Chapter 2

Hietzing, Vienna

Adeline pulled the collar of her woolen coat closer around her neck in a futile effort to keep out the biting wind of a freezing January day. Opa had been right about the fearsome Vienna winters. London had been cold, but this…

Her boots crunched snow packed on ice as she made her labored way from the tram stop to the house where she would spend the next three months. The elegant mansions with their Biedermeyer architecture seemed majestic and grand after her humble terraced house in Wimbledon. The heavy, cloud-covered skies were darkening. She rested her small suitcase on the step and rang the bell of the impressive white-painted house. A moment of panic. Should she have gone to the tradesmen’s entrance, wherever that was? The Viennese were such sticklers for propriety, and their codes of social etiquette were even more stringent and proscribed than those she had been used to at home. Too late now, though. She heard the scrape of the lock. She would have to brazen it out, if necessary.

A tall, thin man, probably in his sixties, with a hooked nose and sunken cheeks, stood in the entrance. Judging by his immaculate black tailcoat, waistcoat, and high, starched collar, he was the butler. Butters. Unusual name. Miss Sinclair had told her he was British.

He inclined his head but otherwise remained expressionless.

Adeline cleared her throat and wished her nose wasn’t bright red. She couldn’t see it, but it would be in this weather. She hesitated. Should she introduce herself in German or in English? After all, they were in Austria. “Guten Tag, mein Name ist Frau Ogilvy—”

“Yes, madam, we are expecting you,” the butler said in clipped English. He took her suitcase from her and stepped back to let her in.

“Thank you.” Adeline stepped into the warm hall, glad to be out of the cold.

“Your coat and hat, madam.”

Adeline handed the garments to the butler. Still no change in his expression. Did the man ever smile?

A door to the side of the entrance opened and a diminutive maid with an earnest expression and a slightly askew white cap took the garments from the butler. She immediately hung them on the hall stand and scurried back to wherever she’d come from.

“You’re Mr. Butters, I believe?” Adeline told herself to stop being so in awe of this man who was in no way her social superior either in London or in Vienna.

“Just Butters, madam. Please, come this way.”

Adeline glanced around her, taking in her surroundings. The hall was an almost perfect square, with a wide sweeping staircase, black and white tiled floor and pictures of rural landscapes adorning the walls. In the center stood a highly polished mahogany table on which an enormous Chinese vase took pride of place.

“Ming dynasty,” Butters said. “The late Dr. Quintillus liked to collect fine pieces on his explorations.”

He opened a tall, dark wooden door and Adeline entered a library the size and scope of which she had never seen before. “Oh, my goodness. This is magnificent.”

At last, a flicker of a smile turned up the corner of Butters’s lips. The high-ceilinged room was lined with rows of leather-bound books. A spiral, wrought-iron staircase led to the upper levels and a set of library steps enabled the less accessible shelves to be reached in safety and comfort. High above, a sumptuous Egyptian scene adorned the white ceiling. A great queen seated in a golden barge.

Adeline craned her neck to take in its beauty.

“The arrival of Cleopatra at Tarsus,” Butters said. “A little fanciful perhaps, but the master liked it well enough. He commissioned it to be painted by a local artist, Herr Gustav Klimt.”

“I am afraid I haven’t come across him. My knowledge of art is rather limited.” Adeline wished she hadn’t spoken so freely. The butler’s expression had returned to its stony norm. Clearly, now she had arrived in Vienna, she had better start catching up with current developments in art and culture, and this Herr Klimt seemed an excellent place to start.

She followed Butters over to an antique partner desk on which she recognized the major tool of her trade. Her portable, if cumbersome, typewriter.

“I’m so glad that arrived safely. I was a little concerned.”

“It was delivered with your trunk yesterday, madam. The maid has hung your clothes in your room and she will escort you there in a few minutes, in order that you might rest after your tiring journey.”

“Thank you, Butters.” A rest would be welcome. After two days’ rail travel, sleep in a comfortable bed that didn’t keep rocking would provide a welcome change.

“Dinner will be served for you in here at seven p.m. prompt. You will take breakfast in here at eight thirty every morning, and commence work at nine, except weekends, when you will be free to pursue your own interests. The late master’s instructions were most explicit on the subject, even down to the food you should eat. He was a most particular man. Every morning, I shall set out your work for the day and collect your finished pages at five o’clock. I trust that is all clear.”

