“Mrs. Hemlock, that was uncalled for,” Mr. Fairbanks said.
“Oh, my, I’m sorry. My mouth runs away from me sometimes. You will forgive me, won’t you, Miss Thorn?” Mrs. Hemlock’s voice was syrupy sweet and her brown eyes seemingly sincere. Far too sincere.
“Of course, think nothing of it,” Violet uttered with stiff politeness.
Mrs. Hemlock simpered and looked at Mr. Ludlow. “Well, I’m not going out again in that rain. I traveled hours to get here. I’ll take myself to bed and collect my money in the morning, thank you.”
“You are very welcome to do so,” Uncle Edwin said, “But you’ll miss out on all the ghost-hunting.”
Mrs. Hemlock waved a hand airily. “As ghosts don’t exist, I doubt I’ll miss much.”
“Well, I don’t want to stay. I want to go home,” Miss Eagle pouted. “Ghosts or not, I don’t like it here.”
“Very well. I’ll call the servants to prepare your things.” Uncle Edwin crossed the room and pulled the bell pull.
In moments, a servant appeared, looking a bit damp and disheveled. “Yes, sir?”
“Miss Eagle won’t be staying.” Uncle Edwin turned to the lady’s maid, who looked up from her knitting. “You’ll need to pack up her things. She’ll leave within the hour.”
“Yes, sir.”
Miss Eagle went to supervise the packing of her bags whilst the others chatted amongst themselves. Lightning flashed outside, great, bright flashes that lit up the dark evening sky.
“It’s miserable weather, this,” Mrs. Hemlock declared. “I’d be rethinking my decision to go if I were Miss Eagle.”
Thunder boomed outside, and Miss Eagle and her maid came downstairs to say goodbye. Miss Eagle wore a pretty straw bonnet and her beige traveling cloak. As she curtsied to them all, a manservant knocked and entered the room.
“Yes, what is it?” Edwin asked.
The servant looked harried and glanced at the others, then the windows outside. “Begging your pardon, sir, but the bridge has washed out. It’s like a lake out there. There’s no way the driver can see to drive the horses safely. It’s not safe to travel.” He looked apologetic.
“You mean…”
“No one’s going anywhere,” Uncle Edwin said as lightning flashed through the window behind him.
Chapter Three
In that flashof lighting, Violet surveyed her fellow party’s faces. Mr. Fairbanks’s brow was furrowed, Mr. Ludlow pursed his lips, whilst Mrs. Hemlock’s snide smile had disappeared. Miss Eagle looked dismayed and bit at her nails. Her maid’s hand darted to her mouth.
“No! No,” Miss Eagle said. “That’s not possible. It’s just a little rain.”
“I’m sorry, miss, but it’s not safe. We couldn’t risk it,” the servant said. “I’ll tell the other one.”
“What do you mean?” Edwin asked. “What ‘other one’?”
“Your other guest, sir. The one who’s poking around in the attic.” The servant blinked rapidly.
“What?” Violet stared. “There’s someone else here?”
“No, there isn’t,” Uncle Edwin said. To the servant, he said, “Explain yourself. If this is a joke, it is in poor taste.”
The servant looked from one guest to another. “I don’t know what you mean, sir. There’s the other guest of yours, the woman in the attic.”
“There is no other guest,” Mr. Fairbanks said. “We are the only guests here, all of us in this room.”
“Then…” The servant grew quiet. His eyes darted from guest to guest.
“Who is in the attic?” Mrs. Hemlock asked.
