Ginny’s fingers gripped her woolen cloak in a tightly clasped fist. “What do you think you are doing?” she demanded in a whisper.
“I want answers. Now let go.” Lorelei snatched her cloak from Ginny’s hold and stepped across the threshold. “Either come in or stay out, but close the door,” she whispered.
Lorelei ignored her friend’s frustrated huff, aware of Ginny quickly following. She shut the door quietly.
A candelabra illuminated a shallow but luxurious entry hall of marbled floors and walls papered in elegant cream. Lorelei ran her hand over a straight-backed chair next to a receiving table poised near a grand staircase, most likely leading up to the first level. She wondered where Miss Hollerfield’s “bedchamber of sin” was. With a disgusted sniff, Lorelei tiptoed over to a door that was slightly ajar, a renewed fire blazing through her.
She peered into what was a large parlor, the very same room she’d witnessed her husband in the night before. She absconded with one candle from the candelabra and strolled into the room, a lavish space that showcased crown moldings and elaborately carved woodwork. Heavy drapes now covered the windows Lorelei had stood beneath. Most shocking were the white dust cloths covering the furnishings.
The door closed as silently as it had opened, startling her. A second later Ginny was breathing down her neck. “Oh my. I suppose if I should have to sell my body, I should come to Miss Hollerfield for advice.”
Lorelei was forced to agree, she thought, compressing her lips. It was clear Miss Hollerfield did not suffer from a lack of funds. Just whose funds kept her in such elegance was what made Lorelei's blood boil.
“Quick, someone’s coming,” Ginny said.
Her whisper blew out the flame. She tugged Lorelei behind what was most likely the settee. They dropped down. Not easy in snugly tied corsets.
“Clear out the remaining stores for Stephen. He should have been back hours ago. You know how particular Miss Hollerfield is.” The voice was matronly. Decisive. “She said they don’t need no food where her and Miss Corinne are going.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Pack the bed linens. Do it right, mind ye.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Sturdy steps echoed off the wood in the entry hall, gaining ground toward the parlor. The steps paused. “Who the devil took one of the candles—”
Lorelei cringed.
But lighter running footsteps interrupted the woman’s diatribe. “What the—”
“There’s been a murder,” a voice, young and breathless, panted.
“It’s ’bout time ye got back. Ye know we gots much to do?”
“Yes, ma’am, I know, ma’am.”
“Now, slow down. What’s all this malarkey ’bout murder?”
“They’re sayin’ the pa of Miss Hollerfield’s babe was found dead.”
The mewling sound of a hurt animal pierced the room. Ginny’s hand pressed over Lorelei’s mouth. A crack of thunder rocked the house.
“What was that?”
“Thunder, ma’am.”
Shocked silence filled the hall, except for the rampage of rain that crashed against the windows. Lorelei’s head pounded offbeat from the deluge outside.Thorne, dead?Spots swam before her eyes. The words pricked her brain in staccato succession:Dead. Dead. Dead.Dead.
“Enough of yer tall tales, Stephen. Get to the kitchens and finish up with ye. And not a word t’ anyone ’bout this, ye hear?”
“But—”
“But nothin’, I tell ye, git! Same to you, Mary. We need to be on our way. Finish up with them linens.” She snapped her fingers and feet clopped on the stairs, fading away.
“Come,” Ginny whispered. “We must get out of here.”
Lorelei looked at her, confused, the words not registering. Ginny grabbed her shoulders and shook her. Hard.
