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“Not so very long.” Athena sat down at her desk. “We just walked and talked. He’s a charming man.”

Selena looked up from her own desk across the cozy room. “And you’re not immune to Mr. Chapman’s charms, I think? Or those of Mr. Vernon?”

Athena’s pulse went pitter-pat. Why was she blushing? “What are you talking about?”

“There’s been something different about you, ever since the afternoon we had tea at Darkmoor Park.”

“Selena!”

“You said Mr. Vernon wants to be friends. But I got the impression that Mr. Vernon likes you as more than just a friend. I suspect you feel the same way.”

“Don’t be daft!” Athena sputtered.

Selena’s lips twitched as she shot Athena a penetrating glance. “I think you also enjoyed that walk and talk with Mr. Chapman.”

“Selena, Mr. Chapman works for the school! We are merely friends in a professional capacity . It can never be anything more.”

“Can’t it? There’s no law that I know of against a single woman becoming involved with her employee, or of her being attracted to two unattached men at the same time.”

“Stop it!” Athena huffed out an exasperated breath. “I am not interested in either of those men. At least not in the way you’re implying.” She wasn’t! Was she? Then why did she suddenly feel so red in the face?

“I know what you’ve said in the past . That you have no wish to hand over your personal freedoms and the control of this property to a man, in exchange for a ring on your finger. But do you still feel that way?”

“Absolutely,” Athena insisted.

Selena threw up her hands. “Fine. Perhaps I’m reading something into this that isn’t there.”

“You are.” Athena busied herself arranging the pile of papers on her desktop. “Let’s talk of something else. I’m dying to tell you what Mr. Chapman and I spoke about. I assure you there’s nothing remotely romantic about it.”

“Go on, then.”

Athena launched into a detailed account of her conversation with Mr. Chapman. Selena listened to every word with interest.

When Athena had finished, Selena tapped a pen on her desk pensively. “Hmm. That’s two people who have ruled out Neville Sinclair. I suppose we should listen.”

“Agreed. Perhaps you were right—he does seem an unlikely candidate, since he openly admitted to hating his brother.”

“What do we know about Edward Ackroyd?”

“Only that he was a poor sailor in the Royal Navy, the son of a coal miner, and Miss Vernon’s father wouldn’t allow the marriage.”

“We need to learn more. I wonder what ship he’s serving on?”

“I could ask Mrs. Lloyd,” Athena suggested.

“Excellent.”

They went to bed. An hour ticked by. Rain battered the windows.

Although she could hear Selena’s even breathing across their room, Athena once again found it impossible to sleep.

Her mind was going a mile a minute, reviewing all that she had learned the past few days, from the events at the Woodcroft House garden party to Mr. Chapman’s intriguing suggestion about Edward Ackroyd.

These musings were suddenly interrupted by a voice in her head, echoing Selena’s unexpected charge that evening.

“You’re not immune to Mr. Chapman’s charms, I suspect? Or those of Mr. Vernon?”

Ridiculous! Selena couldn’t be more wrong , Athena told herself.

Yes, Mr. Vernon had warmed up since their frosty introduction, and he had made a handsome apology for his behavior at the riverbank.

And, if she were being honest, she had felt a fluttering in her stomach while in his presence last week.

Which went so much against her nature and defied her wishes for herself.

But all that had been overridden by his angry reaction, when she had shared her suspicions about the deaths of Harold Sinclair and Sally Osborn.

As for Mr. Chapman, he was a charmer. He had not only admired Athena’s quest but had offered his help.

But even though, earlier this evening, she had felt sparks fly between them, that—she told herself—was simply because they’d been sitting too close together on the piano bench.

She had no wish to pursue a relationship with him or with any man. Did she? No!

Why on Earth was she even thinking about this? Why did she even care?

The clock in the hall struck midnight. Fed up with this unwelcome introspection, Athena threw on her slippers and white, silk dressing gown, lit a candle, and slipped from the room to clear her mind.

The storm still howled in the eaves and smacked against the windowpanes.

Athena shivered as she strolled the second-floor hallway to its farthest end and then strode back.

It occurred to her that the house was eerily silent.

Normally, while on nighttime patrol, she heard an occasional cough from one of the girls, or intermittent snoring. But tonight, she heard nothing. Why?

Suspicious, Athena opened the door of the room occupied by the Gilbert sisters and peeked in. The chamber was dark as pitch, but the light from her candle confirmed her fears. Their beds were empty.

Athena’s shoulders tensed. She checked the rooms where Miss Russell, Miss Jones, and Miss Weaver slept—but there was no sleeping going on at present. All five girls were missing.

What are they up to?

A childhood memory returned, of a time when Athena and her sisters had wanted an adventure on a similarly dark and stormy night, so they had met in a place where they’d known their father would never look for them.