Adeline stared at him. “Perfectly.” Opa had told her the Viennese liked their formal routines. It appeared this household ran in keeping with its city of residence. She supposed the free weekends were a nod at their other famous love—that of Gemütlichkeit, the untranslatable word that encompassed joy, pleasure, contentment, and happiness. No doubt she would get used to it. At least there could be no room for not understanding what was expected of her.

Butters inclined his head a fraction. “Very well, madam. I shall tell Magda to come to you. She is Hungarian but speaks enough English for you to understand each other.”

Adeline knew her German was perfectly adequate, if a little rusty, and heavy on the English accent. “Does she speak German?”

“Of course, madam.”

“Then I am sure we shall understand each other perfectly.”

“Yes, madam.”

Had her sarcasm been lost on him? She doubted it. Since she started this line of work after James died, she had endured a steady stream of officious butlers.

After Butters left, Adeline wandered over to the shelves behind the desk. With relief, she noticed that many of the titles were in English. She might speak and read German, but for her leisure time, it would be more relaxing to read books in her native language. The library seemed to have some order in it. She found a section on poetry and drama. Milton rubbed shoulders with Dryden. Farther along, Shakespeare nudged Marlowe. Maybe somewhere, she would find some lighter bedtime reading.

A voice startled her. She spun on her heel.

“Madam. Please, if you like to come.”

“Danke, Magda. Aber wir können deutsch zusammen sprechen.”

A look of relief spread over the young girl’s face. Magda was clearly relieved she would be able to conduct their conversations in German rather than in a language she undoubtedly—at best—struggled with. There was the added bonus for Adeline that she could show that self-satisfied butler that his condescending habit of only speaking English to her, was entirely unnecessary. Adeline smiled to herself. Butlers!

Magda led Adeline up the staircase and then up another flight to the top. From past experience, Adeline guessed she had arrived at the floor where the servants’ quarters were situated.

“How many are employed here?” she asked.

“Only Mr. Butters, the cook and me. There used to be more when Dr. Quintillus was alive, but most of the house is shut, so there isn’t the work.”

“Did you know the late doctor at all?”

Magda stopped in front of a white painted door, in a nondescript white painted corridor. She shook her head. “No, he died before I was taken on.”

Inside, the room was surprisingly pleasant. Windows looked out over the main road to a long, yellow-painted wall that stretched as far as Adeline could see in both directions. Behind it, snow-laden trees waved in the wind, each gust sending white showers in all directions.

“Is the Schönbrunn Palace behind that wall?” Adeline asked.

“Yes, madam. And the grounds are called the Schlosspark. You can walk there on pleasant days. I often go there. I see the Emperor sometimes. From a distance, of course.”

Magda joined Adeline at the window. “It’s very pretty there, especially in the spring and early summer. So many flowers—and such beautiful colors—but in July and August it can be unbearably hot.”

“I doubt that I shall still be here then. I am only supposed to stay for about three months and then I’ll have to return to London. What about you, Magda? Where are you from?”

The girl’s eyes clouded over. “A small village on the outskirts of Budapest.”

“You must miss your home very much.”

Magda sighed. “I do, but here in Vienna I can have a job. It was not so easy at home.” Adeline sensed that any more questions and the girl would dissolve into a flood of homesick tears. Instead, she turned away from the window and surveyed her room. A comfortable-looking single bed stood next to a night table with candles and matches.

Magda struck a match and lit a candle. “I’m afraid there is no electricity up here, but you will find it downstairs.”

“Thank you, Magda.”

Magda opened the plain wardrobe to reveal Adeline’s clothes, neatly hung.

“I hope everything is to your satisfaction, madam.”

“I am sure everything is fine.” Adeline checked her fob watch. “Thank you again, Magda. I think I shall have a short nap before dinner. I seem to have been traveling for days.”

“Very good, madam.” Magda left her alone.

* * * *

Adeline lay down on the bed and stared up at the ceiling. The candlelight sent flickering shadows upward, making patterns like dancing fairies. She smiled. In that one instant she was transported back to her childhood and her home, lit by gaslight. There, on Friday nights, she would take a bath in front of the blazing kitchen fire. She would stare into the flames and imagine dragons and imps, then up at the ceiling where the fairies hopped and leaped, dancing their merry way.

