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“What shall we do?” Mrs. Bascomb asked. “The master’s forbidden us to go there.”
“But he’s not forbiddenme,” Alice said.
“On no, Mrs. Trelawney, ma’am! You cannot go in your condition!” Mrs. Bascomb cried.
“I feel fine,” Alice said. “A walk will do me good, and it’s not far.”
“At least take Jacob with you,” Mrs. Bascomb said. “You’ll go with the mistress, won’t you Jacob?”
Alice shook her head. “No, you must both stay here and search the house in case Twinkle returns. It’s no further than my regular walks. I can be there and back in less than an hour. And I’m not afraid of Mr. Scrimgeour. Jacob, give me the lantern.”
The two servants exchanged resigned glances. They knew enough of their mistress by now to understand that she wouldn’t take no for an answer. Which was just as well, for she didn’t have time to argue.
*
Snow had begunto fall again, settling on the ground, glistening in the moonlight and covering the pawprints. Soon they’d disappear altogether.
Alice raised the lantern and cried out.
“Twinkle!”
Her voice disappeared into the wind and she forged ahead, following the trail.
Boscarne House loomed up in the distance, a dark shape which seemed to absorb what little light there was. Alice shivered—though not from the cold. A faint light flickered in an upper floor window, giving the impression of a soulless eye frowning out across the landscape.
Alice slipped through the gate into the stableyard. With luck, the owner was inside the house, indulging in in his solitary existence, and he’d never know about the trespassers.
The wind gave a low howl and a shiver of fear rippled through her body. It almost sounded like…
The howl rose up again and her blood froze.
It wasn’t the wind. Neither did it sound human. She raised the lantern, but there was nothing there, only the squat rectangular shape of the stables.
Foolish woman!
Alice scolded herself. Rumors of ghosts had ignited her imagination, already made overactive by her pregnancy. Hadn’t Ross chided her for it, only last week?
The pawprints led to the stable entrance, and relief washed over her.
“Twinkle!” she called. “Come here, girl!”
She picked up the pace.
Another wail rose up, from inside the stables—a cry to curdle the blood, full of pain and despair.
A cry from beyond the grave.
“Ahh…cursed…cursed!” a voice wailed in a low, warbling tone.
Shaking, Alice clutched the lantern and approached the stables, then her heart skipped a beat as she heard a familiar whine.
Twinkle!
The defenseless little creature was alone, in the stables, with whatever resided there.
“Why?” the voice wailed. “Why can you not free me from the curse?”
Footsteps shuffled inside the stables, then the voice cried out again—this time, much closer.
