Chapter 24
Lord Stanley had stationed two footmen upon the third floor. She frequently spotted them pacing the corridors outside the nursery, and though their presence might once have frightened her, it now felt oddly reassuring.
That evening, Sarah sat sewing beside the fireplace, though the smile she offered looked strained.
‘What is the matter, Sarah? You look anxious.’
Lowering her voice to a whisper, Sarah glanced uneasily towards the walls.
‘It is this house... it is creepy. I am not one for superstition, but... the servants say the late Baron was murdered, and that his spirit roams the halls at night seeking vengeance. Last night I swear I heard footsteps inside the walls. And knocking.’
A soft chuckle escaped Charlotte.
‘You sound like that frightened maid downstairs. It is nonsense, Sarah. Houses this old are forever creaking and groaning. It was likely the dumbwaiter—or some pulley hidden within the walls.’
‘I suppose,’ Sarah muttered unconvinced.
‘If you are truly afraid, bring a trundle bed into Tom’s room tonight. There is plenty of space, and I know he would be comforted by it. His nightmares have become more frequent lately.’
Sarah brightened immediately.
‘I think I shall.’
A faint smile touched her lips.
‘There now. Problem solved.’
By the time the household settled for the night, Sarah had installed herself in Tom’s room and fallen asleep almost instantly.
But sometime during the final hours before dawn, a scream shattered the silence.
Charlotte jerked awake, heart leaping into her throat. Snatching up her wrapper, she rushed into Tom’s room. The two footmen stationed outside had already burst inside ahead of her.
Sarah sat upright in bed, deathly pale and trembling so violently the blankets shook around her. Tom huddled beneath the covers, wide-eyed with terror.
Hurrying to Sarah at once, she gathered the trembling maid into her arms.
‘What is it?’ she asked breathlessly. ‘Did you have a nightmare?’
Sarah pointed shakily towards the corner of the room.
‘Over there,’ she whispered.
Following her gaze, she saw nothing.
Turning towards the footmen, she asked, ‘Did either of you see anything?’
One shook his head.
‘Nothing, Miss Lucas. We were right outside.’
Sarah’s tears flowed freely.
‘There was a man. In a hood. Standing there. I swear it.’ Her fingers dug painfully into her arm.
She exchanged a glance with the guards. The room showed no sign of intrusion. The window remained latched. Nothing stirred save the shifting shadows cast by tree branches scraping against the glass.
‘You were dreaming, dearest,’ she soothed gently. ‘That is all. You are safe now. There is no one there.’
After dismissing the footmen back to their post, she lit a lantern beside the bed, flooding the room with warm golden light.
‘Keep this burning and you shall see there is nothing to fear. You have allowed all those ridiculous stories below stairs to fill your imagination.’
Privately, however, exhaustion was beginning to wear heavily upon her. Between missing maids, secret societies, and murder attempts, she had little patience left for ghost stories and midnight terrors.
Eventually Sarah allowed herself to be coaxed back to sleep, though she remained pale and shaken.
Tom, however, stayed wide awake.
‘Do not worry,’ Charlotte murmured. ‘She merely had a nightmare. It is all over now.’
‘I... had another accident,’ he admitted quietly, staring down at the blankets.
‘Come—we shall clean it up together.’
They worked quietly so as not to wake Sarah again. Tom scarcely spoke throughout, and when she stripped away the soiled linens, he turned his face towards the wall, his mouth tight and trembling.
Once the bed had been remade, he climbed back beneath the covers and clung tightly to her hand.
Kneeling beside him, she brushed the damp strands of hair from his forehead.
‘It was only a bad dream,’ she murmured softly. ‘Nothing more.’
Tom would not meet her gaze.
His wide eyes shimmered strangely in the lantern light.
‘Will you stay?’ he whispered instead.
She could not refuse him.
Lying beside Tom atop the coverlet, she let his little hand curl tightly around hers. Gradually his breathing slowed, and just as sleep began to claim him, he murmured drowsily:
‘It is alright. We shall tell Sarah not to be frightened in the morning. I dreamt the man too.’
The words made her still.
Slowly, her eyes lifted towards the dark corner Sarah had pointed to earlier. A faint shiver crept over her.
Surely it was only a nightmare. An old house, too many frightening stories, overwrought nerves—
And yet...
Was it possible someone did come into the room?
Unease settled heavily in her chest as she stared fixedly at the corner.
Eventually exhaustion overtook her, though sleep remained shallow and uneasy.
Then—
A scream tore through the morning silence.
She jolted upright, nearly tumbling from Tom’s bed. Sarah was already stirring beside her, eyes wide with alarm. Miraculously, Tom still slept soundly between them.
