“What the devil?”
Ethan’s exclamation came from the music room. Xenia exchanged startled glances with Lady Gigi, and then they were both dashing forward. Xenia reached the music room first, and through the doorway, she saw Ethan at the far end of the room. He had his back to her as he stared at the piano. Someone must have left the windows open, for the drapes were swirling, framing him in a ghostly fashion.
Aware of his sister’s presence, Xenia spoke in what she hoped was a housekeeper’s tone.
“Is everything all right, my lord?”
Ethan turned to her, a storm brewing in his eyes.
“No,” he said grimly. “It’s not.”
He moved, and her breath hitched when she got a clear view of the piano. Blood splattered the ivory keys. A sheet of music was propped on the stand, the notes obscured by bold red letters:
Leave my home…or die.
ChapterTwenty-One
“Nothing has been touched, my lord?” Constable Rawlins asked.
“Nothing,” Ethan confirmed. “I instructed the staff to leave everything as I found it.”
“Very good, sir. That will make my job easier.”
Chuddums shared a constabulary with a cluster of villages, and Rawlins had come from several miles away. The constable was greying and rumpled, with heavy bags under his eyes. Despite his sleepy appearance, his gaze was keen as he examined the piano.
Also present in the room were Gigi, Parkhurst, Canning, and Xenia. The latter, Ethan noticed, was a bit twitchy. Since she’d fallen prey to the notion that Bloody Thom was haunting the manor, he supposed her nerves weren’t surprising. His rational explanations did little to sway her…or some of the others. Daisy had given notice first thing this morning. Good riddance, as far as he was concerned. Yet rumors had a way of spreading, and Ethan wanted to nip any talk of a vengeful spirit in the bud.
“Do you see any clues, Rawlins?” he asked.
“To begin with, whoever made the bloody handprints was wearing gloves.” Rawlins pointed at the keyboard. “There are not the usual lines and whorls associated with fingerprints.”
“Unless the handprints were made by a ghost,” Gigi chimed in.
Ethan shot an exasperated look at his sister. She and Xenia were standing side by side, birds of a fanciful feather. All morning they’d been thick as thieves, discussing what Bloody Thom might be after and using their favorite gothic novels as reference. They’d debated scintillating topics such as whether a specter could cause changes in the material world. Yes, they’d decided, because the ghosts they’d read about tapped on windows, opened doors, and played mournful tunes on instruments in the dead of night. Ergo, they’d concluded with trembling excitement, Bloody Thom could have left the bloody handprints and the note.
Rawlins lifted his thick grey brows. “You are referring to Bloody Thom, my lady?”
“Precisely,” Gigi said eagerly. “From what Mrs. Wood, here, has told me of the legend, Thomas Mulligan was killed in this manor, and his murderer was never found. Isn’t it possible that he might be haunting the place because he wishes justice to be served?”
Ethan aimed his gaze at the ceiling. “No, it’s not.”
“It seems unlikely.” Rawlins’s reply was more diplomatic. “In my experience, it is best to consider rational explanations first.”
Parkhurst cleared his throat. “But there have been sightings of the ghost, have there not?”
“Christ,” Ethan muttered. “You too, Parkhurst?”
“Sorry, old chap.” Parkhurst ran a hand through his mussed curls, looking sheepish. “Mrs. Wood mentioned that a previous cook saw Bloody Thom, chains and all?—”
“And there was the incident with the slaughtered chickens,” Gigi added. “There were only two survivors, Brutus the rooster and a hen…if only chickens could talk. Mrs. Wood, didn’t you also find a piece of tattered, bloody cloth in the garden that could have come from Bloody Thom’s robe?”
Xenia gave a hesitant nod.
“You don’t say?” Canning looked intrigued. “This has the makings of a novel.”
“Good God, is silliness catching?” Crossing his arms, Ethan glowered at the group. “This is not the work of a ghost, but some living, breathing blackguard who has carried out this hoax to spook me.”
“Quite right, my lord. We should proceed to a review of human suspects,” Rawlins said easily. “Unless you have anything to add, Mrs. Wood? We have yet to hear from you, and it seems you are the resident expert on Bloody Thom.”