The attic.

Instinct told Athena that it was as likely a place as any for five wayward pupils to congregate.

She and Selena had only visited the attic at Thorndale Manor a few times, soon after moving in. With determined steps, she took the fastest route there, heading up the narrow servants’ stairwell to the ancient, wooden door that opened to the topmost floor beneath the roof.

Athena paused just inside the doorway, adjusting to the blackness and the dank, musty smell. Although the attic was an immense space that ran the entire length and breadth of the building, it felt cramped due to its steeply sloped ceilings, and the vast number of things stored there.

Mr. Vernon had claimed to not want anything up here and had not bothered to clear it out.

Athena and Selena had, apparently, inherited centuries of that family’s old possessions, none of which had seemed useful for the school.

The idea of cleaning it all up had been so daunting that they had put it off for a future day.

Was anyone up here?

With her candle raised, Athena looked about and listened. But the drumbeat of the rain on the roof drowned out the possibility of catching any clandestine conversations, and the darkness and clutter made it impossible to see more than a few yards ahead.

A sudden wail rent the air. What was that? A shiver ran down Athena’s spine as she recalled the local superstition about Thorndale Manor. Could that have been a ghost? The wail occurred again, and she realized, with a dash of embarrassment, that it was only the wind moaning in the eaves.

Don’t fall prey to foolish nonsense , Athena reprimanded herself as she cautiously made her way forward.

Her candle flame cast a pale glow on the old, grooved, wooden floor, several brick chimney stacks, mountains of boxes and trunks, and discarded, ancient furniture that was all coated in a thick layer of dust. At length, she heard low voices.

Muted laughter. A girlish warning: “Shh!”

Aha. I was right.

Athena rounded a rack of old clothing and found the errant quintet seated cross-legged in a circle on the floor near a small, gabled window, their candlesticks on the floor between them. At Athena’s approach, all five girls gasped and let out piercing screams.

“It’s her ghost!” shrieked Miss Gilbert.

“She’s come to kill us!” cried Miss Jones.

“Go away, horrible specter!” exclaimed Miss Russell.

Miss Weaver and Miss Cecelia just gawked at Athena in petrified silence.

“Girls,” announced Athena calmly, “it’s Miss Taylor.”

“Oh! You frightened us to death, Miss Taylor!” Miss Gilbert confessed.

“We thought you were the ghost of Caroline Vernon!” Miss Russell heaved a relieved sigh.

“There are no such things as ghosts. What are you doing up here at this hour?” Athena demanded.

The girls, seeming to recover from their shock, blushed and lowered their gazes.

“We’re telling ghost stories,” Miss Russell admitted.

“Terribly frightening ones,” Miss Weaver remarked.

“It was Lucy’s idea!” proclaimed Miss Cecilia.

“She told one about a headless Caroline Vernon!” cried Miss Gilbert.

“She marched through the dining room, holding her own head on a platter!” exclaimed Miss Jones.

The girls all shrieked again and then broke into nervous giggles.

“And you felt the need to tell these stories in the attic ?” Athena did her best to sound authoritative and disapproving, even though she hadn’t forgotten her own similar youthful antics and was close to laughing herself. “ In the middle of the night? ”

“An attic is the best place to tell ghost stories,” Miss Russell explained. “We couldn’t very well do so in our rooms, could we? You would have heard us and said, ‘ Lights out! ’”

“Yes I would have. This is unacceptable behavior, girls.”

“It was all just for fun, Miss Taylor,” Miss Weaver insisted.

“It would cease to be fun if one of you were injured. I have not inspected the attic. It may not be safe. Now get your candles and stand up.” Once they had done so, Athena continued.

“You have a bedtime for a reason. You must keep to your rooms as instructed. Promise me you will never venture up here again or meet clandestinely anywhere else. Do I have your word?”

“Yes, Miss Taylor,” the girls chorused.

“You won’t punish us, will you?” Miss Cecilia pleaded.

“I’ll think about it and let you know in the morning. Now let’s go. I want you all downstairs and in bed at once.”

As the girls filed past her, Athena spied a wet patch on the rough, wooden floor nearby, a few feet in from the exterior wall. Had the girls spilled something? Athena directed her candle to investigate the area. She discovered beads of water clinging to the underside of the low, sloping roof.

Oh, bother , Athena thought. The roof was leaking.

She wondered if this had anything to do with the branch that had fallen in the previous storm.

As she watched, a drop of water plinked down onto the wet patch below and disappeared—probably, she realized, dripping down onto the ceiling of one of the servants’ rooms below.

To whom could she apply for advice about a leaking roof? Athena only knew one person in the building trade. Mr. Vernon.