“He’s never served champagne at the Briarbush Inn.” Letty snorted. “According to him, champagne is a French conspiracy to sell overpriced grape cider.”
“We have some bottles in the cellar,” Xenia offered. “You are welcome to them, Miss Letty.”
“Oh, Lady Harrington, I couldn’t possibly?—”
“Thank you, Xenia.” Gigi gave her sister-in-law a grateful look. “That is generous of you.”
“Think nothing of it. I only wish we could do more. A few bottles won’t be enough for the crowd expected at the gala.”
“What if we served mineral water instead of champagne?” Gigi mused. “It’s bubbly. And more healthful.”
“An excellent idea,” Letty said darkly. “If we wish for the guests never to return.”
Gigi sighed. “We have five days left. I am sure we will think of something.”
“First the rats, then the mangled garden. Now this. Sometimes I am afraid that…that…”
“What are you afraid of, Miss Letty?”
“That this village is cursed.”
To Gigi’s astonishment, her stalwart friend burst into tears.
“There, there, dear.” Gigi patted the other’s shoulder while Xenia rummaged for a handkerchief. “You’ve a case of pre-opening jitters. There is no curse.”
“Are you saying that you do not believe in the legend of Bloody Thom?” Letty sniffled.
Gigi thought of her dreams and hesitated. “Well, no. Not exactly.”
“Ever since Thomas Mulligan died, the village and this business have been going downhill.” Letty dabbed at her eyes with Xenia’s handkerchief. “Now I know the haunting business at Bottoms House a few months ago was a hoax, but that doesn’t mean the rest of the legend is a sham. I’ve lived here my entire life, and believe me when I say, Bloody Thom is real.”
“I believe you.” Xenia’s expression was thoughtful. “I have felt his presence at the manor.”
Guilt stabbed Gigi. Xenia had shared the dreams she’d had about Thomas and Rosalinda, which had coincided with her and Ethan’s courtship. Yet now Gigi was having dreams of her own, which she hadn’t disclosed. She was afraid of revealing too much to her perceptive sister-in-law. If she told Xenia about her dreams of the ghostly lovers, Xenia might put two and two together and realize that Gigi was engaged in a secret affair.
At the thought of Conrad, Gigi felt a dreamy tingle. While it wasn’t easy being discreet, it was necessary. If her brothers found out about her clandestine trysts, they would call Conrad out and put her under lock and key for the rest of her existence. Moreover, she was enjoying the freedom of courtship without external pressures. Conrad was a complex fellow, yet he was letting her in bit by bit, and their burgeoning intimacy thrilled her.
She liked how she felt in his presence: free and wholly herself. Other suitors saw her as a prize to be won. When they looked at her, they saw her wealth, social position, and superficial charms. Conrad was different. He was rich and didn’t need her money. He didn’t treat her differently because of her background. While he had no qualms about letting her know about his physical attraction to her—and, oh my stars, the feeling was mutual—he praised her other qualities too. He thought she was clever, brave, and resourceful. He treated her like an adult worthy of trust…like his equal.
“While Bloody Thom might have taken a hiatus from wreaking havoc upon our village, I fear he is back,” Letty was saying. “You know the poem about him and how it ends.”
The verse, known by all the local children, was haunting and enigmatic, especially the last stanza which had recently been rediscovered:
Beware, beware the rattling chain
The flapping robes stained red and bold
Beware the moans and wails of pain
For ’tis Bloody Thom they do herald.
* * *
He brings death to all who cross his path
Be they creatures with feathers, fur, or skin
Green will wither and fortunes dwindle until his wrath