A tear formed at the corner of her eye. She had felt loved and protected as a child. And warm, always warm. Here, even though Magda had lit a fire in the small grate, its heat failed to penetrate to the far side of the room where she lay. Adeline shivered and pulled the quilt over her. Back home in Wimbledon, she had carried the lessons of her mother into her own little house. James always got up to a blazing fire in the winter and, at night, he slept in a warm bed.

Stop dwelling on the past. You have a new future now.

She turned on her side, pulled the quilt up to her chin and drifted off to sleep.

Two hours later, having located the bathroom, washed and changed into a warm navy dress, she felt clean and refreshed. Mixed emotions of apprehension and excitement thrilled her as she made her way down to the library.

Dinner was simple, but delicious. Evidently the cook—whose name she now knew to be Frau Lederer—knew her business. A tasty beef consommé, served with tiny strips of the lightest pancake and sprinkled with chives. The main course consisted of tender slices of beef, with sautéed potatoes, carrots, freshly grated horseradish and gravy. She recognized it from Opa’s stories. Tafelspitz. The frugal Emperor’s favorite dish.

By seven thirty she had finished her meal, and a long evening stretched before her. At least the electric light and generous quantity of lamps in the library made reading easy. After Butters had removed her dishes, she set about exploring the massive room.

The spiral staircase looked inviting, so she made her tentative way upward. It had been well constructed and gave only slightly as she made her ascent. At the top, her effort was rewarded with a collection of first editions of classic novels by the Brontë sisters, Robert Louis Stevenson, and countless authors she had never even heard of. She selected a book by E.M. Forster—A Room with a View. She had been meaning to read it for a few years. Now she would have the chance. She opened it and saw it had been published in 1908. A couple of years before Dr. Quintillus died. He evidently maintained his interest in books right up to the end.

She made her careful way back down the staircase and crossed to the desk, where she laid the book down and explored some more.

On the far side of the room, she pulled aside the heavy, velvet curtains at the tall windows which gave out onto the garden of the house. In the dark, it was impossible to see clearly and the sky had clouded over once more. Maybe it would snow again tonight.

Adeline pulled the curtains back across and noticed a small door in the corner of the room, which had so far been hidden from her view. She tried the handle. Locked. No key. Maybe…the desk.

She hurried over and opened each drawer. Most were empty, but then she found a small glass dish, on which lay a key.

Adeline’s excitement grew when she found it fitted. Inside, a chill breeze startled her. It was pitch dark and smelled of disuse. Dank. Fusty. She stepped farther in and pushed the door wide open to let in as much light as possible. It didn’t help a great deal. All she could see was a yellow wall and dark wooden floor. She took another step and shrieked.

Something had brushed her face. She scrabbled at it and dashed for the safety of the library. She looked down at her blouse and skirt and laughed. Cobwebs. Of course there would be cobwebs. The place had probably not been opened for years.

She turned back and peered around, this time staying on her side of the threshold. How big was that room, if it even was a room?

“Hello,” she called and her voice echoed off the walls.

Another breeze fluffed her hair. Adeline shivered and retreated. Just in time.

The door slammed shut.

“What…?”

She stared at it for a full minute before she realized the key had fallen out. She bent, picked it up and tried the handle. It wouldn’t budge. Somehow it had locked itself. Or maybe jammed. The violence of the slam had triggered the lock somehow.

Adeline inserted the key in the lock. It turned easily. Through the open entrance, a deep guttural sigh swept into the library.

With a cry, she slammed the door shut and turned the key. This time it needed her intervention. So slamming it did not automatically lock it.

She backed away, her heart thumping. If there had been a glass of brandy anywhere near, she would have drunk it. In one gulp. Only a jug of water stood on the table. Her hands trembled as she poured herself a glass. She drained it, and never took her eyes off that corner of the room.

You’re tired. You imagined it. It’s an old house with drafty corridors. In the daylight you’ll be able to see what’s behind there.

Or maybe she’d pretend it never happened. If only I could. If only I could leave things alone… But then James had always said she would make a great detective. “Mrs. Sherlock Holmes” he had called her on many an occasion when she’d got a fixation on solving some crime or another she had read about in the News Chronicle. His manner had told her he was only half-joking.

* * * *

The next morning, a rare and all too brief glimpse of sunshine greeted Adeline when she drew back the drapes in her room. She gazed out over the road, busy with horses, carts, bicycles, and automobiles all vying for position. The trees had lost much of their heavy white blankets, but the sky was already turning dark and seemingly full of yet more snow. A cloud swallowed up the last weak shaft of sunlight. Adeline shivered. Not only with the chill, but also with the excitement of anticipation. Her first day working on the manuscript of the mysterious Dr. Quintillus.

