“Because you’ve been married before?”
She averted her eyes. “Because I cannot commit to a permanent arrangement. There are things you need to know?—”
A scream from the hallway cut her off.
“It’s Bloody Thom! Lord have mercy, he’s on the rampage again!”
ChapterFifteen
Shortly thereafter, Xenia, Ethan, and the staff gathered in the courtyard outside the kitchens, which served as an extension of the servants’ working space. A few clotheslines, planters of herbs, and a large chicken coop occupied the gravel-lined area. Daisy, a stout brunette with blunt features, pointed at the wood-and-wire enclosure.
“See, my lord? It is like the curse foretold:He brings death to all who cross his path, be they creatures with feathers, fur, or skin.Bloody Thom slaughtered the chickens!”
Xenia made the sign of the cross as she examined the scene of the crime. Blood was grotesquely splattered over the coop, the bodies of its feathered occupants littering the ground. She counted five dead hens, which left Brutus and another hen unaccounted for. She prayed that they’d survived the attack and escaped.
“When you hired us on, you told us there weren’t no ghost, Mrs. Wood.”
Daisy waved her arm out to include the other maid, Berta, and the footmen, William and Fred. Mrs. Johnson, the cook, gripped her apron, tension lining her plump features. Ethan stood with his three longtime retainers at his back.
“I told you I hadn’t seen Bloody Thom,” Xenia corrected. “That is the truth.”
“Nelly Nettles saw ’im,” Berta said in her wispy voice. “She said ’e was terrifying. ’E were in shackles, dripping blood, and moaning in pain.”
Despite her slight stature, the diffident blonde did the work of three maids. Worry crept over Xenia. She could not afford to lose Berta…or any of the servants. Even Daisy, who liked to tell tales and stir the pot, was an integral part of the small staff. Together, they’d made excellent progress on Bottoms House, and Xenia couldn’t bear to let the hard-won gains slip away because of a possible phantom.
While ghosts were unnerving, she didn’t believe they were all bad. In the gothic novels she’d read, even the scariest spirits usually haunted for a reason. Maybe they had unfinished business they needed to attend to or some truth they wished to make known. If Bloody Thom did exist, she needed to understand what he wanted…and how to make him leave.
Xenia turned to Daisy. “Did you actually see Bloody Thom?”
“Sure, I did.” Daisy raised her dimpled chin. “When I came out this morning, I saw all ’em chickens ’e murdered and the bloody trail ’e left behind.”
She pointed again, this time at the bloody footprints that marked the gravel leading out of the coop. With a chill, Xenia saw the footprints continued a few paces then stopped.
As if the owner vanished into thin air.
“That is not the same as seeing him,” Ethan said.
While everyone—including Xenia—was on edge, he remained composed. He had his arms crossed and didn’t seem perturbed by the talk about the ghost. Truth be told, he played the lord of the manor splendidly, and his confidence aroused her. She felt a quiver between her legs, where she was still wet from his petting.
Daisy slapped her hands on her hips. “Then ’ow do you explain the murdered chickens?”
“I would start with a rational explanation,” Ethan said coolly. “For instance, perhaps a fox got into the coop.”
William, the lanky footman, brightened. “Mr. Hodgins, who lives down the road, did mention that a fox has been stealing his chickens. It could be the same fox.”
“Precisely, William. A mundane explanation is often the accurate one.”
At his master’s praise, William blushed, the color blending away his spots.
“That doesn’t explain the footprints,” Daisy argued. “Thedisappearingfootprints.”
“Did you enter the coop, Daisy?”
She drew herself up. “I did, my lord. To check if any o’ the chickens were alive.”
“Would you mind showing us the bottom of your shoes?”
With obvious reluctance, she complied. The worn soles were streaked with dried blood. A collective sigh of relief went up from all of them…except Daisy, who looked sulky.
