The party all stared at each other.
“Well, the servants’ rooms are up there, surely,” Violet said. “Isn’t that usually the case with these grand houses?”
“Yes. Yes, that’s right. But there’s only a small staff this weekend, as it’s a private house party,” Uncle Edwin said. “There shouldn’t be anyone in the attic.” He tugged at his cravat.
“I swear, Griffin, you belong on the stage,” Mr. Ludlow said. “What’s this nonsense, then? What are you so afraid of? Is it an obnoxious daemon or a pesky spirit lurking in the attic?”
Faces turned to Uncle Edwin, who poured himself a quick glass of brandy. He drank it all and letting out a gasp, set it down with a bit of a tremble. “There is the story old Conway told me… But it’s all nonsense, like you say. Ghosts don’t exist.”
“Tell us the story,” Mrs. Hemlock said, “and let us decide. I still don’t believe in ghosts, but I do love a ghost story.”
Mr. Fairbanks caught Violet’s eye. His eyebrows rose and she knew then that they were allies. A note of common sense, or shared intelligence, passed between them. It might only last for the duration of the party, but she felt unconsciously glad to have a friend.
Uncle Edwin leaned against the wall facing them. “The story goes… That not so long ago, and more recently than you might think, there was a woman, a fortuneteller, a spirit medium of sorts, who was the paramour of the owner of this house. Together, they would host little parties and invite anyone who wished to have their palm read and hear about their life. Apparently, she was very good.”
Miss Eagle gave an involuntary shiver. “I don’t like this.” She clutched her locket and edged closer to Mr. Fairbanks. Her maid stood in the corner and hugged her arms to her chest.
Violet glanced at her with slight annoyance and paid attention to her uncle, who said, “But after a while, her predictions were thought to be untrue, and rumors spread thatshe was a fraud. Her lover forsook her for another woman, and so she cursed him.”
“A curse? In this day and age?” Violet asked.
Mrs. Hemlock frowned as Mr. Fairbanks gave Violet a smile. “Come now, Miss Thorn. Surely, that’s the method of some spinsters today who cannot get their way.”
Violet rolled her eyes and ignored her. Mr. Fairbanks shot Mrs. Hemlock a dirty look, while Mr. Ludlow smirked.
Uncle Edwin cleared his throat. “Well, as it happens, this woman did curse him. He had scorned her, refused her, embarrassed her, and declared rather publicly that they were no more. I think he was embarrassed by the rumors and gossip that spread, so he decided to end their relationship. But she didn’t go quietly and instead began to pop up in strange places.”
“What do you mean?” Miss Eagle asked.
“Well. Places where he might be, like on his daily jaunt into town, he might see her standing there, watching him from across the road. Or in the shops, but she never came close enough for him to be sure. Once, he even saw her in the corridors here, by the guest rooms.”
Violet’s voice died in her throat. Her breath caught, and her right hand drifted to her throat. She swallowed nervously.
Mr. Fairbanks looked at her with slight concern, and she gave him a polite nod.
“So she followed him here, to the house,” Mrs. Hemlock said. “Rather bold of a spurned woman, wouldn’t you say, Miss Thorn?”
“I wouldn’t know, Mrs. Hemlock,” Violet said.
Mr. Ludlow cleared his throat. “I want to know more. So tell us, old boy. The woman appeared here on the grounds.”
“Yes. The owner of the house began to see her everywhere. Standing at the foot of his bed at night or walking the halls. She could even be seen in the attic at times, and if you are in theupper rooms and hear the floorboards creak when no one should be around, it’s her. Or so the story goes.”
Miss Eagle shivered. “I don’t like this. I don’t like this at all. Can’t we talk of something else?”
Mrs. Hemlock showed no sympathy. “Hush, Miss Eagle. If you do not like it, then amuse yourself some other way. I want to hear the rest of it. Continue, Mr. Griffin.”
“Very well. The owner began to go a bit mad, thinking he was seeing her everywhere, so he finally decided to confront his former lover. When he next heard her walking upstairs, he ran up to the attic to catch her, and there…”
Lightning flashed, exposing the anxious faces of the party. Thunder boomed and wind whistled as tree branches rapped against the windows like unwanted houseguests.
Uncle Edwin swallowed. “He found her—dead. She’d killed herself. Hung herself in the attic.”
A hush fell over the group.
“How horrible,” Miss Eagle said. “But why?”
“Love. She couldn’t have him, and he didn’t want her. But the funny thing was about her body.”
