Page 8 of The Secret of the Three Fates
Mr. Owen muttered something that sounded a lot likeinsufferable besom,the edge of his mouth curving up in a hint of a smile. Perhaps all would be well if he was hurling affectionate aspersions at me again.
I turned back to the marble monument where a woman’s profile had been lovingly carved in relief. Her delicate stone features almost glittered in the night. The craftsman who’d made this had been a master, capturing every detail with an uncanny reality. A work like this must have cost a fortune to have commissioned. I glanced down at the damaged plinth, where the plate had been hastily removed.
“Forgive him, Miss Vaughn.” Captain Lennox stood shoulder to shoulder beside me, studying the woman’s lovely face. “My uncle, he is… well, suffice to say the men in my family tend to be temperamental even at the best of times. I’d best see that he makes it back to the castle in one piece.”
I remained by the obelisk watching the two men disappear into the darkness before turning back to the marble bas relief, running my fingers over the woman’s finely chiseled face.
“I suppose you aren’t going to enlighten me either, are you?”
But the stone woman kept her silence.
CHAPTERFOURMedium Trouble
Ilingered in the garden debating the existence of ghosts until I began to lose feeling in my toes. Six weeks before, I’d refused to countenance anything that reason and science could not explain away—but now I couldn’t help but question my own perceptions. Tonight I saw a woman possessed. There was no other explanation for what had occurred at Manhurst.
Ghostswerethe reasonable explanation. Somehow whatever spirit the old medium summoned filled her body like an empty vessel. But for what purpose? I thought back, retracing every second of the séance, my thoughts lingering upon the way the medium’s body seemed to be seeking someone.Something.Her words rattled around in my head until they became nonsense. Meaning little more than a drumbeat of sounds and syllables.
There is nowhere on earth you can hide from the dead…
And why did the spirit seem to speak directly to me? I shrugged the thought away, hugging the borrowed jacket tighter around my body as I hurried back to the castle. This was a problem for another day—and preferably by then we’d be gone and the vengeful ghosts could sort out their own problems—without me.
It was well past ten when I returned to Manhurst throughthe rear doors. Word of the terrifying séance must have spread quickly, as I didn’t encounter another soul on my way up the stairs to where Mr. Owen’s and my rooms were situated. Just as I reached the landing, I heard angry voices coming from ahead, followed by the slamming of a door. The dreadful man from the séance turned the corner and scowled at me, looking evenmorevenomous than when he’d accused Mr. Owen of murder hours earlier.Malachi.That was what Mr. Owen had called him.
I straightened my spine, not about to be cowed by such an unpleasant person. But before I could say a word, he pointed a gnarled finger at my chest. “If you know what’s good for you, lass, you’ll leave this place before you end up likeher.”
Her?What on earth was he going on about? I opened my mouth to ask but he didn’t slow his pace, slamming into my shoulder with his own and continuing down the stairs, causing me to grab on to the banister to keep my balance.
Good God, what had gotten into everyone?
I gaped after Malachi’s retreating form, debating whether to succumb to my temper and give him a piece of my mind, or go check on Mr. Owen. I settled upon the latter, as I was too damned tired to quarrel with strangers.
As I neared Mr. Owen’s door I heard more voices coming from inside.
He wasn’t alone.
I paused, pressing my ear against the wood, struggling to make out the voices within, but they remained hushed. Perhaps it was Andrew Lennox? Thatwouldmake sense as he’d followed Mr. Owen back to the house earlier. I waited for several minutes there—cheek pressed to the wood like a child at Christmas—but there were no shouts. No angry words.
As things seemed to be settled with Mr. Owen for the night, it would be the sensible thing to go to my room, draw a bath, and get some sleep. I could deal with whatever ramifications camefrom the séance tomorrow with a clear head. However, there was a raw energy in my body—a dare-I-say excitement—that I hadn’t felt since leaving Cornwall.
I had a puzzle here at Manhurst Castle, one that could only be solved by speaking with the Three Fates.
MY SEARCH FORLucy Campbell, the oldest medium, led me to the old family wing of the castle. A far cry from the garishly redesigned modern area where the guest rooms were situated. The walls here were simple stone rather than plaster, and hung with thick tapestries faded from years of use. The narrow corridor smelled vaguely damp, mildew pricking at my nose. Lucy’s room was supposed to be ahead. The third door on the right—or so my well-paid informant said.
I wet my lips and paused before knocking, counting the seconds. One. Two. Three.
No answer.
I knocked again.
Lucy had last been seen heading back to her room for the night a half hour past, but evidently she was no longer here. I glanced down the empty corridor before trying the handle.
It was unlocked.
I nudged the door open with my toe. “Hello?” Not that I expected anyone to answer, but it would give me the thinnest veneer of an excuse should anyone be inside.
The medium’s room was far smaller than the guest rooms on the floors below, with spartan furnishings of good quality from the last century: a sturdy bed and a rosewood dresser with a matching wardrobe. A pitcher of fresh water and a bowl sat on the dressing table awaiting her return.
The room was perfectly ordered and perfectly empty with the faintest trace of verbena in the air.
