“Did someone say ghosts?” a familiar voice asked.
Violet turned around. “Uncle Edwin.”
Her uncle appeared at the top of a staircase and hurried down with a big smile, embracing her with a warm hug. He had a head full of thick, silver hair and warm, brown eyes. His rough face scratched her skin as they embraced.
“Hello, Thorny.” He turned to the others. “Please come in. You are very welcome.”
Uncle Edwin motioned for the servants to take their trunks and bags to their rooms. He said, “Well, no doubt you’ll want to get settled. Do follow the housekeeper to your rooms, which I gather are comfortable enough for an old pile like this. The others are in the main study, warming by the fire. Violet, stay a moment.”
Violet was cold and damp from the journey and her very bones felt tired and sore from the bumpy carriage ride, but she waited for the others to leave and stood by her uncle. She frowned at the sight of her clothes dripping on the floor and resisted the urge to wring them out. “Yes?”
“What do you think of Mr. Fairbanks, eh? He’s got a sunny personality.” He grinned.
Violet rolled her eyes. “Uncle, I’m tired and I’ve been traveling since morning. Tell me why I’m here. If you’ve just invited me here to tease me about my name…”
“No. Just my little joke, Violet. I asked you here to catch a ghost.” He wiggled his eyebrows.
“What?” She scratched the side of her chin.
“You have to help me find it, or rather,notfind any proof of it. That’s why I’m throwing a party.”
Violet rested her hands on her hips. “Explain.”
Uncle Edwin smiled. “I knew you’d be interested. All right. So I was at the club the other week, and I’d had a bit to drink—”
She raised an eyebrow.
“When old Charles Conway starts in about how he recently had a run-in with a ghost. A real, live ghost.”
Violet snorted. “Isn’t that a contradiction?”
His eyes narrowed a bit. “Anyone ever tell you nobody likes a bluestocking?”
She rolled her eyes. “Go on.”
“You see, old Conway said he’d heard from the local villagers that this old, Gothic pile was haunted, by a real-life spirit. Someold fraudster who read too many palms and killed herself, or had gotten killed, or something. How she died doesn’t matter. What does matter is that her ghost now roams the halls, and if she crosses your palm with silver, you’re doomed. She’s said to be a herald of doom of some sort. In any case, Conway visited the place and got frightened out of his wits. He says he met her and almost died of a heart convulsion, then ran out.”
“So you decided to prove him wrong.”
“Exactly! I bet him five hundred pounds that I could spend the night here and not see any trace of her.”
Her eyebrows rose again. “That’s a lot of money.”
“Just wait—it gets better. He said I’d do no such thing. She’s bound to appear and then I’d be so frightened, I’d pay him. So I decided what better way to prove him wrong than to throw a party?” Uncle Edwin grinned, evidently pleased with himself.
“So why am I here?”
“You’re my witness. And my right-hand woman. You and everyone else here are going to help me find the ghost, or lack thereof, and act as witnesses. And to sweeten the deal, because there is no such thing as ghosts, I’m going to pay each of my guests one hundred pounds to spend the night.”
Violet’s eyes widened. “One hundred pounds for a single night’s stay? That’s ludicrous.”
“I know. I don’t need the money—it’s winning the bet that matters. This will be an easy payout once I win over old Conway. So, are you with me?” he asked.
“I don’t really have a choice. Is that truly why you’ve asked me here? Who are these other people? Why not invite the family?”
He scratched his chin. “You’ve got a sensible head on your shoulders, Violet, as much as I like to tease you. I like your company. You’re a good, smart, young lady. But… I had another reason for asking you here.”
“Go on,” she said.
