Page 23 of The Nanny’s Handbook to Magic and Managing Difficult Dukes

As per the Parasol Academy Handbook guidelines, a nanny must be “neat as a pin at all times.” A besmirched uniform was highly frowned upon and must be “unsmirched” discreetly and as soon as possible.

To save time, Emmeline would employ the Unsmirchify incantation in the privacy of her room rather than changing into a completely new pinafore and gown (which would take far too long considering she had to grapple with twenty fiddly jet buttons down the back and several sets of tight laces).

Less than ten minutes later, her appearance restored to the required standard, Emmeline was about to return to the nursery when she heard a decidedly feminine screech emanating from that direction.

Alarm prickled along Emmeline’s spine. Was that Fanny or one of the other housemaids?

Thinking that perhaps Archimedes the frog or Aristotle the terrapin had escaped from their aquarium—or at the very least, a mouse or rat had sneaked into the house—Emmeline hurtled pell-mell out of her room and found Fanny outside the nursery gawking at an empty hallway.

“What’s wrong? What’s happened? Are the children all right?” Emmeline demanded in a great rush… and then the hair at her nape stood up when she noticed that every single one of the paintings lining the walls had been tipped to a forty-five-degree angle.

It was decidedly odd and unsettling, and there didn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to it.

Emmeline’s gaze darted to the nursery door. Three small faces poked out.

“What happened to all the pictures?” asked Bartholomew, his brown eyes wide.

“They weren’t like that when we came upstairs five minutes ago,” remarked Harry with a frown.

Somehow Emmeline managed to sort through her own scrambled thoughts to come up with an explanation that seemed logical and wouldn’t distress the children. “Oh, I expect Horatio has been flying about the house, stirring things up for fun. It would be easy enough for him to upset a painting.”

“Naughty Horatio,” said Gareth, his young voice brimming with disapproval.

“Indeed,” said Emmeline. She glanced at Fanny, who was whey-faced and seemed struck dumb, at least momentarily.

“Children”—she pulled out a small bundle of sticks from her pocket and passed them to Harry—“why don’t you play spillikins with these for a few minutes while Miss Fanny and I put these pictures to rights? ”

“All right…” Harry looked a little skeptical. “Maybe Miss Fanny needs a cup of tea.”

“Yes, I expect she might,” agreed Emmeline. “Could you ring for one, Harry?”

As soon as the nursery door shut, she grasped the maid’s arm. “Tell me why you’re so shaken, Fanny. Do you know who did this?” She gestured at the paintings.

“It’s the ghost ,” the maid whispered fearfully.

“What ghost?” asked Emmeline. She couldn’t disguise the doubtful note in her voice.

Fanny at last met Emmeline’s gaze. Her frown was a mere hair’s breadth from annoyed. “ You know. The ghost that tampers with all the clocks and opens locked doors in the middle of the night. And makes the pipes leak and puts rats in the walls… That ghost.”

“Oh,” said Emmeline. “Surely not. I’m certain there must be a logical explanation for all these peculiar occurrences.

It could very well have been Horatio this time.

” Of course, Emmeline didn’t believe the duke’s raven was responsible at all, but she had to at least attempt to nip these unhelpful rumors in the bud.

“With all this terrible rain, he has been cooped up inside for quite a while.”

Fanny shook her head. “I don’t think so.

You haven’t been here long enough to witness everything, Nanny Chase.

It has to be the ghost of St Lawrence House.

Most of the maids think it’s the ghost of the old duke—His Grace’s father—who roams the halls, especially at night, upsetting things.

Apparently he was a right grumpy old sod.

Whereas some of the footmen think—” The nurserymaid bit her lip. “I shouldn’t say anything.”

“What do they think, Fanny?” Emmeline prompted gently.

The maid dropped her voice to a whisper again. “They think it might be His Grace who’s doing these odd things. Did you know that in the past he was called Mad Mason and Lord Weirdbrook? Before he inherited the dukedom.”

What? “That’s awful,” said Emmeline, her heart cramping even as indignation spiked. “And not true.”

Fanny pouted. “He does have some peculiar mannerisms. And habits. The way he’s so obsessed with clocks and watches…

According to Babcock, his valet, the duke refuses to wear anything but silk-lined clothes.

And the way he either looks you right in the eye or barely regards you at all…

I mean, I can see why some people might think he’s a bit touched in the head. ”

Anger bristled inside Emmeline, but she strove to keep a neutral expression as she said, “Fanny, I hope that you won’t spread that sort of horrid gossip about the place.

I especially won’t have that kind of talk in my domain, the nursery.

Or anywhere near the duke’s wards, for that matter.

” She softened her tone as she added, “I know I’ve only been here a short time, but His Grace has been nothing but kindness personified.

Aside from that, don’t you think many of us have our own little eccentricities?

Mr. Woodley is a case in point. Does he ever wear any other facial expression other than ‘undertaker’? ”

Fanny laughed at that. “Yes, Nanny Chase. I promise I won’t spread malicious talk.

I happen to like His Grace, too, despite his quirks.

He wouldn’t do this.” She gestured at the paintings.

“He prefers everything to be ordered, not messy. I still think it might be a ghost.” She gave a little shiver as she murmured more to herself than to Emmeline, “Nothing else makes sense.”

“If it’s a ghost, I’d prefer that he or she were more useful and helped out by picking up the children’s toys in the nursery from time to time. Or even helping the housemaids dust,” said Emmeline.

Fanny readily agreed. The maid returned to the nursery to supervise the spillikins game while Emmeline sought out the duke.

She wanted to report on the latest strange occurrence sooner rather than later.

On her way downstairs to the second floor, it was evident that several other paintings—stern portraits of the duke’s ancestors no doubt—had also been tilted on an angle.

Curious and curiouser, thought Emmeline as she paused to examine a pewter-haired gentleman with a hawkish nose, forbidding scowl, and a high-point collar so stiff and sharp looking it could have easily poked out an eye if one got too close.

Emmeline reached the second floor. It had to be one of the servants who’d tampered with the paintings in the hall rather than an intruder.

There was always a footman stationed at the front door, and the kitchen door that served as a staff entrance was always locked.

(Well, except for the night it had been mysteriously un locked.)

But who would do this and why? Was it to disturb the duke’s peace of mind so he couldn’t get his work done?

Was someone trying to portray him in a bad light?

And to what end? Could it be that the duke was right?

That someone like Sir Randolph Redvers was paying off one of the staff members to create disturbances in St Lawrence House?

Emmeline had no idea. But what was happening wasn’t right. Her charges might be in danger if the saboteur went too far. It was her duty to protect the Duke of St Lawrence’s wards, no matter what.

An unscheduled visit to her employer was in order. There was no time to delay.