“You cannot think—” The words stuck in Zeb’s throat. He stared at the bloody sacrificial stone, the steady dripping. Eight pints in a human body, he vaguely thought. That was a bit more than a jeroboam.
Jessamine’s mouth turned down at the corners, like a child about to cry. “I don’t know. Zeb, I’m frightened.”
“We need to get inside. Right now.Now, Jessamine.” Not that inside felt a great deal safer, but he did not want to be out here, inthe mist, unable to see more than a few feet, with God knew who lurking, listening, following them. “Come on. Quick.”
“You believe me,” Jessamine said on a breath. “You do, don’t you?”
“I believe there’s a man whose whereabouts are currently unaccounted for,” Zeb said grimly. “He may be perfectly well—apart from the malaria, of course—but I should like to assure myself by seeing him. And, beyond that…”
Beyond that, someone had set out to terrify Jessamine, and that meant, when he got out of here, he needed to take her with him. He couldn’t just flee and leave her to whatever hellish imagination had conceived this tableau.
Actually, now he thought of it—
“Beyond what?” Jessamine asked. “What were you going to say?”
“Uh—” Train of thought entirely derailed, Zeb tried to remember what he’d been talking about. “Just that this all seems to me like a very unpleasant prank.”
“Prank?Can you not see—”
“This isn’t ghosts, Jessamine, it’s people,” Zeb said over her. “Someone is playing the fool here. Trying to frighten you, trying to make you believe nonsense. It’s cruel and very peculiar, and it needs a stop putting to it.”
He strode back to the house, Jessamine hurrying at his side. They came into the hall, and as they were divesting themselves of damp coats, Zeb heard Wynn.
“Zebedee!”
Zeb turned and saw him, with Gideon looking decidedly tense at his side. “Wynn. I wanted to speak to you.”
“And I to you. I made myself very clear yesterday, Zebedee. Nobody is to venture onto the moors while the mist remains. I will not risk my people, do you understand? Your wishes are nothing to their safety—their lives, even. I told you that in so many words and gave you my refusal, yet now I find you have been playing upon my secretary to have your way. What makes you think you can overrule me in my house? What right have you to countermand my orders?”
Zeb felt the colour rush to his face. Wynn’s tone of angry rebuke was all too familiar, and it gave him the sick, crushed feeling in his stomach of finding himself in the wrong, again, as always.Idle, irresponsible boy, why don’t you ever learn? When will you grow up?
He opened his mouth in automatic response to stammer some sort of apology, and Gideon cleared his throat. One single sharp cough, that was all, but it was enough.
Gideon was not impulsive or irresponsible or credulous. Gideon was sure there was something wrong in this house. Gideon was standing right there, and Zeb was absolutely not going to fold in front of him.
Also, some bastard had put spiders in his room, so if anyone had a right to be outraged, it was Zeb.
“Where’s Dash?” he said.
Wynn’s head went back. “What has that to do with anything?”
“Colonel Dash. Where is he?”
“He is suffering a malarial attack.”
“I saidwhere.”
Wynn scowled. “He is unwell, and this is hardly the point.”
“It’s my point. I want to see him.”
“I am speaking of your behaviour. What makes you think you can have your way with my secretary at your pleasure?”
Oh, that’s nice, Zeb thought. He was probably supposed to panic at that, and wonder what Wynn knew. In the corner of his eye, Gideon looked superlatively blank.
“If you don’t like how I conduct myself, Wynn, I suggest you order the motor and I’ll go,” he retorted. “But before that, I want to see Dash and assure myself he is well.”
“He isnotwell. He is far too ill for visitors.”
