“Blast,” I mouthed silently. She must have entered whilst I was asleep and I had nearly missed her altogether. It was little wonder Brisbane’s faith in my abilities as a detective was so feeble.
The woman straightened then, and I had to admit, even at so close a distance, the moonlight lent an eerie effect. I had just watched a mortal woman dress herself in these bits of theatrical garb, and yet I could not suppress a shiver as she glided toward the door, seeming to float above the stone floor like a phantom in a Gothic tale.
I counted slowly to fifty after she left, then eased from my hiding place. Since I had seen her make use of the hidden stair before, it seemed reasonable she would do so again. I followed, straining my eyes for a glimpse of her flowing white draperies, careful to keep myself in the shadows.
There was no trace of her on the hidden stair, but when I emerged into the gallery of the ladies’ wing, I saw her at the far end, hovering above the floor, moving slowly toward the staircase. I moved at a pace faster than a walk, but not quite a run, concealing myself behind statues and potted palms. I dashed from one to another, always pausing to make certain she was still within my sights. I followed her from the ladies’ wing and onto the landing. I had a great fright then, for just as I reached the landing she turned back and I was forced to dart behind a suit of armour. I counted to fifty again and dared a peek. She had disappeared, and I had a bad moment or two until I realised she must be on the staircase. There was no possible way to descend while she was still on the stairs, so I waited, marking which way she turned at the bottom, then flying down as fast as silence would permit.
She had just reached the end of the transept corridor and turned right toward the drawing room. I followed her progress mentally. If I did not see her when I reached the bottom of the stairs, she must have gone into the great drawing room, in which case the little alcove behind Maurice the bear would make a splendid vantage point to watch for her return. And if she was still gliding down the corridor, Maurice would also be an excellent place from which to monitor her progress.
At least, that was my plan. Over what happened next, I would like very much to draw a veil. It was not my finest moment.
Just as I turned to the left I saw the ghost, stock still, squarely in the middle of the corridor, and not five feet from me. For an instant I forgot the trick of the black veiling and saw only a faceless phantom, floating above the floor. It lifted its featureless head and raised a spectral hand, pointing at my heart. It gave a low, anguished moan of despair, and with that tormented sound, the illusion was complete.
I gave a scream, a very little one, and stumbled backward, stepping hard on the hem of my dressing gown. Just as I fell to the floor, a shadow vaulted over me. It was Brisbane, moving like something out of myth. The moonlight sharpened the angry planes of his face, lending him the aspect of an avenging angel. I sat up just in time to see him rush headlong into the ghost, knocking her soundly to the floor. I struggled to my feet, remembering the candle always kept burning in this corridor at night. The ghost must have blown it out to show herself to best advantage in the gloom. It took but a moment to light it again, and by the time the little flame flared up, illuminating the scene, Brisbane had hauled the ghost to her feet, her black veiling dangling free.
“Charlotte!” I cried.
She made to wrench her arm free, but Brisbane held her fast with his good arm. “Charlotte, do not give me a reason to slap you, I beg you,” he said pleasantly.
“Bastard,” she spat.
“What the devil is this about? I want the truth, and I think I deserve it,” I stated, folding my arms over my chest.
“She does deserve that much at least, Brisbane. Let us go into the study and discuss this like rational creatures,” Father said. I whirled to find him standing on the last stair.
“You as well?” I demanded. Father had the grace to look abashed, but he said nothing. He turned to Brisbane in appeal. Brisbane gave him a curt nod and prodded Charlotte toward the study. I hurried after them, and Father followed. We were an unlikely quartet, I thought as Father closed the door carefully behind us and I hurried to light lamps and put a candle to the fire. It blazed up quickly and cheerfully, a counterpoint to our solemn faces. Brisbane was angry, Father was aggrieved, and Charlotte seemed broken, the hot flash of her anger now burnt to resignation. I was frankly bewildered, and after we had taken chairs and accepted the whiskey Father poured out, I settled back to await an explanation.
“Charlotte King is a jewel thief,” Brisbane said flatly. “A rather exclusive one, to be sure, but a jewel thief nonetheless. I have been engaged to retrieve something she has stolen.”
“I amnota thief,” she said quietly.
“Mrs. King, do not speak,” Father advised. “We shall all of us remember what you say, and perhaps we may one day be prevailed upon to repeat it, under oath and to your detriment.”
Charlotte fell silent and sipped at her whiskey, her eyes downcast.
“I presume that was the reason for the fictitious engagement?” I asked Brisbane.
“It was. I needed to spend time with her, to search her place of residence, to follow her to her boltholes and bribe her confederates.”
Charlotte gave a short laugh, nothing like the silly giggle she had affected. Her façade of sweetness cracked, she seemed a dozen years older. “Confederates, my lord? I must remember that.”
Brisbane ignored her, as did I. “Why bring her here? To my father’s house?”
“I had information, from one of herconfederates,” he said, drawling the word, “that she was planning to leave the country soon. It seemed logical she would take this particular item with her. I had had no success in recovering the jewel, and time was growing short. It was necessary to isolate her in a place without friends or accomplices and in possession of the stolen property. His lordship volunteered to invite her here.”
“Father?” I gave him a stern look and he nodded, a trifle sheepishly.
“I did. I owed Brisbane a rather significant favour,” he said shortly. His jaw was set, and I knew he regretted bringing the sordidness of an investigation into his home. I cocked my head, wondering if either of them would admit to Brisbane’s daring deed in Trafalgar Square.
“What sort of favour?”
Father’s eyes slid from mine. He was suddenly terribly interested in the state of his blotter.
“It does not signify,” Brisbane cut in smoothly. “The fact remains, his lordship offered the use of this house party as a suitable setting to apprehend her.”
Charlotte gave a harsh laugh. The colour had risen in her cheeks, whether from her predicament or the whiskey, I could not say.
“Apprehend me! And what have you got, my lord? A handful of tatty old rags and a girl out of bed when she oughtn’t be,” she said to Brisbane, her voice shrill, very near to hysteria, I thought.