The Ordeal of the Haunted Room by Jodi Taylor

Author:Jodi Taylor [Taylor, Jodi]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781472276582
Google: VdLcDwAAQBAJ
Publisher: Headline
Published: 2020-12-24T16:00:00+00:00

Eliza was waiting for me in my room. It would seem that in addition to the shawl, Mrs Harewood had also loaned me a nightdress and wrapper. Not a froth of lace and ribbons, I noted, but something sensible in light wool. I sighed. At what point in my life had the universe deemed me unsuitable for frivolous nightwear and decided that wool was to be my lot henceforth? But it was a very pretty pink and, watching the curtains billow slightly at the windows, I was certain I’d be grateful for the warmth.

Eliza was very helpful with the corsets – which made me glad I’d gone with contemporary underwear. Uncorseted women were an affront to God and society. And she wouldn’t let me take down my own hair, either. She busied herself tidying my stuff away, spinning it out as long as she could. I suspected she didn’t want to walk back to the Servants’ Hall on her own. Eventually, even she couldn’t linger any longer.

‘Shall I leave the candles burning, ma’am?’

‘Yes, please, but take one for yourself if you need it.’

I climbed into bed for the look of the thing. It was soft and the sheets were warm. She’d obviously been at them with the warming pan. She turned at the door and bobbed a curtsey. ‘Goodnight, ma’am.’

‘Goodnight, Eliza.’

She closed the door quietly behind her.

I waited five minutes for her to get clear. The clock on the mantel said twenty past twelve. I pulled on my unglamorous but warm dressing gown and eased open my door. Believe it or not, such scandalous behaviour was probably the most hazardous part of this night. Peterson was only across the landing but brother or otherwise, anyone caught creeping into a bedroom not their own in these times would be out on their ear before the shouting stopped. I stood for a moment, listening carefully. I had my story ready. If anyone appeared, I thought I had heard my brother calling. But there was nothing. No sinister footsteps. Not even a mouse scratching behind the wooden panelling. The landing was well lit by a large candelabra at each end and another at the head of the stairs, and there were no hiding places.

I slipped out through the door, closing it quietly behind me, and ghosted across to Peterson’s room. He was alone. Markham, I guessed, was still concealed downstairs, watching for foul play.

Peterson was wearing gaily striped PJs in blue and white, which is not a sight to encounter unexpectedly. I did not reel but that’s only because I’m supposed to be a highly trained professional. ‘Good God, you look like a convict.’

He smoothed the front of his PJs and looked down at himself. ‘I thought I looked quite dashing.’

‘First things first,’ I said. ‘Let’s have a look at your foot.’

Actually, it looked much better. Still black but the swelling had greatly subsided. A tribute to the housekeeper’s ointment, I said. A tribute to his superior constitution, he said.

‘I’m fine,’ he continued, bravely.

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