Mrs.Digby’s bark of laughter took her by surprise.“Not a delicate flower.Good.”She waved a weathered hand and gestured at a sofa facing the large windows.“Come, sit.Tea will be here soon.”Only as Sophia bent to sit did she notice another woman dozing in the matching armchair on the other side of the fireplace, her chair turned away from the view out the window.Deep in shadow, the only details Sophia could make out were the woman’s grey gown and a cloud of grey hair escaping from a bun on top of her head.
After a maid delivered the tea tray, Sophia and Mrs.Digby spent a few moments sorting out tea and biscuits.Sophia indulged in milk andtwolumps of sugar.If she was going to be sent away, she was at least going to enjoy a good cup of tea first.
The other lady did not awaken.
“Before we proceed any further, there is something you need to know.”Mrs.Digby took a sip from her teacup and petted her dog again.It had lowered its head but still tracked Sophia’s every move.
Sophia braced herself for bad news.The job of helping the elderly widow before her, who did not seem all that elderly, was the only thing standing between her and abject poverty.“Have you changed your mind about writing your memoir?”Worrying her nervousness would rattle the teacup and saucer, she set them back on the table and pressed her palms to her knees.
Mrs.Digby shook her head.“The death of my friend and neighbor, Lady Lyttleton, has made me confront my own mortality.Her passing was peaceful, in her sleep, so there’s that, but she was a year younger than I am.I wish to put my affairs in order.That includes transcribing these journals into something my family can read after I’m gone.”She tapped the stack of small leather-bound books on the table beside her.“I followed my husband to every post the Army sent him, all over the world, for over twenty years.I have wisdom to impart.Things I want my relatives to know for generations to come.”
She stared out one of the library’s large bay windows at the waves rolling ashore beyond.Beneath the sounds of the crackling fire was the muffled roar of the sea, rising and falling as the tide surged inland.
Sophia bit back the urge to ask questions or impatiently gesture for Mrs.Digby to go on.Her mouth watered at the sight of the untouched biscuits on her plate.Last night’s meal had been a hunk of day-old bread, and she’d had nothing today but a cup of watered-down ale at the coaching inn this morning.She gave what she hoped was an encouraging expression.“An admirable goal, to be sure.”And the memoir was the reason she thought the widow had hired her, the reason Sophia had nearly bankrupted herself paying for coach fare here to this quaint seaside village.
“Your handwriting was elegant in your reply to my advertisement.Very legible.”Mrs.Digby scratched her dog behind the ears.“You seemed the most qualified for the work aspect of being here.”
Before Sophia had felt satisfied with her penmanship and mailed her application, she had wadded up a dozen sheets of ruined parchment and tossed them in the fire.
“But what I failed to screen for… Well, I do not know if you have the constitution to stay here long enough to accomplish the task.”
Constitution?“I assure you I have a hearty constitution.I have lived near the sea most of my life, so the dampness does not bother me in the least.”Inside her head she was screaming in panic, but she kept her tone calm.At least she hoped it sounded calm.
She did not have the funds for coach fare back to her cousin Claire’s home, where Claire’s odious husband demanded most of Sophia’s money for rent and food.To get back there, she could walk for four days and carry her valise.Sleep under hedgerows.But what would become of her two trunks still stacked in the entry hall?They contained the remainder of her worldly possessions.
“Oh, I am confident you are as healthy as any woman your age should be.”Mrs.Digby stroked her hand along the dog’s back.“What I meant is that not everyone has the constitution to stay here, at Hobart Grange.”
Sophia couldn’t help a frown of confusion.“I don’t understand.Is there a problem with the house?I know storms often cause damage.”She’d sleep in the stables if the roof leaked.Help the cook prepare meals if they were understaffed.Dust and sweep rooms if they were short on maids.
“Oh, nothing like that.”Mrs.Digby airily waved her hand, brushing aside Sophia’s concerns.“The house is haunted.”
Chapter 2
“I- I beg your pardon?”Sophia could not have heard right.Mrs.Digby looked perfectly serious.
“It’s just the one ghost.”Mrs.Digby shrugged one shoulder.“Everyone else refers to her as the Grey Lady.I prefer to think of her as Mother Hobart.She visits now and then to keep an eye on her home and descendants and is more likely to make an appearance if we make changes or when there is somebody new.”Absently she scratched her dog behind its ears.“Like you!”
Her bright smile creased deep crinkles at the corners of her eyes and deepened the brackets around her mouth, betraying how decades of living outdoors in army tents had weathered the older woman’s skin.But the laugh lines also bespoke a jovial personality, despite her ramrod straight posture.Was she jesting?Testing Sophia?
Holding perfectly still while she digested the widow’s comments, Sophia reconsidered her options.Her cousin Claire and odious husband Stanley, who demanded more and more of her fast-dwindling money, and lived so far inland there were no seagulls, never mind a view of the sea.Or a little old lady with a little white dog who lived in a centuries-old manor by the sea … who apparently believed in ghosts.
“Ghosts don’t bother me,” Sophia bluffed.“Many older buildings are rumored to be haunted.I enjoy learning about their origin stories.Why the spirits haven’t moved on or why they come back to visit.”
Mrs.Digby slowly nodded as Sophia spoke.“It’s simple, really.Her husband and son were wastrels who nearly ruined the house and estate to fund their whoring and gambling.Once they died, she worked tirelessly to restore everything.She comes back to make sure we aren’t mucking things up again.”So blasé about it, Mrs.Digby could just as easily be referring to an estate steward.A living, breathing, steward of flesh and blood.
“Perfectly logical.”Much better company than someone who had been murdered and sought retribution, as ghost stories went.
Mrs.Digby let out a sound that was more of a cackle than a laugh.“I think you’ll do.”She slipped her shoes back on, making the dog leap down, and strode for the door.“I’ll let the staff know you’ll be staying.”She paused in the doorway long enough for her dog to exit, his toenails clicking on the polished oak plank floor, before she smiled over her shoulder at Sophia and shut the door.
Now that she was alone in the library, Sophia allowed herself to let out a sigh of relief that she wasn’t going to be sent packing before she’d even started the job.
Well, not quite alone.There was still the sleeping woman to whom she had not been introduced.
Except both chairs beside the fireplace were now empty.
Sophia cast an apprehensive glance around the room, noting the many bookcases lining the walls as well as the comfortable chairs, tables, and sofa arranged to take advantage of heat from the fireplace or the magnificent view out the windows.Furniture, but no elderly woman.
Listening for footsteps in the hall, she jumped up from her seat to peer behind the sofa and curtains, even bent to look under the tables and desk, calling herself ridiculous for doing so.
