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Mary laughed. “There is, and the witches are there.”

“Witches?”

“Aye, they make love spells.” Mary finished her scone. “But you didn’t even ask about the ghosts.”

Daphne didn’t much care for ghost stories—her recurring nightmare provided sufficient fear—but she knew those at Castle Keyvnor were much taken with their ghosts. “When we were here before, they said there was a young boy, named Paul, who cries in the night.”

Mary nodded. “The earl’s young son.”

“And Baron Tyrell, who killed himself when his beloved Lady Helena wed another. Isn’t her portrait in the gallery?” Daphne said, remembering.

Mary’s eyes shone. “But now Lord Snow has arrived wearing a ring, called the Grimstone, which banishes the ghosts.”

“That I do not believe,” Daphne said firmly.

“That’s only because you weren’t here when he arrived. There was a sound like a crack of lightning and ghosts were cast into the sky.”

“Did you see it?”

“I heard about it. My uncle is the groom, and he said there was such a commotion in the stables as you have never seen.” Mary’s eyes shone. “He told me about the Grimstone, which he never thought was real until he saw it this day.” She sobered and sighed. “I can only hope that it doesn’t banish Benedict.”

She must have been referring to yet another ghost. “Why not?”

“Because I love him, and I could not bear it if we were parted forever.”

Although the other woman appeared to be convinced of her tale, Daphne remained skeptical. Ghosts thrown into the sky? If they were banished and thrown anywhere, it would be into the great beyond. She thought it would not be prudent to note that this Benedict was dead and Mary was not, thus they were already parted.

The girl had been kind, after all.

Daphne stood and picked up her candle. “It will be morning soon enough. Thank you for the butter and the conversation. Perhaps I will see you tomorrow.”

“Perhaps you will. Have a care on your way back upstairs, my lady,” Mary said. “The ghosts are not always friendly at Castle Keyvnor, and after today, they may be very angry indeed.”

“I thank you for the warning.” Daphne retraced her steps, climbing the servant’s stairs to the main floor, thinking that worldly concerns were more worrisome than ghosts.

She peeked around the door at the summit and realized she’d already taken a wrong turn. This wasn’t the foyer she recognized. There was a staircase in the shadows ahead, but it was smaller than the one she’d descended.

She looked back down the stairs but it was silent and dark below. Surely she could find her way once she was in the main house? The servant’s corridors would be like a maze—that she’d already gone the wrong way meant that she was likely to become even more lost.

She stepped into the corridor and closed the door behind herself. The sole illumination was a shaft of moonlight. A clock chimed the half hour. It sounded like the same clock she’d heard before, but it was more distant. She hurried up the stairs to find that the hall above was lined with closed doors, all of which looked the same.

Was that the little alcove near the room she shared with Eurydice? It was too far away to be certain, but Daphne thought it might be. She hurried toward it, her heart beginning to pound. Instead of being silent, the house also sounded to be full of whispers. She was certain that she heard the swish of taffeta again, the scuttle of mice, the stealthy step of someone following her. She remembered the story of an old wing of the castle being out of use and the whispers that ghosts and madwomen lived there. She thought about ghosts and walked a little more quickly. She glanced over her shoulder but saw no one.

Daphne was sure she heard someone else breathing.

Was it a ghost?

Nonsense! Still, she hastened on.

The alcove wasn’t the one she recalled. The corridor bent ahead and Daphne hurried toward the corner. Sanctuary must be just ahead. As she approached the corner, she felt a chill and heard a moan that made the hair stand on the back of her neck. Ghosts! There was a gust of air and her candle was extinguished.

Rather than stopping to light it again, Daphne ran.

She rounded the corner in terror and collided with something too solid to be a ghost. She gasped. A man’s hands locked around her shoulders to steady her.

He swore and she had the barest glimpse of his blazing blue eyes before he spun her around so that her back was turned to him. “And a good morning to you, my fair damsel,” he said in a low whisper that made Daphne’s toes curl.

Her heart raced in shock but he didn’t release her. She should have run but she didn’t want to be alone again just yet. His grip was strong and the warmth of his hands reassuring.