“Do hurry back.”
“Oh, I have no intention of lingering,” Grace stated dramatically. “A less welcoming place I’ve never been to in all my life!”
Caris watched her leave and then used that opportunity to remove her own borrowed black dress and hang it on one of the pegs to avoid it being further rumpled. Then she donned her wrapper, a slightly worn garment that had certainly seen better days. Then she unpinned her hair, whimpering at the release of it. The heavy mass had been piled up so high on her head for so much of the day that her neck and scalp ached from it. Rubbingher tender scalp for a few minutes helped to ease the worst of it. Then she carefully brushed the mass of blonde waves and fastened them in a heavy braid.
By the time she’d finished changing for bed and tidying up after herself, she realized that Grace should have returned long before then. A prickle of unease stole through her.
Opening the door, Caris peered into the hall but found it completely abandoned. Not simply empty but quiet in the way of something utterly deserted. That corridor was desolate in its emptiness. “Grace?” she called out softly.
There was no response. Nothing. The gas lamps along the wall flickered, casting only the dimmest of illumination over the painfully dark walls and carpet. It was as if they sucked in all the light and let none of it alleviate the unrelenting darkness. The memory of that brief flash of gray skirts teased her mind but she pushed it away. It was not the time for panic.
“Grace, are you there?” she called out once more. Only the sound of her own hushed voice echoed back to her.
Feeling unaccountably frightened and equally foolish, Caris stepped out into the corridor and moved toward the washroom located at the end. Every creaking board, every pop and snap of the house settling or the wind rattling the windows from outside had her shivering. When at last she reached the door to the washroom, she knocked softly. “Grace, this isn’t at all amusing. If you’re in there—”
She didn’t finish because the door opened abruptly. Standing in the open frame was none other than Viscount Grimsleigh, himself. “I can assure you, Miss Fortune, that your companion is not in here. The room was empty and the door ajar when I arrived a moment or two ago.”
Caris struggled to find words as she stared at the open neck of his shirt and the curiously bronzed skin beneath. He had long since discarded his coat, neckcloth, and waistcoat and now woreonly thin white linen and well-fitting trousers. “Grace left our room to come here more than a quarter hour ago and she has not returned.”
His expression went from amused to concerned in a flash. “Let me get a lamp that will, hopefully, provide better lighting than these blasted sconces. Then we shall search for her together.”
“That isn’t necessary,” Caris said. “I’m sure she’s returned to our chamber by now. Perhaps she missed our room and wandered farther down the corridor.” The suggestion fell hollowly because she did not believe it. From his slightly raised brow, it was clear that he did not either.
“Wait here,” he said. Then, “Or better yet, accompany me to my chamber… You need not enter. Simply stand in the doorway while I get the lamp. I don’t think it wise to separate. Hayton House is… peculiar.”
The proper thing would have been to refuse. After all, accompanying a gentleman to his bedchamber, regardless of the reason, was quite scandalous. But there was something in the way he’d paused before uttering the word peculiar. He’d seen something too, she realized. Regardless, she was less concerned with scandal in that moment than with the lengthening shadows that danced along the corridor. They felt, for lack of a better word, menacing.
“Where could she possibly have gotten to?” Caris murmured as they traversed the distance to his chamber. The house, built in a large U shape, meant that his room was just around the corner from their chamber. “Where are the others?”
“They are all in the east wing,” he replied. “And one floor below us. Those rooms have been redone in the last decade or so… and the lighting on those floors is significantly better.”
“Would she have wandered down there? I can’t imagine why,” she said.
He glanced at her as they paused outside his chamber door. “Miss Fortune—Caris—I very much fear that wherever your friend may be, she is not there of her own volition. This house—it’s full of dangers. Seen and unseen. Some of this world and some with far murkier origins.”
“Ghosts?” she demanded incredulously. He might as well have said the sun was the moon.
“I do not know,” he said. “I do not know what wanders the halls of Hayton House, but whatever it is, it has only the most ill intent.”
She wanted to deny it, quickly and vehemently. And yet something kept her quiet. Because whether Hayton House was inhabited by some otherworldly being, it was definitely filled with an ominous presence.
Chapter Six
Felix kept herclose enough that their shoulders brushed as they moved along the corridor. They peered into every unlocked room. They halted outside every locked door and listened, their ears pressed to the cold wood, straining to hear any sound from within. But the house, beyond their own hushed whispers, remained eerily and mockingly silent.
“We need to go to the next floor below. But if we do, the Denworthys will hear and they will know that we are together and they will know that Grace is missing,” Caris said.
“It is very possible that one of them, or all of them, already know,” he replied. It hadn’t escaped him that the Denworthys could very well have harmed Miss Burnham and could well intend to harm Miss Fortune and himself, as well. They were avaricious, immoral, and without even a hint of conscience. They would do anything that served their purpose—which was to prevent the contents of his aunt’s will from being made public. “We must find Mr. Fitzsimmons at once. He is in danger, as well. There are four people in this house who stand between those three jackals and what they ultimately want, which is the inheritance from my aunt.”
“When you say say ‘stand between them’… do you think that we are in mortal danger from them?”
“I do,” he said softly. “If we can locate Miss Burnham, the three of us and Mr. Fitzsimmons might do better to take ourchances on the heath. The rabble out there might want our purses, limited as they are, but in here… within these walls, we face far greater threats.”
She nodded. “Let’s go quickly then. The sooner we find Grace the sooner we can leave this terrible place… I never liked any of them, but I never imagined them capable of something like this.”
Creeping down the darkened stairs, clinging to the banister for support and guidance, they made their way to the next floor below. It was brighter, the gas sconces more effective with the lighter wall coverings. Not that it was any less macabre. Panel after panel was the repeated scene of a stag being stabbed with a spear. It was positively gruesome.
*
