“If only it did with me,” Finn muttered.
She turned to him, about to ask exactly what he meant by his comment. But then Mrs Bloomfield drew her into a conversation with another guest, and she lost track of Finn.
After a little while, Camellia and Mrs Bloomfield excused themselves from the group, begging indulgence from the long day of traveling. Camellia hadn’t quite shaken the fright from seeing Hortense changed at the end of the tale. Finn’s comment actually made it worse. How could she laugh it off if he had seen something too?
Mrs Bloomfield was quiet, fatigue evident in her steps. She had seen nothing, and shouldn’t Camellia trust her old friend over a stranger?
“Mrs Bloomfield, how do you feel about the castle?” she asked.
“I’m glad we came. You’ve been more engaged here. Pardon the choice of words.”
“But the castle itself. What sort of feeling does it give you?”
“One of gratitude that I do not have to pay to heat it!”
“Oh, Mrs Bloomfield,” Camellia said. “Must you?”
“You’ve allowed a story to make you silly,” the older lady said. “Hortense told it well, but it’s just a story. What evidence do we have of ghosts? None at all!” They arrived at Camellia’s room. Mrs Bloomfield paused for a moment and looked her charge up and down. “You’re tired. So am I. You ought to get into bed immediately. When you wake up tomorrow, you’ll feel brand new. Stop all this mooning about.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Camellia said meekly, earning a gentle laugh.
Chapter 8
Mrs Bloomfield left her at the door. Camellia did follow her advice and prepared for bed. But she did not sleep well.
All through the night, she kept waking up. There was some sound in the castle, too faint and far away to hear clearly. As if someone was singing, perhaps. Once, she dreamed she got out of bed, walked to the mirror, and saw another woman reflected there…one with proud eyes and a powdered wig on her head, dressed in a fashion that was decades old. She wore a star-shaped beauty patch on her cheek, and she was laughing.
Camellia woke up, heart pounding, to find she was still in bed. She tossed and turned, waiting for sleep. The wind whistled and moaned around the castle walls, making sounds almost like voices. It took her a long time to drift off.
Despite her restless night, Camellia woke early. She was actually humming a tune as she awoke, and she broke off when she realized she didn’t know how it went. She still felt a little strange, but shoved the notion aside. The room was chilly, despite the fire already lit by a maid who’d slipped in earlier, and she knew she would never get back to sleep. She dressed in a simple morning gown of yellow striped wool, and wrapped a green shawl around her shoulders in case of a draft.
Though she craved something warm to drink, she didn’t go to the breakfast room immediately. Instead, she headed to the library. The Fitzgeralds had a fine collection of atlases. Perusing them might shake her out of her mood.
Naturally, the library was deserted at that hour. Sunlight streamed in through the narrow but tall windows, providing more than enough light. Camellia started with Egypt, as she was inclined to do. The activity made her feel much more like herself. She leafed slowly through a large folio holding several maps of the country, and lingered over a highly detailed one of Luxor. She wondered if there could possibly be so many marvelous monuments in one place. As she sighed out loud, a shadow fell across her.
“What are you reading?” It was Mr Ryder, as dashing as he’d been last night.
Camellia glanced up at him. “I’m not. That is, I’m not reading as such. It’s a map.” She waved her hand over the page a little helplessly. Words seemed to have deserted her.
His eyes were bluer than they had been the day before. But the amusement in his expression was still there. “Only a map?” he asked. “From your sigh, I thought the library must hold far more salacious materials.”
She flushed. “I did not sigh.”
“You did, in fact.” The way he looked at her made her flush deeper. “To be honest, I was rather jealous.”
Camellia looked away. “How could you be jealous of a travel book? You’ve been to places! You got to see the Continent!”
“It wasn’t exactly a grand tour,” he said, sinking down into the chair next to hers. A gentleman would never slouch like he was doing, but Lia couldn’t help but notice that the insolent pose suited him.
“Did you not like it?” she asked.
“Oh, I’d go back,” he said. “I’d go back in a heartbeat.”
“Was it beautiful?” she asked, eager to know from someone firsthand.
He looked far away. “It was hot. Dry, dusty. Or rainy and sticky with damp. But yes. It was beautiful. The coast of Portugal is astonishing, if you like long, lonely stretches of sea and sky.”
“Oh, I do! I mean, I think I would, if I did. See it, that is.”