Another scream echoed through the house.
Snatching up their shawls, they rushed from the room.
The two footmen stationed outside were already racing down the corridor ahead of them. Together they descended the grand staircase, where chaos had erupted in the entrance hall below.
A young housemaid had collapsed against the banister, face blotched with tears and eyes wild with terror.
‘She... she... sh-she’s dead,’ she gasped between sobs.
Lord Stanley was already there. Catching the maid gently by the shoulders, he steadied her at once.
‘Who is dead?’ he demanded. ‘Tell me—who?’
She pointed a trembling finger towards the servants’ corridor.
‘Mrs Dent.’
A stunned hush swept through the hall.
Servants clustered nervously outside the corridor entrance while, at the far end of the mansion, bedchamber doors began flying open as guests emerged in varying states of alarm and disarray.
‘Have we been robbed?’ Lord Bainbridge demanded loudly.
‘I heard a girl scream,’ Mr Payne added nervously.
‘Eh? What is happening?’ cried Miss Hill.
The hall dissolved into overlapping speculation.
Lord Stanley intervened immediately.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, remain calm. One of the servants suffered a nightmare, nothing more. Please return to your rooms.’
His tone left very little room for argument.
‘Gentlemen,’ he added coolly, ‘perhaps you might assist the ladies.’
Reluctantly, the guests began drifting back upstairs, muttering amongst themselves. Several tense minutes passed before the commotion finally subsided.
Across the hall, Lord Stanley’s gaze found hers instantly.
And in that single look, she understood.
He needed her help.
Moving at once, she stepped forward just as Mrs Wilberforce appeared in the corridor, her night robe billowing behind her like a storm cloud.
‘What is happening?’ she demanded breathlessly.
Charlotte quickly took her arm, steering her away from the servants’ corridor before she could glimpse anything dreadful.
‘Come now,’ she said firmly. ‘There is no need for everyone to crowd the hall. Sarah, would you escort Mrs Wilberforce upstairs?’
But Mrs Wilberforce resisted immediately, her face turning alarmingly pale.
‘I heard the maid scream and say someone was dead—who is it?’
Unlike the other guests, being lodged in the family wing meant she had heard far more.
‘Lord Stanley has everything under control. Please, Mrs Wilberforce, return to your room. There is nothing you can do now.’
Nearby, the remaining maids huddled together whispering anxiously amongst themselves.
Turning to the butler, Charlotte said, ‘Please, Holden, can you organise the staff today in place of Mrs Dent?’
He nodded solemnly.
‘At once, Miss Lucas.’
Then, with quiet authority, he began shepherding the servants towards the kitchens.
Charlotte’s attention shifted towards Lord Stanley descending into the servants’ quarters whilst speaking in low tones to several footmen.
Slowly, she and Sarah returned upstairs and dressed in uneasy silence. From their position within the family wing, they had heard enough to know the truth.
Mrs Dent was dead.
And Holly most certainly had not been suffering from a nightmare.
Some time later, a knock sounded at Charlotte’s door.
‘Are you dressed?’ came Lord Stanley’s clipped voice.
She turned quickly towards Sarah.
‘Stay here with Tom—and do not let anyone else inside,’ she whispered urgently.
Sarah nodded at once.
Wrapping a shawl tightly about her shoulders, Charlotte opened the door.
Lord Stanley stood before her fully dressed despite the early hour. Shadows darkened the space beneath his eyes, though his expression remained hard and composed.
‘I require your assistance. Come.’
Without another word, she followed him downstairs.
At the threshold of Mrs Dent’s chamber, he paused and studied her closely, as though searching for some sign she might collapse at the sight awaiting them. Apparently satisfied by whatever he saw, he gave a brief nod and stepped aside.
‘You do not faint at the sight of a body,’ he observed.
Charlotte swallowed.
‘I have seen death before,’ she replied quietly, her father’s face flashing suddenly through her mind. She pushed the grief aside before it could surface.
‘I would rather not risk it.’
He held out his hand.
After only the briefest hesitation, she placed her fingers in his.
His grip felt warm, steady, reassuringly firm.
‘No one has disturbed the room,’ he said as they entered. ‘I need your keen eye for detail, Miss Lucas. You have encountered these people before. If you notice anything unusual—however small—I want to hear it.’
She nodded silently.
The moment she crossed the threshold, her gaze fell upon the body.
Mrs Dent lay stiff upon the bed, one hand loosely curled around a small glass bottle. Her skin had already taken on a dreadful pallor; her lips were tinged grey, her lifeless eyes fixed upon nothing.
A folded note rested neatly upon the bedside table.