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Authors: Not Quite a Lady
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mean.”
“There are two ghosts,” Lilly said. His nonchalance irritated her. What would have to happen for Mr. Temple to be impressed? The sight of both ghosts? Maybe five of them? And perhaps they should ruffle his hair or…snap his suspenders.
“Who are they?” He didn’t look up from the Egypt book, but kept paging through, stopping to look at one photograph after another.
“Who?” She could play his game.
He looked up at her then. And smiled.
Lilly felt her heart drop to her toes. Perhaps she wasn’t equipped to play his game. “T-the ghosts?” she stammered.
He waited.
“It was Lady Alice who appeared tonight,” she said, once she was in control again. “As the story goes, she was a visitor at Ravenwell. Her husband killed her when he found her with her lover.”
“How do you know this?”
“It’s just what I’ve heard over the years. My aunt Maude… Well, she knew the history of the house.” Which was the truth. She’d known everything about Ravenwell Cottage, though none of it had included stories about ghosts.
“Where’s Fletcher?”
“Tom? At home, I imagine. He takes care of his elderly mother. Or perhaps he hasn’t yet returned from Crag’s farm.”
“Very convenient.”
“Are you insinuating that Tom is…that he…”She slammed her book shut just as he yanked his fingers out of it. She gathered the Egypt book and Athens of Antiquity into her arms and turned to him. “You’ll forgive me, Mr. Temple, I have work to do.”
She left in a huff, angry that she had let his insinuations get the better of her. Mr. Temple’s doubt was no different from the few other guests who’d been reluctant to believe in her ghosts. Disbelief was easy to deal with.
It was his cocky attitude that rankled.
Closing herself into the office behind the desk, Lilly hugged her books and took a moment to settle down before going through the door that led to the private apartment she shared with Charlotte. Her friend always sensed disquiet around her, and it upset her.
When Lilly felt reasonably calm, she walked into the sitting room where Charlotte sat beside a window, sewing. Lilly recognized Tom’s shirt on her lap, and saw that Charlotte was repairing a tear in the sleeve. She was unaware of Lilly’s presence, and Lilly did not want to startle her.
She set down her books and picked up a lamp, causing a change in lighting that made her friend look up. Smiling brilliantly, Charlotte told Lilly about Duncan’s kittens, then about the fun she’d had in the kitchen, helping Mr. Clive make pudding.
Lilly was glad Charlotte had had such a grand day. But she wished her friend were capable of understanding the problems she herself faced every day. Ordering supplies, keeping the day maids on task, making the payroll, balancing their income against their debts…
Creating ghosts for the amusement of the guests.
Lilly’s keen loneliness struck her hard. She was usually able to keep it contained, but her need to communicate fully with another soul, to speak of her wishes and aspirations, to share her troubles, was nearly overpowering. It welled up inside her and threatened to spill out in a shower of miserable tears.
Charlotte’s hands stilled. She tilted her head and looked quizzically at Lilly.
They had never devised any signals for feelings beyond “happy” or “sad.” It didn’t matter. Lilly doubted that she could actually verbalize the torrent of emotions that rushed through her now. She gave a shrug of her shoulders, smiled wanly and left Charlotte. She set her books on the table in her room, then picked up a shawl and went through the back hall that led to the inn’s kitchen.
It was dark, and all was quiet. What Lilly needed was some time away from the inn—just a few minutes to forget about the responsibilities that bound her. She tossed the shawl around her shoulders and slipped out the back door.
Sam blew out a harsh breath and acknowledged that he hadn’t handled that
“There are two ghosts,” Lilly said. His nonchalance irritated her. What would have to happen for Mr. Temple to be impressed? The sight of both ghosts? Maybe five of them? And perhaps they should ruffle his hair or…snap his suspenders.
“Who are they?” He didn’t look up from the Egypt book, but kept paging through, stopping to look at one photograph after another.
“Who?” She could play his game.
He looked up at her then. And smiled.
Lilly felt her heart drop to her toes. Perhaps she wasn’t equipped to play his game. “T-the ghosts?” she stammered.
He waited.
“It was Lady Alice who appeared tonight,” she said, once she was in control again. “As the story goes, she was a visitor at Ravenwell. Her husband killed her when he found her with her lover.”
“How do you know this?”
“It’s just what I’ve heard over the years. My aunt Maude… Well, she knew the history of the house.” Which was the truth. She’d known everything about Ravenwell Cottage, though none of it had included stories about ghosts.
“Where’s Fletcher?”
“Tom? At home, I imagine. He takes care of his elderly mother. Or perhaps he hasn’t yet returned from Crag’s farm.”
“Very convenient.”
“Are you insinuating that Tom is…that he…”She slammed her book shut just as he yanked his fingers out of it. She gathered the Egypt book and Athens of Antiquity into her arms and turned to him. “You’ll forgive me, Mr. Temple, I have work to do.”
She left in a huff, angry that she had let his insinuations get the better of her. Mr. Temple’s doubt was no different from the few other guests who’d been reluctant to believe in her ghosts. Disbelief was easy to deal with.
It was his cocky attitude that rankled.
Closing herself into the office behind the desk, Lilly hugged her books and took a moment to settle down before going through the door that led to the private apartment she shared with Charlotte. Her friend always sensed disquiet around her, and it upset her.
When Lilly felt reasonably calm, she walked into the sitting room where Charlotte sat beside a window, sewing. Lilly recognized Tom’s shirt on her lap, and saw that Charlotte was repairing a tear in the sleeve. She was unaware of Lilly’s presence, and Lilly did not want to startle her.
She set down her books and picked up a lamp, causing a change in lighting that made her friend look up. Smiling brilliantly, Charlotte told Lilly about Duncan’s kittens, then about the fun she’d had in the kitchen, helping Mr. Clive make pudding.
Lilly was glad Charlotte had had such a grand day. But she wished her friend were capable of understanding the problems she herself faced every day. Ordering supplies, keeping the day maids on task, making the payroll, balancing their income against their debts…
Creating ghosts for the amusement of the guests.
Lilly’s keen loneliness struck her hard. She was usually able to keep it contained, but her need to communicate fully with another soul, to speak of her wishes and aspirations, to share her troubles, was nearly overpowering. It welled up inside her and threatened to spill out in a shower of miserable tears.
Charlotte’s hands stilled. She tilted her head and looked quizzically at Lilly.
They had never devised any signals for feelings beyond “happy” or “sad.” It didn’t matter. Lilly doubted that she could actually verbalize the torrent of emotions that rushed through her now. She gave a shrug of her shoulders, smiled wanly and left Charlotte. She set her books on the table in her room, then picked up a shawl and went through the back hall that led to the inn’s kitchen.
It was dark, and all was quiet. What Lilly needed was some time away from the inn—just a few minutes to forget about the responsibilities that bound her. She tossed the shawl around her shoulders and slipped out the back door.
Sam blew out a harsh breath and acknowledged that he hadn’t handled that
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