Stopping Lady Josephine with words was a useless effort as the duke’s sister discovered.
“It will be entertaining, Valentina! Not everyone wants to stand around listening to Sharlyn play the piano yet again. This will make your party the hit of the season.”
Suddenly, the duke joined our party and placed his hand on his sister’s arm. “Forget trying to convince Josephine to see sense, Val. If she wants to get her expensive dress dusty climbing in the attic, I will not stop her.”
The siblings exchanged a look but I didn’t have the codebook to decipher what it meant.
“That’s settled,” said Lady Josephine rather smugly. “Who's joining us?”
Not everyone wanted to stumble around in the dark, which suited me just fine. A few begged off due to work commitments for tomorrow. Others simply wanted to discuss the politics of the day over some of the best wine the province of Chambaux could produce. Jacques would have stayed with me, but General Reynard Somerville beckoned him to his side.
Lady Josephine wanted the ghost hunt to take place in the dark to increase the thrill, but the duke ordered his staff to bring lanterns and candles for the guests. As these were being handed out, the duke told his sister, “You stay here with our guests. I shall accompany the ghost hunt.”
“Are you sure, Tristan?” Her white teeth worried at her lip.
“Certainly. Besides, Madame Chalamet is my personal guest, and I have been lax in my duty of giving her a tour of our home.”
The duke held out his arm, and taking it, I felt a moment of pleasure when I saw how it angered Lady Josephine.
“Wouldn’t you like to be at the front with me to guide us, Tristan?” She asked in a tone that dropped sweet acid.
“Oh, I think you should be the hostess for this evening’s entertainment. After all, you know the house so well,” he replied smoothly.
“But what if a ghost frightens me?” she asked, giving him a coy smile. Her posture shifted subtly, displaying a well-developed cleavage. However, mysir de duke proved immune to both pleas and bosom.
“Isn’t that the purpose of this little jaunt? To enjoy being frightened? I would never stand in the way of your pleasure, Josephine, no matter the consequences.”
In the end, there was a mixed group of ladies and gentleman that numbered nine. Lady Josephine, Mysir de Archambeau, Lance, Stephan, and junior members of the dining party who seemed more interested in being with each other in the dark, rather than finding spirits.
Speaking without moving my lips, I muttered, “This wasn’t my idea.”
“Come along,” he said, leading me after the others who were already leaving.
From the ground floor, Lady Josephine showed her familiarity as she took a winding path of corridors that led us eventually to the kitchen. Cleaning up after a state dinner, the busy kitchen staff didn’t seem impressed by the invasion of party guests. Lady Josephine ignored their irritated looks, ushering her group further into the bowels of the house. But Mysir de Archambeau stopped and addressed the woman who seemed in charge.
“Madame Darly, the meal was superb. Madame Chalamet here told me your dishes outshone even those served at the Crown hotel by the famous chef, Gerhard Perdersen.”
He squeezed my hand, and I took my cue. “A superb meal that I will always remember,” I told her.
Frustrated looks melted away, replaced with beaming smiles directed at the duke.
“That’s good news, Your Grace,” said the woman, wiping her hands on her apron. With a nod, we moved past the staff to catch up with Lady Josephine.
I told him, “Accomplished liar.”
Mysir de duke responded, “Did you want burned toast at breakfast tomorrow? The last time someone came into the kitchen unannounced, Darly threw a saucepan at him.”
We were late and made it to the cellar door after the group had entered. Lady Josephine had stopped midway down the stairs to face an audience arranged below her. Coming down behind her, I vigorously fanned my hand back and forth to make the lady’s lantern flicker wildly. As the flame guttered, she exclaimed, “Look at this wild flame! A spirit is nigh!”
I almost burst out laughing. Mysir de Archambeau whispered in my ear, “Behave, Ghost Talker, or I may have you arrested.”
Hearing us, Lady Baudelaire spun around.
“You two are late! Come down and stand with the others.”
Meekly, I stepped past her and joined her audience. Staying on the stairs, she held the lantern under her chin so it cast distorted shadows over her face, and begun her tale.
“When Alenbonné still had dirt for streets, in this spot sat not a noble house, but a bawdy tavern named the Bell and the Drum. A favorite with soldiers, the place was known for two things: the quality of its ale, and the beauty of its mistress. But beauty often spawns hate and jealousy. And none were more jealous than the beauty’s husband, who saw her flirtatious way with the customers as a slight upon his honor.”
Even under the sleeve of his coat, I could feel Archambeau’s forearm stiffen as his hand balled into a fist.
“The couple ran the Bell and Tavern together— she, with her bright smile, drew the men who would spend their earnings, and the miser would count the coin every night. Wait!” Lady Josephine’s hand went to her ear. “Do you hear the coins being counted?”
Of course we didn’t. There was no male ghost down here, but Lady Josephine’s dramatic presentation had gotten a few to shivering.
“Every day he became meaner, about his money and with his wife. He grew bitter, wanting what he couldn’t have: his wife’s affection. His jealousy drove her away from him. All she wanted was to make the world a happier place. There is more to life than mopping floors and washing dishes. Or being one man’s companion.”
A light sigh caressed my ear.
