Page 8 of Mistress of Darkness

“I must wash this with a wet cloth, Miss,” she said timidly. “Nothing saving it but a do over.”

Although Frances glanced at her filthy clothes more than once, Gwen said nothing, not willing to give up her secrets to anyone but Robert.

“Frances,” she said suddenly.

“Yes, Miss?” Frances was biting her lip over the process of drying and pinning Gwen’s hair, concentrating hard on making each tendril perfect.

“Have you heard any noises?” Gwen asked neutrally. It wouldn’t do for the servants to start wondering if she’d gone insane.

“Noises, Miss?” She ran the comb through an errant curl in Gwen’s hair, frowning as the strand refused to comply. “I’m not certain I take the mistress’s meaning.”

Gwen noted that Frances refused to meet her eye, and pressed on, wondering if there was something that the maid was keeping from her.

“I’ve been hearing this…crying. It’s almost not audible at all but I believe I can make out the sounds of a moan and perhaps sobbing. It’s muffled, as if coming from a great distance.” She paused, watching Frances in the mirror. “Have you heard it?”

Frances stayed silent for a long time, but then said, “There are rumors, Miss.” Her fingers put the finishing touches on Gwen’s hair.

“Rumors?” Gwen prompted.

“Rumors about the ghosts, Miss, rumors about the hauntings, the Thornes, the hall…” She shrugged. “There are things that happen here that can’t be explained.”

Gwen decided to let the topic drop as Frances helped her into her evening dress. Nor did Frances utter another word. With the buttons at her back fastened, Gwen dismissed the young maid, and thought perhaps there was a bit more quickness in her departure.

That suited Gwen, since she was in a hurry herself. There was so much to tell Robert, and she knew that she had to remain hopeful that he might have something to tell her about Christopher. It was still possible that Christopher was simply delayed and that there might be word from him soon.

But even as she thought it, she knew it was wishful thinking, because she was not sure how much longer she could be in the same hall with Robert without confessing her fears—and her growing infatuation with the man she had once regarded as contemptuous.

But before she departed, in the pervading silence, Gwen listened carefully. There it was again—the distant crying. She could hear it only from the corner of her chambers near the dressing room. She had been over and over the nearby rooms, and now a secret passage, but she’d never found anything that would indicate the source of the crying. It was growing less frequent, as if the woman it belonged to was exhausted beyond measure. Then, as mysteriously as it had begun, it stopped. Though Gwen listened intently, nothing more came.

“Who are you?” she whispered. “Where are you?”

Was this one of the ghosts of Dredthorne Hall? Was it their aim to drive her mad? The curse could not possibly settle upon her if Robert was not the official owner of the hall, surely. Nor did she count as a woman staying overnight, one that would be killed before her first wedding anniversary. Certainly there could be no anniversary without a wedding. Yes, that was it. Even if there was a curse, it simply did not apply to her.

And ghosts? She’d been frightened by the chandelier incident, and many of the servants had been too. Since there’d been no evidence of sabotage, the old rumors of hauntings naturally surfaced. Yes, that would explain it.

She felt better, or at least she told herself that she did, and hurried downstairs to the makeshift dining room they’d set up in one of the living rooms. She found Robert waiting, a pleasant smile on his lips, as he held her chair for her. As she took her seat, she noticed that they were having salad rather than soup. She grinned at Robert as he sat down.

“The kitchen staff do take suggestions, you know,” he said. “So what have your explorations given us to talk about this evening?”

Though she’d wanted to draw out the tale and tease him with the ending, her excitement got the better of her.

“Actually I found a hidden passage in my dressing room. Behind a revolving door. It was quite dusty and full of cobwebs.”

He smiled a little. “Walking through a dusty passage with cobwebs, Gwen?” he said, chuckling. “Next time try something more plausible.”

“Actually, I was crawling,” she said, looking directly into his dark eyes. “It was even worse than all that. But I eventually came to find that it ends in the cook’s kitchen.”

He frowned. “You’re serious.” She nodded eagerly. “The cook’s kitchen? How strange. It would be shorter to go down the stairs if you truly needed to go to the kitchen.” He glanced in that direction, craning his neck. “Perhaps we should–”

There was a loud crack and Gwen give a little shriek, as Robert disappeared.

“Robert!” she cried, standing so quickly that she knocked her chair back. But as soon as she rounded the table, she found him. He was sprawled on the floor, his head not an inch from the stone hearth behind him.

“What in the name of…” he muttered as he got to his feet.

One of the footmen ran over to them. “Sir, have you been harmed?”

Robert dusted off his coat. “Not at all. It was just a little accident. You can see to the dinner.” Though the man looked worried, he bowed before retreating.