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.A flicker of amusement went across her features.“It’s Sally.The new girl.I’m afraid she’s run off.”“Run off?” Tamara asked, taken aback.But then logic reinterpreted the words and she shook her head.“Let me guess.She went into the library?”Martha nodded.“I instructed her, as I do all the new staff members, that only I am to clean the library.Still, it does seem that her curiosity got the better of her.”“And she saw Byron?”Martha raised her chin and stood a bit straighter, as though unwilling to concede there was anything odd about the conversation.“Indeed,” she replied.“The girl muttered something about a ghost and poetry, and added that no living man ever spoke to her in a manner so boldly lascivious.”Tamara rose from her chair and went to the window, letting the sun warm her, seep down into her bones.There was a chill in her always, of late.She turned and smiled wanly at Martha.“If that shocked her, I’d hate to think what might have happened if she’d heard the sorts of things Byron says to the new stable boy.”The gray-haired maid blinked but made an obvious effort not to react to this latest bit of knowledge about the goings on at Ludlow House.After a moment, when Tamara did not go on, she let her shoulders sag.“You’ll want me to find a replacement, Miss?”“Of course,” Tamara replied.“And another girl besides.Not to mention a groundskeeper.Thank goodness the cook doesn’t seem bothered by the presence of the.less tangible residents of the house.Let alone my father’s lunatic ravings.”The household staff might be willing to put up with a haunting now and again, particularly if the ghosts were not especially aggressive.But Tamara and William were not fools.They were the only living residents of Ludlow House who knew that their father’s affliction — the madness that caused them to keep him shackled inside a locked room — had nothing to do with true lunacy, and everything to do with the demon possessing his soul.Martha cleared her throat.“Is there anything else you’ve need of at the moment, Miss?”Tamara assured her there was not and the maid took her leave, closing the door once more behind her.When she returned her attention once more to the page upon the desk it took several moments for her to find her place in the narrative again, for her to imagine herself in the dire circumstances of her protagonist.Then she nodded once and reached for her pen.Once again, she was interrupted by a knock at the door.“Yes?” she called, allowing her annoyance to sneak into her tone.She fully expected to see Martha again, returning with some additional bit of bad news that had slipped her mind the first time.Instead, the door swung open and Bertram Farris entered.Farris was broad-shouldered and stocky, far less elegant than the slender and particular men Tamara had always encountered in his position.But he was an excellent butler, a gentleman’s gentleman who came from a family with a proud history as household domestics.“Good afternoon, Miss Tamara,” the butler said, executing a small bow.“And to you, Farris.You’ll pardon my brusqueness, but I hope you’re not here with further tales of woe.”The butler stood as though at attention, more grimly proper than any military man.“Not at all, Miss.It’s only that Master William had not yet returned and there is a visitor at the door.I made it clear to him that Ludlow House is not in the habit of receiving strange visitors unannounced —”“Would that we weren’t,” Tamara muttered.“I also informed him that Master William was not at home, but he then insisted upon seeing you.Shall I send him away, Miss?”Tamara ruminated on the question.She glanced longingly at her manuscript and then out the window at the golden afternoon sunlight, which would soon grow dim.Once William had returned home, dinner would be imminent.If she left the room now she knew that she would be abandoning her writing for the day.At length she sighed and rose from her chair again.“No, Farris.I’ll speak with him.Where have you left him?”“In the drawing room, Miss.”Farris stepped aside so that Tamara could exit her grandfather’s chambers.Sir Ludlow was dead, but no matter how much time passed she would always think of the rooms as his.The shadows were deeper there in the corridor but Tamara paid them no attention at all.Shadows and light were constant companions.Without the darkness one would be unable to recognize, to appreciate, the purity of the light.She made her way through the house and down the grand staircase at its heart, into the foyer.Farris kept pace with her as though he were her personal guardian, and she knew that in a way he was.Without William in the house it would have been entirely inappropriate for her to meet behind closed doors with a male visitor, stranger or not.The doors to the drawing room had been left open and as her skirts whispered across the floor her mysterious visitor glanced up from his perch upon the settee and caught sight of her.He was an old man with only wisps of white hair and skin rough and weathered, and his eyes narrowed with determination when she strode into the room.Tea had been brought to him, but now he set the cup back upon the tray and stood quickly.“Miss Swift, thank you so much for agreeing to speak with me,” he said, and by his accent she took him for a Welshman.Or, if not from Wales, she would have guessed the borderlands, perhaps Shropshire.Farris took up a place just inside the drawing room and she could not shake the sudden image that came into her mind, that she was a Sister of Charity come to visit a prisoner on the day of his execution.Certainly the desperation and sorrow in her visitor’s expression did nothing to dissuade her of the illusion.“You have the advantage of me, sir,” Tamara said.“I am, indeed, Tamara Swift.Perhaps you’ll be so kind as to introduce yourself.”The old man paled and cast a glance downward.“My apologies, Miss.I’m not usually so rude.It’s only that I came a long way to see you — you and your brother — and when I was told he was not at home I feared you were also not in residence.It is a great relief to see you.“My name is Nichols, Miss.Dr.John Nichols, of Blackbriar, Herefordshire.”Tamara extended her hand and allowed him to take it.Dr.Nichols respectfully inclined his head.“Pleased to meet you, Doctor.Though I gather by your manner and the abruptness of your appearance here that the circumstances of your visit are hardly pleasant.”The elderly man gazed at her a moment, as though he wanted desperately to reveal to her the pain in his heart but was ashamed to do so.Then he clasped his hands in front of him.“No, miss.Not at all pleasant.Would you mind terribly if I sat?”Tamara gestured toward the settee.“Of course, Doctor.I’m sorry, please do.”Dr.Nichols returned to the settee, still perched upon its edge as though afraid he might have to lurch from it at any moment.Tamara sat in a delicate chair just across from him and though she was tempted to snatch up one of the biscuits that had been set out for him with the tea tray, she refrained.Her gaze shifted toward Farris, still and silent as a statue by the door, then back to the despondent wretch who had appeared upon her doorstep.“Well, Doctor, you certainly have my attention [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]