“What the hell are you playing at, Chase?” Guy Manning stormed into the room with a face like thunder, leaving Nicole to trail round-eyed in his wake.
Adam and I sprang apart like a pair of guilty teenagers.
“Ms. Shepherd’s vehicle and the road leading to it are strictly off limits to civilians,” Guy bellowed. “As you well know.”
“Ms. Shepherd is entitled to her personal possessions,” Adam observed calmly. “As you well know.”
“Ms. Shepherd’s possessions would have been returned to her in due course,” Guy lectured. “In the meantime—”
“In the meantime,” Adam broke in, standing, “she’d have been left without so much as a toothbrush while you dragged your feet with yet another of your pointless investigations.”
Guy stiffened. “What do you mean?”
Adam eyed the soldier contemptuously. “I think you know what I mean, Captain Manning. I’m flattered by your interest, naturally, but if you have any more questions about my background I hope you’ll direct them to me instead of interrogating my editor. If you had an ounce of courage, not to mention courtesy, you’d have done so in the first place.”
Guy approached the sofa, his jaw muscles working. “I could arrest you for violating a secure area.”
Adam stepped forward, until the two men were standing nearly toe to toe. “My editor would welcome an essay on military justice.”
Guy clenched his fists, and Adam widened his stance, his thigh muscles bulging beneath his cycling pants. I was on the verge of throwing myself—or Reginald—between the two combatants when a gruff voice with an unmistakable Scottish burr sounded from the doorway.
“That’ll do, gentlemen. Ms. Shepherd’s had enough excitement for one day. You can take your discussion elsewhere.”
The gray-haired man in the rumpled tweed suit had evidently overheard the argument. Now he strode purposefully into the room. He was older than Adam by at least thirty years and his head scarcely reached the captain’s shoulder, but such was his air of authority that he made the two enraged men look like a pair of sulky schoolboys.
“You can apologize to Mrs. Hatch on your way out, Guy. She told me that you frightened her half to death, barging past her.” He turned to Adam. “And you can wipe the smug gleam from your eye, laddie. It’s men like Captain Guy Manning who make it safe for you to scribble your wee essays.” He jerked his head toward the study. “If you can’t settle your differences amicably, don’t come running to me for stitches.”
Adam retrieved his bicycle helmet before turning to shake Reginald’s paw. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, sir.” Bending lower, he added in a voice only I could hear, “Until tomorrow.” He straightened, tucked the helmet under his arm, and headed for the study.
“I invited Captain Manning to tea,” Nicole was saying, in the small, helpless voice of a hostess whose plans have gone inexplicably awry.
“You’ll sup with him on your own, then,” said the gray-haired man.
Guy frowned. “I’d intended to discuss my investigation with Ms. Shepherd over tea.”
“Ms. Shepherd is my patient, Captain, and I won’t have her bothered,” retorted the older man.
“Won’t you come with me, Captain Manning?” Nicole pleaded.
“Thank you, Mrs. Hollander.” Guy slid the black beret from his head, as if suddenly remembering his manners. “I’ll call on you tomorrow, Ms. Shepherd.”
“Perhaps you could come to lunch,” Nicole offered.
Guy made no reply. He simply nodded to the older man, performed a crisp about-face, and marched past Nicole. It was only as Nicole was leaving that I noticed she’d exchanged her dusty work clothes for a flattering, midnight-blue velvet dress. I had little time to wonder if Captain Manning had noticed just how flattering the gown was, because the gray-haired man addressed me.
“I don’t believe we’ve been introduced,” he said. “I’m Dr. MacEwan. I’d’ve been here sooner, but I had a baby to deliver in Blackhope.”
“No problem,” I said.
“I hope the men didn’t upset you,” he said.
“Not at all,” I replied. “Do you know what they were arguing about?”
“A military man and a military historian can always find a reason to squabble.” Dr. MacEwan rubbed the end of his nose. “In this particular case, however, I can’t blame Chase for being angry. I’d certainly take it amiss if Guy Manning looked into my private life. Though I dare say he’s done so already.”
“It’s his job. He’s head of security for the entire region. That’s why your accident’s preying on his mind. There’s some might say it’s his fault. It’s certainly his responsibility.”
As I slid the blanket from my shoulders, the doctor’s bushy eyebrows drew down in a fierce scowl.
“Good God, woman, you’re filthy. And what are you doing here? Exposure’s no joke, young lady. Up to your room straightaway, and no arguments.”
I put off my imprisonment in the red room as long as possible.
Mrs. Hatch had unpacked the luggage Adam had rescued from the wrecked Rover, so I grabbed my nightie and bathrobe and, with Dr. MacEwan’s consent, retreated to the bathroom to dispose of the library’s dust. When I returned to the red room after my bath, Dr. MacEwan had vanished.
