Page 11 of Murder Most Haunted

Despite her recently made-up face, Midge was keen to wash before supper and decided upon the communal bathing room rather than her own washing quarters, which housed only a miniscule shower cabinet.

She had a deep-rooted distrust of showers.

At least in a bath, one could hide one’s imperfections with the occasional soapsud – showers, with all of their unrelenting reflections and power jets, were for life’s thrill-seekers and exhibitionists.

In the middle of the floor were three tin baths that she recognized from the painting.

Each was raised on four clawed legs and had ornate metalwork winding around the edging, reaching a pinnacle with the Atherton crest of arms at the headrests.

Choosing the bath nearest to the door, Midge reached over to turn on the hot water tap before straightening up to admire the engraving while the room gradually filled with steam.

In the time that she had been under the water, the room had filled with so much steam and the water was so hot, her head had started to swim.

Whether it was the vapour or the heat, Midge, who could barely see across the room, began to hear a ringing noise in her ears.

She carefully levered herself out of the bath and padded across the floor, unsteady without her cane, hoping to open the window and release some of the steam.

Moving blindly in the cloud, she felt a cold sensation on her skin, like tiny fingers pulling at her face.

She panicked, and, suddenly feeling short of breath, she reached out for the sash window and yanked it down with shaking hands.

She gulped in the rush of cold air while the suffocating steam poured out through the gap.

As the ringing in her ears subsided, she looked out on to the driveway, calming her breathing.

Just below her, Harold suddenly appeared from the front door, walking across the snow towards the coach, a shovel in his hand glinting in the moonlight.

His footprints broke the clear, smooth surface, leaving behind dark smudges from the hall lighting.

Midge stared.

Harold’s tracks over to the coach weren’t the only prints in the snow.

Directly to her left was another set, concentrated in a circle as if someone had been standing in the same area for a long period of time.

Midge frowned as she tried to mentally picture the house layout.

The footprints appeared to be outside the library.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a wolf whistle from below.

It was Harold, giving her a cheery wave from where he stood beside the coach.

To her horror, Midge realized she was still dripping wet and very much naked.

Twisting round in alarm, she sidestepped away from the window.

Cautiously moving back over the tiles and taking care not to slip, she reached out for the dressing gown.

When she straightened up, she could see all the way across the room to the mirror, now that the steam had dispersed. Her hand froze on the robe.

Written in the condensation on the glass were the words,

I KNOW WHAT YOU DID.