“Her husband tried to control her smiles, laughs, and joy. When nothing worked, he beat her, hoping that a spoiled face would stop her suitors. Little wonder that she sought to run away with her lover, but her husband caught her before she could escape. Down here, in this cellar. He shot her lover and beat her to death. Then he walked up the stairs, these very stairs, and drowned himself in the sea.”
There was a grave moment of silence before Lady Josephine said in a stage whisper, “Some can still hear her laugh. Do you?”
She had primed her audience, and they were feeling a suspended dread. From the corner of my eye, I saw Stephan lightly touch a woman on the back of her neck. She screamed in surprise. Seeing him laughing, she slapped him across the face.
“Don’t touch me again!”
“Stella!”
“Leave me alone!”
Grabbing her skirts, the young lady stormed up the stairs in righteous indignation. Stephan followed in hot pursuit, apologizing the entire way. Once the door at the top of the stairs banged shut, Lady Josephine told those who remained, “Let’s see if we can catch a ghost in the green room.”
She stepped upwards, with the others following. I placed my hand on Archambeau’s sleeve to stop him from taking the stairs. In a low voice, I asked, “Do you have a handkerchief?”
Irritated, he asked with a sneer, “To wipe away a tear? Don’t tell me that sentimental claptrap touched your heart?”
“Do you have one or not?” From an inside pocket he withdrew a white square, and I asked, “Kiss it for me?”
He rolled his eyes, gave it a kiss, and handed it to me with a flourish. I laid it out on one of the storage barrels and told the ghost, “A gift from one of your admirers.”
A breezy, light laugh tickled my ear and a sudden steep drop in temperature made goosebumps start up my bare back and neck. We must have stood there at least five minutes in silence before the temperature returned to normal.
“We can leave now. She’s gone.”
Now it was Mysir de Archambeau’s hand on my elbow, which stopped us from leaving. “No manifestation this time?”
“Old haunts are more like memories, often confused. They have little power except for what they gain from the living to manifest.”
“You mean she’s draining our life force to be here?”
I chuckled. “Don’t be so melodramatic. Of course not. The amount of power she would use from us would be negligible, but yes, it is our emotions that power her shifting from Beyond to the Earthly. But if it bothers you, I could probably dismiss her to the Afterlife, if you want her dispelled permanently.”
“You could do that? Banish any spirit I wanted?”
“This one, most likely. She’s weak. But really, that seems mean-spirited, don’t you think?” I started up, but his hand on my arm stopped me, putting us at eye level since he was lower on the stairs. Both of our lanterns had guttered, the fire quenched by the ghost’s need for energy so the only light was traveling down from the open doorway.
“Why the handkerchief?”
“I thought she’d appreciate a gift from a man as handsome as yourself.”
“Oh, you think me handsome, do you? I don't like flattery.” I couldn’t imagine why he sounded angry, or why he gave my arm a little shake when he spoke.
“You have two eyes that work, a nose in the right place, vast wealth, and a title. I’m sure that is handsome enough to please a hundred-year ghost.”
Mysir de duke laughed, and the odd tension between us melted away.
“Thank you, madame,” he said, giving me a dramatic bow worthy of the theater.
“Now, can we go upstairs and find out what other mischief Lady Josephine is up to?”
Up we went, and down the long corridor, past the kitchen staff, up four steps and down a hall that took us back to living areas of the house.
“Everyone thinks I’m here because you want to Ghost Talk with your wife.”
“I don’t,” said Archambeau grimly.
“How did she die?”
“You do like getting to the point, don’t you, Madame Nosy? Doesn't your power of deductions explain how it happened?” We had stopped and were now standing together in a hallway on the first floor. His arm went across my path, blocking me. “Have you ever wondered, madame, if your curiosity will get you into trouble one day?”
“Oh, it’s gotten me into lots of trouble. But I like trouble.”
“It isn’t a secret. She died from River Fever five years ago. With the drought, and the water in the canals at a low point, there was an outbreak of the disease throughout Alenbonné that year.”
His stare was intense, a mix of anger and something else.
“You’re lying.”
Someone shouted, “Here they are!”
Archambeau drew back and the person who had spotted us ducked back into a room only for Lady Josephine to exit into the hall. “Finally, our Ghost Talker has arrived. Did you get lost?”
Thankfully, Lady Josephine didn’t wait for an answer. We entered the green room, and she followed us, closing the door behind her. With great fanfare, she announced to everyone, “Let's see if the famous Madame Chalamet can guess what happened in this room.”
Surveying the green room, it seemed to be a public area done in a utilitarian masculine style. There were a couple of desks with comfortable chairs, but also a two-chair nook nestled against a draped window, bookshelves, and maps on the walls. As a government office, I dismissed the furnishings as anything that could provide clues.
Ignoring the energy of the living, I felt for the aura of a spirit. Those who have died but who remain on the physical plan have a different spectrum. A few untrained people feel them— eliciting comments of someone walking over your grave, or that sensation of being watched. With training, you can feel more: the air was vibrating. There was a damp furriness to the atmosphere, signaling a presence.
I did not like clients who wanted me to display my skills like a circus pony. Besides, Lady Josephine Baudelaire was not my client. She wasn’t even my host. And even if she was all of these things, I still wouldn’t like her.
It helped that the haunt in this room was of the malicious type.
I fed it energy.
All the candles blew out, a girl screamed, and the room descended into chaos.