Lady Rample and the Ghost of Christmas Past by Shéa MacLeod

Author:Shéa MacLeod [MacLeod, Shéa]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Christmas, British detective, whodunnit, Holiday, traditional mystery
Publisher: Sunwalker Press
Published: 2018-11-19T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 5

I arrived back at the manor in high dudgeon. The moment we’d left Ella’s house I’d told my aunt that I suspected Simon was the person following me around.

“Are you certain he’s the man you saw outside Harrod’s?” Aunt Butty had asked, pulling on her gloves as I opened Ella’s gate.

“Absolutely. It was Simon Vale. I’m sure of it now.”

She’d grabbed my arm and tugged me toward the motorcar. “Well, we shan’t tell Nanny. Not yet. It would break her heart if we’re wrong.”

I gaped at her. “But... I’m not wrong.”

“Of course not, dear.” She’d patted my hand in a condescending manner. To which I took offense. The ride home had been rather quiet.

Still feeling peeved, I’d had dinner in my room. I’d even eschewed cocktail hour—almost unheard of for me—although Chaz did come up after dinner, an Irish coffee in hand. Minus the coffee.

“Here you are, old thing,” he said, handing me the drink before taking a seat at my dressing table and idly sifting through my lipsticks. The cases made little clacking sounds.

“Can you believe she thinks I’m making things up?” I asked after taking a deep swallow. The liquor burned itself all the way to my belly.

“I doubt she thinks that,” he soothed.

I snorted. “She thinks I’ve lost my mind and am hallucinating or something. She quite literally told me I’ve an overactive imagination.”

“Which is why I’m amused.”

I gave him a narrow look. “What are you saying?”

“Ophelia, you and your aunt are two peas of a pod. Which is way I find it all highly entertaining.”

Unfortunately, I didn’t have a comeback for that. “Well, it was uncalled for,” I said rather lamely.

“Of course, dearest,” he soothed. But his upper lip was still twitching.

“Anyway, did she tell you that our creeper is none other than Ella Vale’s grandson who died during the war?”

“She did. He’s obviously not dead.”

“Obviously,” I said drily, draining my glass.

“If he truly is Simon,” he pointed out infuriatingly.

“He is,” I insisted. I was utterly certain of it by this point.

“All right let’s say he is. Why do you suppose he hasn’t gone home to his grandmother? Let her know he’s alive? It’s the first thing I would do. Where has he been all this time since the war ended?”

“God knows,” I said. “A lot of men were so traumatized by what happened over there that they just can’t function normally anymore. Which is why I’m leery of the fact he keeps popping up. He could be unstable.”

“All the more reason to help him, don’t you think?”

“I do. Unless, of course, he means me harm.” I frowned. “And I can't imagine why he’d be sneaking around otherwise.”

“People do all sorts of strange things for all sorts of strange reasons,” he pointed out.

“You aren’t wrong there. Well, I’m to bed. Get along with you.”

“This early? Surely not.”

“Don’t be facetious. I’ve had a long and trying day.”

He snickered on his way out.

It took me a long time to fall asleep. When I did, it was restless and full of dreams.

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