In the library, a simple breakfast of lightly boiled egg, toast, and aromatic coffee awaited her. She had downed her second cup when Butters arrived with a sheaf of papers in his hand. He wore the same dour expression he had worn the previous day.

“Your work, madam. I shall collect your transcripts at five p.m. prompt. Luncheon will be sandwiches and coffee. Magda will bring it to you in here at one o’clock.”

“Thank you, Butters.” Adeline folded her napkin and placed it on the table. Butters cleared the dishes and left her alone.

Adeline stood and moved around the desk to where her typewriter lay, ready for work. Butters had placed the sheaf of foolscap pages next to it, while on the other side lay a fresh ream of white paper.

She glanced over at the window. The clouds had broken and a shaft of sunlight streamed through the tall windows. On an impulse, she moved closer so she could see the door that had so unnerved her last night.

In the full glare of a bright winter’s morning, everything looked perfectly ordinary. She glanced at the lock. No key. She turned the handle. Locked.

Adeline checked the drawer of the desk and found the little glass tray. Empty. Crossing back over to the window, she checked the floor in case the key had fallen out. She covered every available inch. Not there. No time to search anymore, though. It would have to keep until later. She must start her work or she wouldn’t finish on time.

Back at her desk, she picked up the manuscript and flicked through the pages. A dozen ruled, foolscap sheets written on both sides in a neat, almost copperplate, handwriting. Not at all like her old professor’s. She smiled. Jakob Mayer’s spidery scrawl had proved a real challenge. The hours she had spent trying to decipher his work. He had been eccentric, too, but kind and always polite. Adeline had been sorry when she typed the words “The End” on his memoir. When her assignment finished, she was pleased that he seemed to want to stay in touch with her, at least for the purposes of exchanging greetings cards.

No chance of this happening in her current job, with Dr. Quintillus long dead and moldering in his grave in some unknown location.

Adeline shook her head and wound a fresh sheet of paper into her typewriter. She lined it up carefully, the way she had been taught. Nothing worse than finishing a page only to find the lines weren’t straight.

Fingers poised, ready to type, Adeline began to read and transcribe.

I, Dr. Emeryk Quintillus, do hereby assert that every word I have written here is true, however fantastic and extreme it may appear to the learned reader. I do hereby attest to the discovery of one of the greatest Egyptian artifacts of our time, and indeed of centuries before and yet to come. For, on the 19th July, Nineteen hundred and eight, I did discover the tomb and treasures of the great Queen and last Pharaoh of Egypt, Cleopatra VII…

“Good gracious!” Adeline stared at the words, which seemed to dance on the page. From her work with Professor Mayer, she knew how archaeologists the world over dreamed of discovering this elusive tomb, among many others, of course. But Cleopatra…

Adeline’s mind raced. She struggled to accept the impact of what she had read. Cleopatra’s tomb had been found by the man whose manuscript she was now working on and no one knew. Except her. Surely not. These things simply didn’t happen to ordinary, lower middle-class widows from Wimbledon.

There has to be some mistake. He got it wrong. The man was an eccentric. Maybe delusional. Mad even.

She would never know unless she typed his manuscript. Her fingers trembled and she fought to control them or she would miss a key and have to type the page again. Her work must be perfect.

Taking a deep, calming breath, she resumed her typing.

At Oxford University, quite by chance, I came across an ancient scroll, hidden away in a long forgotten dusty basement. Its author was not shown, but its contents immediately struck me as significant, for they pointed me in the direction of Taposiris Magna, where I subsequently found the remains of my beloved queen…

His beloved queen!

It also related the terrible fate that would await anyone who disturbed her. But I do not heed such curses. I knew instantly that I must take possession of this scroll and follow its directions…

Quintillus described how he had smuggled out the scroll under his jacket, hiding it in his rooms at the university and of how he raised money for his expedition, while somehow managing to avoid giving away any of the secrets which made his quest more certain of success than any of its predecessors’. Maybe such detail was interesting for fellow academics, but Adeline fought to stay awake, especially when lunchtime approached.

Magda entered promptly at one o’clock, carrying a tray almost as big as she was. Adeline flexed her fingers and stood, ready to move farther along the desk to eat her lunch.

“Thank you, Magda. When I’ve eaten, I think I shall take a stroll in the garden. Wake myself up a bit. I think I’m still a bit tired from my journey.”

