“You made those tracks,” Ethan said. “The reason they ‘disappeared’ is because the blood had either dried or worn off.”
“I caught a glimpse o’ Bloody Thom, I’m telling you!” Daisy directed her appeal to her fellow workers. “When I was in the coop, I saw the flutter o’ his robe from the corner of my eye. I turned just as ’e vanished.”
“You saw something white flutter?”
“That’s what I said, my lord,” Daisy said triumphantly. “All I saw was a glimpse—but a glimpse was all I needed to know who it was.”
“You are certain that the flash of white you saw, out of the corner of your eye, was not that?”
Ethan gestured at one of the clotheslines, to which a bedsheet was currently attached. On cue, a breeze blew through the courtyard, causing the white cloth to give an eerie flutter.
“There is no ghost,” he stated.
“I’m telling you, itwasBloody Thom,” Daisy insisted. “I ’ave a feeling in my bones that something ain’t right ’ere?—”
“If you wish to collect your things and leave, do so.” Clearly, Ethan was at the end of his patience. “If you stay, I will hear no more talk of this Bloody Thom nonsense. This applies to everyone. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, my lord,” the staff chorused.
Seeing Daisy’s chin wobble, Xenia knew the maid was debating between her pride and more pragmatic concerns. How often had she, herself, made that same calculation? Admittedly, Daisy’s behavior was misguided and stemmed from a need to be right. Nonetheless, Xenia understood the maid’s predicament and wanted to give her an easy way out. A way to stay without damaging her pride.
Mrs. Johnson beat her to it.
“Come along, Daisy and Berta,” the cook said. “We’ll have a nice cup of tea before we get back to work.”
Xenia sent Mrs. Johnson a grateful look as the other ushered Daisy and Berta back inside. While Brunswick gave orders to William and Fred to clean up the coop, Ethan took Xenia aside.
“We have unfinished business,” he murmured. “Will you come to me tonight?”
Her pulse raced. “I look forward to it, my lord.”
“As do I, Mrs. Wood.” To any observer, his manner was formal, yet the warmth in his eyes made her heart flutter. “Until then.”
After he departed, she took it upon herself to hunt for the missing chickens in case they had managed to escape the predator. She headed toward the gardens, where she would go if she were a chicken. As Ethan had yet to secure a gardener, weeds carpeted the path, and the towering hedges allowed only a glimpse of the gazebo in the far corner.
Xenia made friendly clucking noises, hoping to attract the chickens. To her delight, the missing Dorking hen poked its head out from the hedge. Its single comb and silver-grey feathers were a trifle askew, but it appeared otherwise unharmed.
“There you are, poor thing.” Xenia approached slowly, not wanting to frighten the hen, who watched her with wary eyes. “I’m so glad you escaped the fox.”
Bending, she picked up the hen, and with a sigh, it cuddled against her.
“There, there,” she murmured. “Everything’s going to be all right. Let’s see if we can find Brutus, too.”
With the hen tucked under her arm, she was about to continue the search when a movement caught her eye. She went over to the hedge and plucked the object from the branch. Her blood chilled when she realized what she was holding.
A strip of ancient white cloth…tattered and stained with blood.
“Do you really want to spend our time discussing this?” Ethan drew his brows together. “A ghost that does not exist?”
Xenia had arrived at his bedchamber shortly before midnight. She’d taken the precaution of using the servants’ corridor, which opened into his room via a panel in the wall. Taking in his room, she’d had a moment of professional pride. The mahogany frame of his tester bed gleamed in the corner. In the sitting area, the chesterfield he’d brought from London had been buffed to a soft sheen, and the wingchairs, reupholstered in a lovely midnight-blue damask suggested by Mr. Duffield, the village draper, perfectly matched the new velvet drapes.
Ethan had been waiting for her, looking magnificent in a burgundy smoking jacket and loose trousers. He’d left off his gloves, a sign of intimacy that squeezed her heart. His long, hot kiss of greeting intensified her swoony feeling. She wanted to kiss him again…wanted to do more than kiss him. But first they had a hefty agenda to get through.
In addition to Bloody Thom, there were the facts about herself and her past that she could no longer, in good conscience, conceal. If she and Ethan were to embark on an affair, then she owed him the truth. He deserved to know the essential facts so that he could decide whether he wanted to be the lover of a woman like her.
Although cowardly, she’d decided to start with the least daunting topic…which happened to be the vengeful spirit haunting the manor.
Facing Ethan in the sitting area, she held up the bloody cloth. “We cannot ignore this,” she averred.
