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"If I ask you something," she said quietly, "will you promise not to laugh at me?"

"Of course. I would never laugh at you."

She opened the door fully, and he entered. She sat in one of her armchairs and took a deep breath.

"The day I spent time in the garden," she began, "I saw a figure at the window. I have spent so much time since then wondering if all of this has happened because there was a phantom of some sort here. I suppose what I wish to ask you is this: is this house haunted?"

Morgan sighed. His home was indeed haunted, but not by a phantom.

"There are no ghosts here," he promised her, "but I can indeed explain why you saw that figure."

CHAPTER 17

Dorothy had expected Morgan to mock her for believing that she had seen a ghost. She had not expected him to take her to see it.

As they neared the west wing, she was positive that their house was haunted. She began to tremble, wishing she had never asked about it. She had heard the creaking floors there from time to time, and whispered voices, but she had thought it was her imagination.

They arrived at a door, and Morgan went to knock before pausing.

"All I ask," he said gently, "is that you do not hate me for keeping this from you."

"I do not hate you, and I will not. Come, let us see what this is."

With a deep breath, he knocked and then opened the door, walking inside.

Dorothy followed after him, and her breath was taken away. Inside the room was a pale girl, blonde hair in ringlets, who was looking at her with wide but sunken eyes.

"Hello," Dorothy said clumsily. "Who might you be?"

She did not know what else to say, but it seemed to work. The little girl smiled, and at once she seemed to be in better health.

"I am Catherine," she explained. "I am the Duke's niece. I am eight years of age and I like to play the pianoforte."

Dorothy turned to Morgan, who was looking at his niece with pride.

"It is lovely to meet you," Dorothy said gently, bending down to her height. "My name is Dorothy. Would you like to call me that?"

"I thought I might call you Aunt Dorothy, if that is all right."

"You may call me Aunt Dottie if it pleases you."

The small girl laughed softly at that.

"I like that a lot. I shall call you that, then."

Morgan sent for a tea, and they sat on a settee together. Dorothy could not take her eyes from the girl, but what struck her was how familiar she looked. She was a very pretty little girl, but something in her face was undeniably similar to a face that she had seen before.

"You may ask any questions that you have," Morgan said gently. "She knows everything that I do, and I no longer keep secrets from her."

"Then I should like to know everything. This is… It is a lot to see at once, especially with no explanation."

"Would you like to tell her, Catherine?"

The little girl nodded, and the tea arrived.

"My father is dead," she said bluntly, reaching for a sandwich. "My mother is, too. She drowned."

Dorothy thought back to her time in the lake, and that Catherine must have seen her do it, and shuddered. It was no wonder that Mrs. Herrington had been so furious; she could have been frightened.