Page 79 of Evidence of Evil
And immediately she saw the ghost for what it was—a very thin bedsheet with moth holes, draped over a tall, Grecian-style lamp as a makeshift dust sheet.
“Nothing,” she said shakily. At least she could keep her voice as low as his.
“Nothing over there either.” He moved on, keeping with her now, as though he sensed her reasonless dread.
Or perhaps he felt it too. Would one ever know with Solomon?
Steadied, she realized now that every surface was covered with the dust of years. They were probably leaving footprints on the floor. Nothing seemed to have been moved or added since before the family went to India. And there was certainly no comfortable, cozy love nest like the one they had found in Greenforth Manor this summer.
“Nothing,” she murmured. “Why is there nothing? Are we wrong?”
“Wrong about the Grange, I think. Unless you want to search the coal cellar.”
“The wine cellar is a possibility. Darby would like that.”
“But would Frances have liked Darby?”
“I don’t think she liked any of them. Except perhaps Humphrey. She was lost.”
He nodded as though he understood, which he probably did. In his own way, he had been lost too since his twin brother vanished.
She shuddered. “Let’s get out of here.”
Obediently, he led the way back to the staircase. As soon as she closed the door on the attic, a weight seemed to fall from her shoulders. Even the small click of the latch only made her smile. They had been lucky this far. Why should that change?
From John’s bedchamber came the sound of movement, perhaps of him turning over in bed. Hopefully. How embarrassing to be caught by him for the second time, creeping uninvited about his home.
Perhaps that should have made her feel guilty. She was too eager to get out and move on. Though to where?
It came to her quite suddenly.
Sarah Phelps.
If her animals were not sick or giving birth, why would she sleep in the cold barn?
Without meaning to, Constance increased her pace, hurrying on to the main staircase and all but running down.
Above, a bedchamber door opened, and she glanced back instinctively. She missed her footing on the next step, coming down too heavily and going over on her ankle. Pain shot through her, and she bit her lip in an effort to muffle her involuntary gasp.
“Papa?” came John’s voice from above. “Is that you?”
Solomon swept an arm around her waist, lifting her entirely off the ground. She felt herself fly through the air, heard rather than felt the thud of his landing. Apparently they were favoring speed over silence now.
She felt like a sack of potatoes under his arm, and it made her want to laugh, even past the pain that screamed through her ankle. Solomon bolted across the hall, through the baize door to the kitchen, almost in a blur. He had to let her go to pull back the bolts and unlock the door at the same time.
She hobbled after him in agony, but this time, as soon as the door was closed behind them, he picked her up like a baby in both arms and ran. He jumped the herb garden wall like a horse, and she reached down and grabbed the unlit lantern they had left there.
His breath of laughter vibrated through her, and she couldn’t prevent her own responsive giggle. Hastily, she muffled it in his shoulder. He ran until they reached the cover of the trees, then paused to glance back at the house.
No lights were obvious. She hoped they had not been seen, although surely John would realize there had been an intruder. Even if he assumed it was his father and went back to bed, the servants would see in the morning that the back door was unlocked and unbolted.
“Oh well,” she murmured philosophically. “You can put me down now, though I might have to hop.”
“Wait.” He carried her farther through the trees, probably until he could be sure there was no pursuit. His arms felt too good around her, strong and firm, though his grip was unexpectedly gentle. She hated feeling helpless as a rule, but she didn’t hate this at all. She inhaled his familiar, distinctive scent of spice and sandalwood, soaked up his warmth, his nearness, his sheer masculinity.
You poor, silly fool of a woman. Pull yourself together.
He halted and bent, depositing her gently on the ground. Her breath caught and she grasped her bottom lip between her teeth.
