As requested by Mrs. Page, read the note next to the headstone, in Merrywimple’s neat handwriting, except it looked like an extra zero had been added to the amount after he’d noted the sum. Edwina squinted. And the seven had subtly been changed to a nine. The ink was a shade darker. Just slightly.
Edwina sat back, tapping her finger against her lips. Had a gravestone actually been purchased? Merrywimple was no longer around for Edwina to ask. Nor could she question Bascomb, who would instantly become defensive about his handicap and lack of attention to the ledgers. And she certainly couldn’t ask Mrs. Page.
Tomorrow, Edwina would venture out to the remains of the churchyard and see if there was a grave marker for the abbess. It should be the only piece of stone in the graveyard not cracked or covered with moss, because if indeed it had been purchased, her marker would be much younger than the rest.
A thud sounded outside her door, followed by a soft scratching of fingernails against the wood.
Edwina stared at the door. Fear spiked almost immediately, but she forced it away. Thomas could be lugging about…something, though given the hour, that seemed unlikely. Mrs. Page wandering about? No, her quarters were downstairs. Surely it couldn’t be Bascomb. Which left only one other option.
Another scratch at the door, much more insistent this time.
“She doesn’t like new people.”
Edwina refused to be frightened away as Fielding had been, but someone or something was standing outside in the hall. Crawling quietly off the bed, she looked around her room for something to use as a weapon. Grabbing one of her half boots from the floor where she had carelessly tossed her footwear earlier, Edwina took a deep breath and opened the door.
The hall was dark except for a lamp left burning on a table at the top of the stairs. The house itself was silent as a tomb. Quiet. Holding the half boot up, Edwina took a confident step outside her room. “You wanted my attention,” she said to the empty hallway. “Now you have it. Show yourself.”
A flash of pale cream floated at the very edge of the light cast by the lamp. There came the sound of fingernails scratching along the wall. A vague shape hovered at the end of the hall near the stairs.
“You don’t scare me,” Edwina said firmly, raising the half boot higher.
The haunting of Rose Abbey was definitely real, but she doubted it was the result of a vengeful spirit. Edwina was willing to bet that when any of Bascomb’s secretaries began questioning the discrepancies in the accounts, the “ghost” scared them away. She’d made no secret she was reviewing the ledgers. There was a reason she’d been lured out of her room tonight.
“I’m not leaving,” Edwina said into the darkness.
A hand, pale and elongated, seemed to rise from the landing, then it was gone, reappearing a moment later at the foot of the stairs, heading in the direction of the library.
Fine.Edwina was no coward. She would follow this specter.
Emboldened, she strode down the hall to the stairs and descended to the landing. Below her, the house was bathed in nearly complete darkness except for the light of a wall sconce in the foyer. As much as she wanted to race after the departing form, the wisest course would be to go back up the stairs and take the lamp left sitting on the table before descending. She turned and was only mere steps from the lamp when the air stirred the edge of her nightgown, the cotton fluttering around her ankles.
Hands pulled her nightgown, and it tightened around her neck, nearly choking her. She lost her footing on the stairs. The half boot flew from her fingers as she tilted wildly on the step. A cry of alarm left her throat as she fell back, her hip slamming against the wall before she spun toward the landing and the next set of stairs. If she didn’t stop herself, Edwina could tumble down further, landing with her neck broken. She grabbed at the banister, her fingers digging into the wood, trying to stop her fall. Her hip banging against the banister, Edwina’s head pointed toward the foyer, while her back slammed into the landing.
Edwina held her breath, not daring to look around in the darkness, hoping whoever had tried to pull her down the stairs assumed her to be dead or unconscious.
A lamp flared suddenly in the darkness on the opposite side of the landing. Booted feet, overly large, jumped down the stairs to her.
Panicked, thinking her assassin had returned to finish the job, Edwina rolled away, kicking at the boots with her bare feet.
“Collins.” Bascomb’s stricken face appeared above her. “Ow. Stop that. It’s me. Jonah. Stop.” Worry etched the sharp edges of his features as he took hold of her foot doing most of the kicking. “Edwina,” he said roughly. “It’s me. Jonah.”
Edwina stilled. “Your given name is Jonah?”
“Yes. I’m not sure that’s what is important at the moment.”
He’d gotten to her quickly, far too quickly for someone who should have been asleep in his bed. In her mounting panic, she jerked away from his outstretched hand. “Did you toss me down the stairs?”
His brows drew together. “What? Of course not. Have you hit your head?” Bascomb gently pulled her into a seated position. A warm hand ran down her arm, checking to make sure she was whole. “Where does it hurt?”
“I’m fine—I—” Edwina’s voice trembled. She’d nearly broken her neck falling down the stairs. Had she not grabbed at the banister, she might well have tumbled all the way to the floor below.
Someone tried to kill me.
“Edwina,” Bascomb rumbled. “You’re safe.” He reached up to brush a strand of hair out of her eyes. He set down the lamp and pulled her close to the warmth and safety of his bergamot-scented chest. “I have you now. You’re safe. I promise.”
“I thought—” She allowed herself to be pulled into his embrace. She curled her hands into his shirt, feeling the firm muscles beneath her fingers. “I heard something in the hall. I—” She stopped herself from telling him about the floating white figure that had lured her out of her room. “I must have tripped.” She pulled away from Bascomb. “An accident, nothing more.”
The light only reached the lower half of Bascomb’s face when he sat back, enough so that she could see him frown. “You accused me of tossing you down the stairs.”