I took advantage of the opportunity to call Bill. All was quiet on the home front, or as quiet as it could be with a pair of nineteen-month-olds ruling the roost. Bill was so exhausted by his first full day with the twins that he could barely string two words together, so I cut the conversation short, promising to call again the following morning.
No sooner had I hung up the phone than the doctor and Nicole arrived, the doctor toting his black bag, Nicole bearing a silver tray laden with a hearty meal. I looked from the rare slices of roast beef to the oozing blue-green wedge of Stilton, and felt myself grow pale.
“Perhaps a bit of broth would be more suitable,” Nicole suggested hastily. When the doctor nodded, she departed, taking the hearty meal with her.
“Lost your appetite, have you?” said the doctor. “I’m not surprised. Sit up, now, and let’s see what’s what.”
He took a stethoscope from his black bag and began his examination. He shook his head over my blood pressure, clucked his tongue at my pulse, and told me in no uncertain terms to stay put for the remainder of the evening.
Nicole returned shortly after I’d crawled beneath the covers. Dr. MacEwan took the tray she offered and dismissed her ruthlessly, ordering her not to disturb my rest. Then he stood over me, watching, as if to make sure that I’d eat up all my broth.
“Nicole tells me you fainted in the library,” he said, when the bowl was empty. “It’s a mercy you didn’t break your neck. You’ve had a serious shock to your system, young lady. You should’ve gone to bed the moment you arrived here.”
“I would have, except…” I looked pointedly from the ferret to the horrible, staring monkey.
The doctor followed my gaze. “I see. Not likely to inspire pleasant dreams, are they? I’ll have a word with Mrs. Hollander.”
“You could tell her I’m allergic to them,” I offered.
“I’ll tell her the damned room’s gloomy enough without them.” He glowered at the crimson hangings on the vast four-poster bed, then crossed to the windows to fling open the damask drapes. “That’s better. A bit of fresh air is— Good God!” he exclaimed. “There’re bars on the windows.”
“I know,” I said. “Nicole thinks it must have been a nursery at one time.”
“A nursery?” The doctor snorted. “I doubt it. Tucked away upstairs, that’s where you’ll find a nursery. Not down here, where the kiddies’ bawling might disturb the parents. Ah, well,” he said, cracking a window, “the bars won’t stop the breezes. Nothing better for you than fresh air.” He returned to the bed, removed the tray, and placed it on the dressing table. “You’ll dream about your accident, no doubt. Don’t let it trouble you. Nightmares are par for the course in cases like yours.”
“Once those critters are gone, I won’t have nightmares,” I assured him.
“Your confidence is admirable,” he said dourly. “The fact of the matter is that you’ve pushed yourself too hard. You’re bound to pay for it one way or another. Shock can affect the mind as well as the body.”
I stared up at the bloodred canopy, turning his words over in my mind. “Could shock make me…hallucinate?” I asked. “Could it make me hear and see things that aren’t really there?”
“What kinds of things?” he asked.
“Just before I fainted, I thought I heard”—I faltered, almost too embarrassed to admit the truth—“laughter. I thought I heard spooky laughter and saw a pair of creepy, glowing eyes.”
Dr. MacEwan regarded me thoughtfully. “You’ve no doubt heard of the Wyrdhurst ghost.”
I nodded.
“That would explain it,” he said. “The power of suggestion working on an exhausted and therefore vulnerable mind can produce all manner of queer visions. Don’t let it worry you. It’ll pass.” Dr. MacEwan hefted his bag and headed for the door. “I’ll look in on you again tomorrow morning. Until then, get some rest.”
When he’d gone, I faced the bedside table, where Reginald leaned companionably against the dashing Major Ted. Beside them stood a framed photograph Mrs. Hatch had taken from my luggage.
Bill’s face grinned back at me, and I could almost hear the twins’ throaty giggles as they wriggled in his arms, yet I gazed at them an odd sense of detachment. My boys were safe and happy, I told myself. They didn’t need me fussing over them twenty-four hours a day.
Besides, I thought, rolling onto my back, I wasn’t just a mother and a wife. I was a strong, intelligent woman of the world. Mr. Garnett the mechanic might be frightened of the house upon the hill, but I wasn’t. As Dr. MacEwan had explained, my jitters were nothing more than an overblown reaction to stress. A good night’s rest would put everything to rights.
Bolstered by my own pep talk, I saluted Major Ted, switched off the bedside lamp, and closed my eyes. Comforted by the dwindling fire’s pleasant flicker, I soon fell asleep.
The fire was out when I woke up. I couldn’t see a thing. But I could hear the stealthy footsteps and the quiet, raspy breathing.
Someone was in my room.