Nods of farewell were then exchanged, which was all either of the parties could bear to offer each other at this point, and Hilda gestured that Amelia and Caleb should follow her out.
“Thank heavens, we’re finally getting out of this place,” Caleb whispered to Amelia as they headed back through the secret passageway. “Even if I catch pneumonia doing so, raincoat notwithstanding.”
Chapter Twenty
Ghosts are just the manifestation
of thaumaturgic energy. You should not
be afraid of them. You should be bloody terrified.
I, on the Past, Cornelius Ottersock
Hilda led themto another door some distance from the ladies’ salon, but upon cracking it open and peering through, she closed it again immediately.
“Sir Nigel is in his study,” she whispered to Amelia and Caleb. “You’ll need to go through the servants’ domain instead. Just keep your heads down and move quickly. Don’t let Grimshaw catch you, for God’s sake, or you’ll be sorry.” A few minutes later she tried another door, opening it warily. “All clear,” she whispered. “Good luck!”
“Thank you so—” Amelia began, only for her words to stumble, along with her feet, as Caleb pulled her across the threshold.
Once Hilda had closed the door behind them, he grumbled, “Please tell me that, next time you’re kidnapped, you won’t thank the person.”
“There is no circumstance in which one should surrender one’s dignity,” Amelia replied archly as she looked around the corridor in which they found themselves. It was not much wider than the one they had left, but bore the dignity ofradiant wall lamps, lemon-scented polish, and a well-swept floor. The noise of clattered dishes and jostling voices came from nearby. To their right was a door markedLinen; to their left, at the end of the corridor, a door stood half-open to what Amelia believed was the manor’s central hallway. She looked questioningly at Caleb—he shrugged—and with this discussion concluded, they proceeded toward the exit.
Suddenly, a footman appeared through an opening in the wall ahead of them, swinging an empty silver tray in his hand as he made for that same door. Amelia and Caleb stopped, holding their breath, but he had not noticed them. However, it had become clear that they would be forced to pass by the kitchen. Without a doubt, they were going to be seen.
There was nothing to do except keep moving. With a pace that tried to balance betweena casual strollandrunning like hell, they walked past the entrance to the kitchen, not daring anything more than a glance inside. A half dozen servants were sitting or standing casually around a long table, laughing as they watched one footman perform a scathing impression of Professor Throckmorton—“Brain? None!”—while employing a salt grinder as a pipe.
Amelia hastily clapped a hand over her mouth to repress a laugh of her own. But the movement attracted the attention of a chambermaid, and two seconds later everyone was staring at them, including a man at the head of the table who bore an uncanny resemblance to the butler, Grimshaw. He could surely not be Grimshaw, however, considering the way he slouched comfortably in his chair, wineglass in hand, face reddened from excessive laughter.
“Oi!” he shouted, proving his identity—for although thevoice lacked its usual funereal timbre, it still managed to send a chill through Amelia and Caleb. They immediately came to a halt, Amelia feeling half inclined to salute. After all, in England’s hierarchy of authority, only the Queen is superior to a butler (and even then, not to her own).
“What are you doing here?” Grimshaw demanded.
Caleb pointed first to himself then to Amelia. “Us?” he asked innocently.
“No, the horde of barbarians behind you,” Grimshaw quipped, then laughed again. It was the loose guffaw of a man well pleased with his own intelligence, despite not really having much of it. In response, the rest of the servants chuckled, but their expressions had tightened with what looked rather disconcertingly like nervous anticipation.
“We were looking for the drawing room and got lost,” Amelia said. “So sorry for interrupting your evening. We’ll just be on our—”
“Come in, join us!” Grimshaw urged with a sweeping gesture that almost had Amelia flinching before she understood that he was welcoming them. “We’ve got the good coffee in here! Sit down, sit down. I’ll tell you all about the history of Ravenscroft Manor. When I was a young man, things sure were different around this place!”
Perhaps he is Grimshaw’s twin, Amelia thought, bemused. Behind his back, two footmen with rictus smiles were shaking their heads urgently in warning. Several others peeled away from the group and began making themselves busy stacking dishes, dusting furniture, or moving candlesticks back and forth as if a difference of three inches were of vital importance. Grimshaw, noticing none of this, gestured again.
“Come on, you’ll be fascinated by some of the things I cantell you,” he enthused. “There was this time the prize ram got free from his paddock…”
Someone groaned. The two footmen were grimacing like they were in pain. Amelia now understood why Hilda had warned against getting caught by the butler. His dolorous manner was patently just an act, the truth of his character being something far worse:jocular. Indeed, as he prattled on about the absconding ram, a twinkle in his eye suggested that, at any moment, he might suddenly leap to the heights of old-man humor; i.e., removing his false teeth.
“Terribly sorry,” Amelia interrupted him, even as Caleb grasped her elbow and began tugging her along the corridor. “We are in a dreadful hurry. But we shall return with pen and paper as soon as we can, to take proper note of all your—” At which point, they were through the doorway, and Caleb shut the door firmly behind them.
“Right,” Amelia said briskly. She began to stride down the hallway with such a rapid pace that Caleb had to half jog to catch up. “We’ve missed apprehending Vanity in Staveley, but that’s no excuse to slack off. If we leave at once, we might be able to get a ride on a late-night freight train.”
“A freight train from Windermere,” Caleb said dubiously. “What will it be bringing, container loads of poetry books? Maybe we should hold off until morning.”
“No,” Amelia said, not so much an argument as a command. “Look, there’s the front door right ahead of us. I am leaving this housenow, while I have the chance.”
“Wait—Lady Ruperta mentioned raincoats.”
Amelia considered this, accepted it as an excellent point, but did not slow down. She had her momentum back and it would take more than raincoats to stop it.
