Everyone went deathly still. An elderly gentleman hadappeared among them as if by sorcery. Dressed in a funereal black suit, with a few thin strands of hair clinging to existence across the otherwise bald dome of his head, he stood a little crookedly, his shoulders stooped as if the weight of the entire world rested upon them. And yet he exuded an authority such that he could only have been a king or a butler. His white gloves and fob watch suggested the latter, but the look in his small dark eyes was profoundly regal.
Which, again, suggested he was a butler.
“Welcome to Ravenscroft Manor,” he said in a dolorous voice. “May I presume that you are the experts sent to evaluate Sir Nigel’s antiques collection?”
“We are, indeed,” Amelia replied. “Good evening. I am Professor Tarrant and these are my colleagues, Professor Sterling, Miss Tunnicliffe, and Sergeant Sheffield. I believe you have already met Professor Throckmorton.”
She spoke with impeccable manners, not a single vowel out of place, and yet Throckmorton reddened as if she’d denounced him outright as a villain.That’s my girl,Caleb thought proudly. Then he was the one to redden as the words echoed in his heart.My girl, my girl…mine.
Good God, was he becoming delirious as an early symptom of pneumonia?!
“I see you are rather wet,” the butler noted in a manner other people used when sayingI see you have the plague. “And you must be exhausted after your long journey. We will establish you in bedrooms, where you can dry off before having the honor of meeting Sir Nigel and Lady Ruperta at dinner.”
Ah, so it was going to be like that. The people with doctorates awarded after years of mastering complex skills were to begraciously allowed—probably just this once, as a special treat—into the august presence of those whose superiority rested on their blue blood and weak chins.
“Cheers,” Caleb said, careful to keep bitterness from his voice.
“Thank you,” Amelia added nicely.
“Oh!” Vanity exclaimed, hands fluttering. “Oh!”
Everyone stared at her in bemusement, but she did not notice, instead pointing dramatically up the staircase that led to the second floor. “A ghost!”
As one, the historians turned to look. A figure in diaphanous white swept away from the landing, disappearing into the shadows. Glancing at Amelia, Caleb raised one eyebrow; she shrugged in reply.
“Dinner is at seven,” the butler intoned, as if this distraction had not occurred. He went to leave, but Vanity cried out, stalling him.
“But wait, Mr.—Mr.—”
“Grimshaw, ma’am,” he supplied.
“There was a ghost, Grimshaw!” she reiterated, gesturing again to the upper landing with such vigor, her bracelets clattered.
“Do not be late for dinner,” the butler replied. “Lady Ruperta would be most displeased.”
Chilling the atmosphere again with those last two words, the miniature winter that was Grimshaw shuffled away, and the footmen promptly swooped in. Taking charge of all the suitcases, they led everyone upstairs, where the landing proved haunted now by nothing worse than a taxidermied elk’s head on the wall, its horns thick with dust. Throckmorton, Sheffield,and Vanity were guided to the left, down a long, creaking corridor lined on either side with stacks of books. Caleb and Amelia went right.
For a wild, pulsing moment, Caleb imagined there had been a miscommunication, resulting in them being given one room that contained only one bed. But to his absolute, definite relief, two rooms were provided, directly opposite each other. A footman accompanied Caleb into one, deposited his luggage on the floor, provided directions to the nearby water closet, then loitered in meaningful silence.
Caleb got the hint. “Much obliged,” he said, and grabbing a random number of coins from his trouser pocket, he tipped the fellow what proved to be ten shillings, by which time it was too late to take it back. With effusive thanks, the footman literally bowed out, closing the door behind him. Excited murmurs could be heard from the corridor, where he was no doubt telling his colleague what a fabulously generous chap the handsome professor was.
Sighing wearily, Caleb brushed back his sodden hair and turned to inspect the room.
Ten seconds later, he was knocking on Amelia’s door.
“Meely,” he whispered through the wood paneling. Then noticing that the two footmen walking away down the corridor were glancing back at him curiously, he smiled and waved with a show of blithe innocence. The moment they disappeared around the corner to the stairs, he knocked again.“Meely.”
The door cracked open and Amelia appeared in the narrow space, her expression so beautifully serene Caleb knew he’d irritated her. “Yes?” she asked.
“My room is creepy,” he complained.
“Spiderwebs? Rotting floorboards?”
“Orange and pink wallpaper,” he said. “And there’s a cushion made to look like a hedgehog.”
“Poor boy,” she sympathized, but alas did not offer to console him with a hug. “My room appears to have a ghost.”
Instantly, cute cushions were forgotten as professional excitement rushed into Caleb’s heart. (After all, he might be good-looking, witty, debonair, and modest, but he was also a brilliant academic.) “Really? Can I see?”
