She let out a sound of frustration as yet another hall led her to a dead end, and turned. A scream threatened to be unleashed from her lips as she saw a little girl behind her, and she barely stopped the sound by clamping her hand over her mouth.
“Oh, Good heavens,” she gasped, drawing in deep breaths as she dropped her hand from her mouth to her suddenly racing heart. “You scared the wits of me!”
She let out a weak laugh, but as she took in the little girl’s wide brown eyes and ghostly white complexion, she realized that poor thing had been just as frightened as she had been.
“Oh,” Deborah cooed, kneeling in the hallway, “Oh, it’s alright, little one.”
“Are you a ghost?” The little girl breathed, taking a shrinking step away from Deborah as she extended a hand.
“No,” Deborah promised, then offered her a kind smile. “Are you?”
The girl’s little shoulders shuddered as she released a breath, but her eyes softened as she raised a hand to her cheek and touched it.
“I do not believe so,” the little girl answered, then pinched her own cheek.
Deborah could not help the giggle that escaped her lips as the little girl then shook her head and added, “No. Still alive.”
“Well, that is good news for the both of us then,” Deborah answered.
The little girl looked closer at Deborah then, more curious now than afraid. She took a tentative step toward her, and with surprising quickness, she reached out and pinched Deborah’s cheek.
“Ouch!” Deborah exclaimed.
“Sorry, I had to be sure,” the little girl offered with a shrug. “Sometimes I think I see a ghost coming out of the painting in my room. But I can never pinch her in time to be sure.”
“Indeed,” Deborah muttered, rubbing at the small pain in her cheek.What an imagination this girl has. Ghosts coming out of paintings?
“So, if you are not a ghost, who are you then?” The little girl asked, her dark brows furrowing.
Deborah pulled away from her thoughts and smiled kindly
“My name is Deborah Hunt,” Deborah explained, “I am…a ‘friend’ of your father’s.”
The little girl looked even more perplexed than before and shook her head.
“My father has no friends,” she replied, her tone almost angry. “He is dead. As well as my mother.”
It was Deborah’s turn to be perplexed. With Cedric’s renowned reputation of being a rake, she had immediately assumed the child he spoke of was his.
“Who do you live here with then?” Deborah asked, rising to her full height.
The little girl grimaced.
“My uncle Cedric,” she said with distaste. “He is my guardian now. Has been for a year.”
“I see,” Deborah mused, “And what is your name?”
“Adeline,” the little girl replied, twisting her fingers together.
“If you are a friend of my uncle’s, does that mean you like him?” Adeline asked curiously.
Deborah could not help but let out a laugh and shake her head.
“Not really,” she confessed.
Adeline smirked and appeared to relax at that.
“Me neither,” she replied.