“What do you mean, Uncle?” Violet asked.
“Well, I don’t mean to speak out of turn. You ladies may not wish to hear this, as it’s not for delicate ears. I wouldn’t want to disturb you all.”
“We are already disturbed, Mr. Griffin,” Mrs. Hemlock said. “Please do finish the story so that we might put an end to Miss Eagle’s witterings.”
Miss Eagle shot her a hurt look, which Mrs. Hemlock ignored. Miss Eagle’s servant frowned at the widow.
“Very well. You see… When a person dies, and forgive me for speaking so bluntly, but their soul leaves the body and their physical form decomposes. As a former member of theconstabulary, I have worked with doctors before and have seen the ravages of time on a body once it dies. It is not pretty.
“The peculiar thing about the homeowner’s predicament—his discovery, rather—was that when he found his former lover, she had been dead for some time. It had been summer when she’d passed, so in the heat of the summer and being in the attic, the rate of her body’s decomposition would have been hastened by the warm weather. The smell alone would have been his first clue that something was wrong.”
Mrs. Hemlock’s upper lip curled in disgust. “How utterly revolting.”
“So what was so peculiar, Uncle?” Violet asked.
“Well, only that he had heard her walking just moments earlier. He had seen her for days and weeks, watching him from afar but never close enough to touch. But when he found her body in the attic, she had been dead for weeks. Killed herself for having lost his love and affection. So you see, that means…”
“That it was not her visiting him at all, but her ghost,” Violet said.
Lightning flashed. Miss Eagle pointed at an object behind Violet, let out a little scream, and fainted, falling to the ground in a swoon. Her servant gasped.
“Oh, my god,” Mr. Ludlow said.
Mr. Fairbanks immediately knelt and tried to revive her. He patted her cheeks and put a small sofa pillow beneath her head. “Miss Eagle?”
Her servant fussed about her, gathering more pillows until Miss Eagle was propped up by three.
“Fetch some smelling salts,” Edwin told the manservant, who quit the room.
“She’s faking. Throw some cold water on her,” Mrs. Hemlock said.
Violet watched as Miss Eagle’s breathing rapidly became steady and even, and in a moment or two, her eyelids fluttered. “Oh, what happened? Did I fall?”
“You fainted,” Mr. Fairbanks said. “Are you all right?”
Miss Eagle accepted his hand and allowed him to help her sit up. “I am now, thank you. I don’t know what came over me. It was just… I saw the face of a woman staring at me from the window.” She pointed at the dark windows. “It was ghastly. Like a horrible spirit, staring. Her eyes made my blood run cold.”
The others glanced at the windows. Mr. Ludlow approached them and looked around. “There’s no one there. The rain’s too heavy—I can’t see a thing.”
“I don’t think there ever was,” Uncle Edwin said. “No doubt Miss Eagle has heard enough of the story and thought she saw something.”
“But I did, I did,” Miss Eagle said, her posture stiff as her maid helped her stand. “Honest, I did.”
“I believe her,” the servant said quietly.
Mrs. Hemlock cocked her head. “Well, of course you would. It’s what you’re being paid to do. But in my day, servants were not consulted on their opinions. Seen and not heard.”
The maid’s mouth withered as if she’d eaten a prune, but didn’t speak further.
Mrs. Hemlock smirked and crossed her arms beneath her chest, drawing the men’s gazes to her. “Whether you saw her or not is irrelevant, Miss Eagle. Mr. Griffin, am I right in thinking you want us to walk around this old house and find her and spook ourselves in the process?”
“That’s the sum of it, yes,” Edwin said.
“Well, I’m game. Count me in,” Mrs. Hemlock said. “I was going to have an early night, but this is much more exciting than lying in bed with a book.”
“You’ll play? Excellent,” Edwin said. “The story of the walking dead spiritualist hasn’t scared you too much?”
“Not at all. I love a cheap thrill,” Mrs. Hemlock winked at Mr. Ludlow.
