“Well,” Miss Pelham said, “eventually, on the floor below we should make you a proper suite, with a sitting room and quarters for your lady’s maid. But I suppose this room will do for a start.”
“I’m glad you like it.”
“Like it?” She linked arms with Izzy and squeezed tight. “I’m so pleased, I could squeal.”
Please. Please don’t.
“We have a hard day’s work ahead of us,” Miss Pelham said. “But tonight, we’ll have a proper bedchamber. We’ll plait each other’s hair. Dive beneath the coverlet and tell tales until an ungodly hour. Oh, this will be such fun.”
And it was fun, for an hour or two.
But in the end, that night was just like every other night of Izzy’s life.
Once again, she woke to darkness, her heart pounding with terror and her throat scraped raw.
Strange noises assailed her from all sides.
I am not alone, she told herself, struggling to master her breath. I have Miss Pelham here with me.
But she would feel much better if Miss Pelham were awake, too. Izzy tossed back and forth on the bed, hoping her movements would wake her companion.
When Miss Pelham didn’t stir, she moved on to direct methods. She laid a hand on the young woman’s shoulder and gave it a brisk shake.
Nothing.
“Miss Pelham. Miss Pelham, I’m sorry to disturb you. Please wake.”
The vicar’s daughter snored, once. Loudly.
But she did not wake.
Good heavens. Just before bed, she’d opined that she wasn’t afraid of ghosts. That good Christians had no reason not to sleep soundly. She hadn’t been joking about that sleeping soundly bit. The woman slept like a rock.
Which now struck Izzy as highly unjust. Had she been a bad Christian all her life? She didn’t attend church so often as she likely should, but she wasn’t precisely a heathen.
Although, to be fair, in the past twenty-four hours, she’d shamelessly kissed a duke and spent a great deal of time pondering the idea of . . . magnificence.
A distant wailing rattled her to the bones.
That was it. She was getting out of bed. That noise was definitely not her imagination.
Izzy shook Miss Pelham’s shoulder. “Miss Pelham. Miss Pelham, wake.”
“What is it, Miss Goodnight?” The young woman turned over lazily, hair mussed from sleep. It gave Izzy a small sense of satisfaction to see Miss Pelham with her hair mussed.
Then the moaning began again, and she lost all interest in coiffures.
“Did you hear that?” Izzy asked.
“I’m sure it’s nothing.”
“It’s a very loud nothing. Hush. There it is again.”
Miss Pelham frowned and listened. “Yes, I see what you mean.”
Thank God. I’m not going mad.
“What could it be? I’ve heard that there are wild cattle in the park, but that noise sounds much too close.”
They listened to it again—that low, broken howl.
Miss Pelham sat up. “A shepherd blowing his horn?”
“At this time of night? Over and over?” Izzy shuddered.
“Well, it’s not a ghost. I don’t believe in ghosts.”
“Neither did I until I moved in here.”
Miss Pelham sighed. “There’s only one way to find out. We’ll investigate.”
“Must we?” Izzy asked. “On second thought, I can live without knowing. Let’s just go back to bed.”
“You are the one who woke me, Miss Goodnight. I don’t think you’ll sleep well until we’ve put the mystery to rest.”
Izzy was afraid she’d say that. “Perhaps someone is just playing tricks on us.”
“It’s certainly possible.” Miss Pelham reached for her dressing gown. “I wouldn’t put it past the duke. No doubt he wants to lure us out of our bedchambers in our shifts. Be sure to close your dressing gown with a very tight knot.”
“He’s blind. How would he be able to tell?”
“He’d be able to tell.”
Yes, Izzy supposed he would.
Though Izzy wasn’t thrilled at the prospect of skulking through the castle at midnight again, she felt more confident knowing that Miss Pelham would be joining the sally.
Once they’d each knotted their dressing robes and donned boots, they lit candles. Izzy patted her pocket. Empty. Snowdrop must be out hunting or curled in her nest.
Lucky Snowdrop.
They took the stairs together, proceeding slowly in the dark. One after the other. Sometimes Miss Pelham would speed up and turn the corner before Izzy, and her figure and candlelight would drift from view. Then Izzy would hasten to catch up, sure she could feel ghostly fingers on the back of her neck.
“Do you see anything that way?” Miss Pelham asked, once they emerged into the corridor.
Izzy held the candlestick high with her right hand and peeked through the fingers of her left. “No.”
“Nothing to this side, either.”
The noise came again.
“Not to worry, Miss Goodnight. Old buildings like these make all sorts of strange sounds. No doubt it’s just timbers settling, or a door creaking back and forth on rusted hinges.”
Both those explanations sounded reassuringly plausible.
They emerged into the courtyard, and were nearly across it when an immense figure emerged from the shadows, stopping them in their path.
“Duncan,” Izzy gasped, pressing a hand to her thumping heart. “You scared us.”
The valet held his lamp aloft, illuminating the stark lines of his face. “What are you ladies doing out of bed?”
Once again, a keening howl rose up into the night, lifting every hair on Izzy’s arms with it.
“That’s what we’re doing out of bed,” she said.
“What can it be?” Miss Pelham asked.
Duncan shook his head. “Likely cats wailing or foxes having a fight. Whatever it is, I’ll scare it off. You ladies should return to your chamber.”
“We’re coming with you,” Izzy said.
They’d ventured this far. She’d rather face whatever it was with Duncan present than make that walk back to their chamber alone.
“Really, Miss Goodnight. It’s not—”
Before he could finish his warnings, Miss Pelham shrieked and pointed. “A ghost!”
A white, filmy apparition came streaking out of the tower. It writhed and howled, twisting its way across the courtyard like a wraith.
It wasn’t a ghost.
It was Magnus.