“Grandfather,” she said.

He looked pleased.

“He always had that dreadful smell.”

Now he looked thunderous and vanished, but not before one of the woman’s hairpins flung away from her head, landing with a clatter on the table. There was a swell of excited whispers. Mother sat back proudly.

A woman appeared next, floating near the fireplace. She had no aroma and no voice. It occurred to me that this would be a much simpler matter if I could see and hear them at the same time, instead of this blind game where I never knew what to expect. Could one write a strongly worded letter to the deceased requiring their full cooperation? I was willing to try. This was too much of a puzzle, and I was too nervous with such an audience.

“The lady is wearing an old-fashioned dress, with petticoats and a lace shawl,” I described. “She wears gloves and her eyes are very dark. There’s a locket on a long gold chain.”

“Lady Schofield!” Mrs. Grey exclaimed. “I’ve missed her so. We were the best of friends when we were girls.”

The spirit nodded. In her hands appeared a bowl of blackberries.

“She is showing me blackberries.”

Mrs. Grey laughed through her tears.

“We used to gather them every summer by the lake. When we were younger we’d sneak them home and eat them at midnight, staining the pillowcases.”

There was another hour of questions and peering into the shadows and trying to make sense of cryptic clues. I was beginning to feel fatigued and a little ill. Mother didn’t seem to notice; she and Lord Marshall had their heads bent together.

“Anyone missing the family silver?” he joked with what I thought was forced casualness. “Violet here is doing a brilliant job.”

An older woman appeared behind him, only for an instant. She looked disgusted. I liked her instantly, especially when she attempted to smack him on the back of the head. Her voice was still sharp in my ear, even after she faded. I repeated her words. I didn’t like Lord Marshall anyway.

“Your wife, Lord Marshall, says that your current mistress is barely seventeen and that she has no intention of letting you spend her family’s silver on her.”

There was a shocked gasp, a snort of laughter. Lord Marshall looked down his aquiline nose at me. “I beg your pardon?” he said icily.

Mother glared at me viciously before rising. “That will be all for tonight. Violet, you are looking quite pale. You should retire. This work is quite taxing.”

I smiled wanly. “Good night.” I left as Mother apologized profusely to Lord Marshall.

Colin winked at me as I passed.

I winked back.

When I got to my bedroom, I found a letter under my pillow. Colin must have brought it up for me before Mother got to the post. I hadn’t noticed it before. I broke the seal. The paper was thick and when I unfolded it another fluttered to the blanket. I recognized the handwriting first.

Dear Violet,

I am still cross that you lied to me but enclosed is a letter I just received from Tabitha. I hope you didn’t lie to me about your own talents.

Elizabeth

P.S. I am trying to find a solution.

P.P.S. But I’m still cross.

The next letter was considerably longer.

Dear Elizabeth,

I hardly know why I am bothering to write. It’s clear from that scandalous display at your godfather’s house party that Mrs. Willoughby is not a respectable woman. I don’t see why her daughter would be any different. I suppose she lied about her gifts too? I ought not to be surprised. I don’t believe in that sort of thing anyway. Still, I will admit Violet did give me pause. She knew certain details that had no way of being public knowledge. And that ring … I must be mad to be doing this.

The thing is, Elizabeth, I am frightened. Something isn’t right here. I can’t think what it is, but I am heartily sick of the lies. They fill up this house like water until I feel I might drown too.

Violet said Rowena was scared for me. I’m scared too. Might you come for a visit? Caroline is peevish all the time, and Uncle is occupied with some work or another.

Yours,

Tabitha Wentworth

CHAPTER 20

The next morning I ate breakfast alone with a copy of Shakespeare’s sonnets. Mother left early to pick up our photographs from Mr. Hudson, and Marjorie was hiding in the kitchen. I didn’t see Colin until I’d finished the pot of tea and was standing up to leave. He seemed taller somehow, older.

And I suddenly didn’t know what to say.

He smiled. “Good morning.”

I smiled back. “Good morning.”

This was ridiculous. I wasn’t going to become one of those girls who was hopelessly tongue-tied and woolly-headed because of a boy. He might be the boy who had kissed me until I was breathless, but he was also the boy who had once snuck an earthworm into my cucumber salad.

“What did Elizabeth have to say?” he asked, confirming that he had been the one to rescue the letter from Mother’s prying eyes. I was grateful for an actual topic of conversation to distract me from his eyes, pale as clouds reflected in a summer lake.

I was getting positively sentimental. It would never do.

“Vi?”

“Sorry.” I snapped back to attention. “She sent me one of Tabitha’s letters. They’re worried.” I frowned. “So am I. And I still can’t think why Mr. Travis was in the graveyard. He’s clearly up to no good. What if he …?” I let the thought trail off, fisting my hands. “I don’t know what to do about any of it. I can’t very well go barging in there.”