“Very good, madam. Your hat, coat, and boots are on the hallstand ready for you.”

* * * *

Outside, the cold air hit Adeline, making her cheeks tingle. She needed to wake up for her afternoon’s work, and her short walk around the house into the snow-covered garden at the rear certainly accomplished that. She soon found herself outside the library windows. Adeline breathed in the fresh air, her breath clouding in front of her.

A sudden movement caught her eye. She glanced over her shoulder, then turned and stared. The little door had swung open. Now! Taking care not to slip, she hurried back to the front entrance and rang the bell. Magda let her in and handed her a key.

“Mr. Butters said you were to have this, madam, so you can come and go as you wish.”

Adeline took the key from her. “Thank you, Magda.”

Adeline removed her hat, coat, and boots, slipped her feet into her house shoes, and forced herself to walk normally into the library. But once closeted inside, she darted over to the window. Rank, stale air tainted the atmosphere.

Adeline stepped tentatively over the threshold, aware of her heart beating faster than normal. The light from the library penetrated just far enough to illuminate the top of a staircase a few feet from the entrance. Good job she hadn’t ventured any farther the previous night or she would almost certainly have ended up at the foot of those stairs. She would need a lamp.

She turned back into the room and saw an oil lamp on an occasional table, next to a Chesterfield chair she had sat on while reading near the fire last night. She lit the wick from the flames, using a spill she found in a box on the mantelpiece.

She hurried back, her long skirts swishing around her ankles.

The lamp cast long shadows on the walls of the narrow, stone staircase. Adeline took her first tentative steps. She kept turning back to make sure her exit remained open. Her mouth ran dry. She strained to hear even the slightest sound. All remained still and quiet except for her echoing footsteps.

A narrow passageway stretched before her. So long, she couldn’t see the end of it. She started along it, her lamp the only illumination. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled and goose bumps rose on her arms. Was someone watching her? There in the shadows?

“Mrs. Ogilvy!”

Startled, Adeline spun around to face the butler. His face shone white in the lamplight.

“Butters. You scared the life out of me!”

“May I ask what you are doing down here?” His voice was cold, as if he was restraining his anger.

“I’m…I’m sorry. I…well, this morning the door up there was locked and when I went for a lunchtime stroll, I saw it was open, so I came to investigate. I thought there might be a problem. Someone in trouble perhaps…”

She could see Butters didn’t believe her. No doubt he thought her a nosy, interfering woman he could well do without.

“I suggest you return, madam. You have a lot of work to do.”

Adeline resisted the temptation to tell the butler to mind his own business. He might be a god below stairs but her position meant he was nothing of the sort to her. But, for the time being at least, it wouldn’t do to antagonize him. She bit back her words and settled for, “Yes, Butters. You’re right. I do. I shall come back now.”

Adeline allowed the butler to take the lamp from her and lead the way. Once back in the library, he closed the door and locked it, using the key that had somehow managed to reappear in the lock. Maybe he had a spare. Butters didn’t say another word and left her to her afternoon’s work.

Adeline carried on typing up Quintillus’s rants about his colleagues. He didn’t seem to have had much time for anyone in his own profession and scant regard for people in general. He dismissed leading Egyptologists of his day as charlatans. No, whatever the argument, he, Quintillus knew best. He even took issue with parts of the scroll, if they didn’t fit with his conclusions.

The scroll speaks of Set, the all-powerful god, who tore his own brother, Osiris, to shreds. It says that there is a small gold statue of him in Cleopatra’s tomb—so powerful it can enact the powers to dispense more than one curse. A curse against the queen herself if she does not already possess the statue. A curse against anyone removing it from her grasp. But this goes against all perceived wisdom that I have noted in my researches and I am learning that there are parts of the scroll that are not infallible. I must tread warily with it, but I shall not be dissuaded by those fools who urge caution in such matters. I am a scientist. I must be bold and risk everything for my research. And for my queen…

By five o’clock, Adeline began to feel glad she would never know this unpleasant and seemingly bitter man. He might be a professional genius, but he was certainly shaping up to be an amateur human being. He even belittled the archaeologist who discovered the tomb of the great Pharaoh Akhenaten. In Quintillus’s eyes, no pharaoh would ever match up to Cleopatra. No discovery would ever be greater than finding her resting place. Yet, for some reason Adeline didn’t yet know, he had chosen to keep the incredible discovery to himself. Until now.

