chance. What if she had gone to meet Miss Ashton, would she have suffered the same fate?
Edward shook his head. “Miss Ashton has been in London for months. There is no way you would have met her.”
“But I—” What was the use in arguing. It had all felt so real. She thought for certain this time that it wasn’t another hallucination. Her eyes darted between Mrs. Rosewood and Edward as they exchanged a look. Surely Mrs. Rosewood would corroborate her story.
“The other day when Catherine came to visit, Lydia was causing trouble again. You know how she is. She kept bringing up Miss Ashton...”
Catherine’s heart stuttered. No. Mrs. Rosewood was there, and so was Lydia. And Mr. Thorn had seen the body. She saw ghosts and from time to time—strange creatures. She didn’t imagine encounters with women she’d never met, and she didn’t make up gruesome murders.
“Perhaps we should call Dr. Rowan back?” Edward said.
They would send her away. Lock her up in a room, and she’d never see the light again. She reached for Edward, grasping his hand. “It’s nothing. Forgive me, I must have hit my head when I fainted. It’s like Mrs. Rosewood said, I got confused because of Lydia’s teasing.” Her voice was shrill, but she didn’t care. As long as they didn’t call a doctor.
He would see she had been telling lies. He would punish her. Tears threatened the back of her lids, but she clamped down on the rising feelings of hysteria. That only made the punishment worse. Her pulse galloped as it pounded in her neck. Screams filled her ears, and Catherine had to force herself to hold onto Edward, to not try and clamp her hands over her ears in an attempt to block them out. Then he would know. He would see that she was mad, and it would all be over.
Edward sat back down on the bed beside her and grasped her shoulder. “Are you certain?”
“I am.” Her voice was a mere thread. Her bottom lip trembled. Surely he would see through her lies. Everything would be exposed. But more than anything, she wanted him to comfort her, to hold onto her, and tell her everything was going to be alright. To assure her, she wasn’t mad.
A knock at the door proceeded Mrs. Morgan. “My Lord, a moment?”
Edward looked to Catherine and then squeezed her shoulder. “I’ll be back soon.”
He pulled away. As desperately as she wanted him to stay and comfort her, she dared not ask. She drew her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. She lowered her head, so she was in a tight ball. Just like Mama and Papa before him, Edward would cast her aside. No one wanted a broken girl.
