“Who is Gabrielle Savoy?” asked Sophia as they gathered around the central hearth in the ballroom.
“Gabrielle Savoy was Monsieur Le Bleu’s fourth wife,” Mallory said. “Few have heard of her, because she is the only one who—”
“Got away,” said Axel.
She shot him an irate look.
He raised a challenging eyebrow.
“Precisely,” she said. “Unlike his first three wives, when Bastien tried to kill Gabrielle, she managed to outsmart him and escape. It was she who told her brothers that Bastien had attempted to murder her. Her brothers rushed to the country estate, dragged Le Bleu out to the fountain in front of the house, and proceeded to cut off his head.”
“Hear, hear!” said Louis.
“Some claim that to this day Le Bleu’s sinister laughter can be heard echoing through the halls of the mansion,” said Mallory. “And every year, on the anniversary of his death, the fountain where he was killed runs red with blood.” She took in their expressions—Sophia seemed horrified, Louis fascinated, and Axel… Well, if his frown was any deeper, it would be back in the cellar. “But the Saphir estate is quite far from here. We may not have wicked laughter and bloody fountains, but one death did occur in this house, and the ghost of Triphine Maeng often appears around the strike of…” Distantly, the clock tower beganto toll. Mallory could have gloated at the sound. Some nights her timing was immaculate. “… midnight.”
She deftly pressed her toe onto a hidden switch in the floorboard.
She heard the quiet click of the igniter. The logs on the fireplace burst into flame.
Sophia and Louis both cried out, jumping back so fast they nearly toppled over the settee behind them. Mallory and Axel also reared back—though her surprise wasn’t quite as genuine.
Triphine groaned. “Are we really doing this tonight? I honestly think we ought to—”
“The clock strikes midnight!” Mallory raised her voice and stared pointedly at Triphine. “And that is when the ghost of the duchess appears!”
Behind her back, Mallory reached for a cord hidden by a curtain. She pulled, setting off a series of weights and pulleys.
In response, the entryway door blew open, striking against the vestibule wall.
“What’s happening?” asked Louis, clutching his sister’s arm.
Triphine huffed an aggrieved sigh. “Fine.But after this, we need to have a talk.” With a bored expression, she paced among the group as she wiggled her fingers and muttered, “Shiver, shiver, shiver…”
The guestsdidshiver, each of them jumping at the uncanny sensation of a spirit passing through them.
Mallory reached for another lever and yanked it down.
Overhead, gears whirred and floorboards creaked.
“There!” Mallory pointed to the top of the staircase, as aghastly figure glided into view. A gauzy nightgown. A blue knit shawl. Black hair cascading down her back.
And blood. So much blood, dripping from the hole in her chest, soaking the front of her nightgown.
Mallory waited.
The ghost began to descend the steps. It stopped halfway down the staircase and said…
Nothing.
She shot a glare at Triphine, who groaned loudly. “I’m not in the mood for this tonight, Mallory.”
Bristling, Mallory cried out, “It is the duchess! And I think… I think she wants us to leave!”
Triphine slumped onto the settee, inhaled a deep breath and said—in her best ghostly impression—“Get out of my house, you scum-guzzling tourists.”She hesitated, before pointing at Axel and adding, “Except you. If you could stay behind, I’d rather like to speak with you.”
Not for the first time, Mallory wished that Triphine was corporeal so she could kick her.
“Great gods,” muttered Louis. “Did you hear that?”
