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looked grim. "If only you had not taken a notion to use a medium as a character in your next
novel, Caroline. You would never have gone to Wintersett House to study psychical research and we
would never have at-tended Elizabeth Delmont's last séance"
But she had made those choices, Caroline thought glumly. And now she and her aunts faced the
possibility of being dragged through the muck of another dreadful scandal, one that could well destroy
her new career upon which they all depended financially.
She could not just sit here, waiting for disaster to crash down upon them like an avalanche. She must
take action. There was too much at stake.
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
FIVE
She dreamed the old nightmare again that night.
She clutched her heavy skirts and ran for her life along the rutted dirt path. Behind her the terrible
thud-thud-thud of her pursuer's footsteps drew closer. Her heart pounded. She was tiring, sucking
oxygen into her lungs in great, rasping gasps.
Fear and panic had provided an unnatural surge of energy at the start of the ordeal, but the
weight of her gown had become a terrifying burden, slowing her desperate rush. The parasol
attached to the pretty chatelaine that Milly and Emma had given her for her birthday bounced
against her side, threatening her balance.
She did not know how much longer she could go on but she knew that if she stopped, she would
die.
"You have to go away," her pursuer said, speaking in that eerie, unnaturally reasonable manner.
"Don't you see? He will come back to me if you go away."
She did not turn her head to look back over her shoulder. She could not take the risk. If she
stumbled or fell she was lost.
There was no point looking back, in any event. She knew all she needed to know. Her pursuer
gripped a large, gleaming carving knife and was bent on murder.
"You have to go away."
Thud-thud-thud. The footsteps drew closer. The woman who was chasing her was not weighted
down with a cumbersome dress. The would-be killer wore only a light linen nightgown and a pair
of sturdy shoes.
"He will come back to me if you go away."
The woolen skirts of her gown felt like leaden weights in her hands. She was losing ground... .
Caroline awoke in a cold sweat, the way she always did after the dream. It was no doubt the affair of
the murdered medium that had inspired the return of her nightmare, she thought.
She had endured the dream off and on for three years now. Sometimes she would be free of it for a
fortnight or even a month; just long enough to begin to hope that she had seen the last of it. Then it would
come back without warning, shattering her slumber. Sometimes it would stick around for several nights in
a row before disappearing again.
She swung her legs over the side of the bed and reached for her robe and slippers. There was no point
in trying to go back to sleep. She knew the pattern all too well. There was only one thing to be
done—the same thing she did every other night when the dream and the frightening memories returned to
haunt her.
She made her way quietly downstairs to the chilly study. There she lit a lamp, poured herself a small
glass of sherry and paced the floor for a time.
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
When her nerves had steadied and her pulse was no longer racing, she sat down at her desk, took out
paper and pen and began to write.
Nightmares, murder and the enigmatic Mr. Grove aside, she had work to do. Mr. Spraggett, the
publisher of the Flying Intelligencer, would be expecting the next episode of The Mysterious
Gentleman at the end of the week.
The successful writer of serialized sensation novels survived by adhering to an inflexible schedule: A new
chapter had to be written every week for some twenty-six weeks in a row. Each chapter consisted of
approximately five thou-sand words. To maintain readers' interest, each
novel, Caroline. You would never have gone to Wintersett House to study psychical research and we
would never have at-tended Elizabeth Delmont's last séance"
But she had made those choices, Caroline thought glumly. And now she and her aunts faced the
possibility of being dragged through the muck of another dreadful scandal, one that could well destroy
her new career upon which they all depended financially.
She could not just sit here, waiting for disaster to crash down upon them like an avalanche. She must
take action. There was too much at stake.
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
FIVE
She dreamed the old nightmare again that night.
She clutched her heavy skirts and ran for her life along the rutted dirt path. Behind her the terrible
thud-thud-thud of her pursuer's footsteps drew closer. Her heart pounded. She was tiring, sucking
oxygen into her lungs in great, rasping gasps.
Fear and panic had provided an unnatural surge of energy at the start of the ordeal, but the
weight of her gown had become a terrifying burden, slowing her desperate rush. The parasol
attached to the pretty chatelaine that Milly and Emma had given her for her birthday bounced
against her side, threatening her balance.
She did not know how much longer she could go on but she knew that if she stopped, she would
die.
"You have to go away," her pursuer said, speaking in that eerie, unnaturally reasonable manner.
"Don't you see? He will come back to me if you go away."
She did not turn her head to look back over her shoulder. She could not take the risk. If she
stumbled or fell she was lost.
There was no point looking back, in any event. She knew all she needed to know. Her pursuer
gripped a large, gleaming carving knife and was bent on murder.
"You have to go away."
Thud-thud-thud. The footsteps drew closer. The woman who was chasing her was not weighted
down with a cumbersome dress. The would-be killer wore only a light linen nightgown and a pair
of sturdy shoes.
"He will come back to me if you go away."
The woolen skirts of her gown felt like leaden weights in her hands. She was losing ground... .
Caroline awoke in a cold sweat, the way she always did after the dream. It was no doubt the affair of
the murdered medium that had inspired the return of her nightmare, she thought.
She had endured the dream off and on for three years now. Sometimes she would be free of it for a
fortnight or even a month; just long enough to begin to hope that she had seen the last of it. Then it would
come back without warning, shattering her slumber. Sometimes it would stick around for several nights in
a row before disappearing again.
She swung her legs over the side of the bed and reached for her robe and slippers. There was no point
in trying to go back to sleep. She knew the pattern all too well. There was only one thing to be
done—the same thing she did every other night when the dream and the frightening memories returned to
haunt her.
She made her way quietly downstairs to the chilly study. There she lit a lamp, poured herself a small
glass of sherry and paced the floor for a time.
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
When her nerves had steadied and her pulse was no longer racing, she sat down at her desk, took out
paper and pen and began to write.
Nightmares, murder and the enigmatic Mr. Grove aside, she had work to do. Mr. Spraggett, the
publisher of the Flying Intelligencer, would be expecting the next episode of The Mysterious
Gentleman at the end of the week.
The successful writer of serialized sensation novels survived by adhering to an inflexible schedule: A new
chapter had to be written every week for some twenty-six weeks in a row. Each chapter consisted of
approximately five thou-sand words. To maintain readers' interest, each
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