At no time did he ever speak of his personal life. He didn’t seem to have one. He had dedicated his entire existence to his academic and archaeological pursuits of one person—his “beloved queen” Cleopatra. The man had been obsessed with her.

Adeline was tidying her transcript and laying it crossways over Quintillus’s original when Butters entered at five o’clock. He picked up the papers.

“Thank you, madam. Dinner will be served in here at seven.”

“Thank you, Butters.”

Not a word about her earlier misdemeanor.

She stretched stiff legs and flexed her fingers. The sun had already set half an hour before. Although she used it, Adeline had long been wary of electricity and cringed whenever she turned on a light, afraid of any sparks, especially after Professor Mayer had suffered a terrible fire when a stray wire had become damaged. She preferred the kerosene lamps, with their familiar flickering light and odor. She and James had always had those in their home and the smell brought back memories of their comfortable life together, when she kept house and he went to his work as a draughtsman.

All that had changed one spring morning in 1911 when James crossed a street on his way to work and a massive shire horse rounded a corner and barreled into him. Death would have been instant, the doctor reassured her. Adeline could only hope he wasn’t just being kind.

Her parents had died of influenza in 1910 and left her a small amount of money. Children had never come along, and with careful housekeeping on Adeline’s part, she and James had managed to accumulate some savings, which helped, but she always knew she would have to find a way of supplementing her meager income after her husband died. Few channels were open to her—a respectable young woman with no skills or experience, but then she hit on the idea of training to be a typist. She took to it straightaway and her speed and accuracy put her at the top of her class. With a glowing recommendation from her tutor, Adeline easily found work through Miss Sinclair’s agency and enjoyed the freedom of working on her own and not being chained to an office.

* * * *

Dinner over, Adeline settled in the comfortable chair and opened A Room with a View where had she left off the previous day. She read a few pages and realized she had no idea what had just happened in the story. She stared into the fire, mesmerized by the flames, comforted by the crackle of the logs.

A scratching noise startled her. She listened. It seemed to be coming from behind the wall. She stood and moved closer. Whatever had caused it was moving around. She tiptoed along the wall. The scratching seemed always a few steps ahead of her. Rats maybe. Or mice.

It stopped.

She had turned, ready to return to her chair when it happened again. This time, over by the far wall, behind the door next to the window. She crossed the floor and listened, her ear against the wooden panel.

The handle rattled. Adeline jumped back. Surely no rat or mouse would do that. They would scurry along the floor.

Adeline stared. She licked dry lips. The handle rattled again.

Something heavy knocked against it. She jumped back. A long, low moan wafted into the room.

Adeline raced back to the fire and picked up the poker. She stood by the chair, her eyes riveted to the source of the noise.

Seconds ticked by and became minutes. Nothing.

Finally, still clutching the poker, she dared to cross back to the door. She leaned against it and put her ear up close. Still nothing.

It must have been the wind.

Mentally, she laughed at herself and returned to her book, but for the rest of the evening, her attention kept wandering back to that one corner of the room.

That night, she tossed and turned in her bed. Outside, the wind howled and rain lashed against the window.

In her sleep, her dreams troubled her. Armed with her lamp, she was back in that strange basement corridor, wandering its seemingly interminable, featureless length. Then she faced a wooden door. Just like the one in the library. She turned the handle and opened it. A whooshing sound, like air escaping, took her breath away. Inside was a room illuminated by tall, flickering candles. Each wall was covered in symbols Adeline knew from Professor Mayer to be hieroglyphics. All was still and quiet. Tomb-like. Someone came up behind her. Adeline turned. She stared at the dead, gray face of Emeryk Quintillus.

She woke up with a start, sweat pouring off her. It took seconds for her to realize it had been a dream. It had been so real. She could even smell cigars. Did he smoke cigars? James did occasionally at Christmas. Someone had bought him a small box of long, thin, black cheroots. They had a distinctive aroma that Adeline had grown to like.

Adeline got out of bed, ignoring her slippers and the coldness of the wooden floor when she stepped off the rug on her way to the window. She pulled the drapes aside. Still dark. At least the wind had died down and the rain had stopped.

Once her breathing had calmed, she pulled her drapes closed and returned to bed. She shivered and pulled the sheet and blankets up around her chin. Still, the dream wouldn’t leave her. It left her with one option.

She would have to go back down to that corridor and find what lay at the end of it.