“Before we begin…” Warwick, seated by the fireplace, thumped his cane on the floor. “I’d like my trunk placed in one of the upstairs chambers.”
Gasping, Levi clapped his hand over his chest and staggered backward. “Have you reconsidered your decision to grace me with your delightful personality?”
Warwick scowled. “If you stay, then I stay. We will haunt your manor together.”
“Agreed.” Levi inclined his head. “Shall we relocate to the ballroom? We’ll need more space than the parlor provides.”
“Not the conservatory?” Mansfield asked, his forehead wrinkling.
“Can you imagine squeezing all of us into the gazebo?” Levi replied, widening his eyes. “We’d spill over the sides once that concoction in the mortar is lit.”
“It is quite pungent,” Mansfield snorted, exiting the parlor.
While the party trooped to the ballroom, Grisham and Beaufort transported Warwick’s trunk to the upstairs bedroom beside Levi’s, then rejoined the group as they formed a loose circle in the center of the ballroom floor.
Mansfield set the mortar in the middle of them and touched the flickering flame of a candlestick to the dried herbs. A burst of heat exploded from the stone bowl, followed by the soft crackling of the ingredients as the fire consumed them.
One long, thin line of light gray smoke twisted toward the ceiling. Setting down the candlestick, Mansfield lifted the black, leather-bound book from the floor and flipped through the pages, searching for the incantation.
“Would everyone join hands?” he said, raising his head and looking around the circle.
Nervous laughter accompanied his request, but each person grasped the hand of their neighbors, closing the circle around Mansfield.
He cleared his throat, then read the first line of the ritual aloud.
Nothing happened.
Frowning, Mansfield read the second line, placing a great deal of inflection on the words. The smoke fluttered as though affected by an unseen force, then resumed its previous swirling pattern. Miss Venning gasped and dropped her hold of Miss Drummond’s and Miss Wilmington’s hands.
“Don’t let go!” Mansfield admonished, his barked command causing Miss Venning to pale.
She nodded, worrying her lower lip, and reclaimed both ladies’ hands.
Mansfield read the next few lines in quick succession; however, no other strange event occurred. Glowering at the smoking bowl, he snapped the book closed.
“Did it work?” Warwick asked, breaking the silence.
“There’s only one way to know,” Mansfield replied, bending and collecting the candlestick. “We need to investigate the house.”
A smattering of nervous giggles met his comment.
“We’ll divide into three groups.” He pointed to his left. “Roxburghe, Miss Webb, her lovely sister, and… Beaufort. Investigate the conservatory, the kitchen, and the servants’ quarters.”
Beaufort scooted beside Miss Fernsby-Webb and nudged her arm. “You’ll protect me from Mr. Philbert, won’t you?”
She laughed, the pale color ebbing from her face. “I’m not certain what you expect me to do should that occur.”
“Scream and run, dear lady,” he said, then winked. “I’ll be directly behind you.”
“Grisham,” Mansfield said with an eye roll, “Miss Philbert, Lennox, and Miss Rowe, would you search the second-floor chambers?”
“That leaves Warwick and I?—”
“Solely you,” Warwick said, a flash of pain sliding across his face. “I will wait in the parlor near the fireplace.”
“Aren’t you frightened?” Miss Venning asked, stepping away from Miss Drummond, who still clutched her hand. “To be alone, that is.”
“I’ve met Mr. Philbert’s ghost twice before.” Warwick stabbed his cane into the floor. “If he hasn’t claimed me by now, I doubt he will.”
