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“It does.” Excitedly, Athena added, “Mr. Vernon and Mrs. Hillman have been close ever since he was a boy. She must know all about his authorship. She has made no secret of the fact that she’s a huge Pryor Corbett fan.”

“She would no doubt have been only too happy to give Mr. Vernon shelter in her home to continue his work.”

“And to think this has been going on right under our noses!”

Selena fell briefly silent. “On the other hand,” she said cautiously, “we may be wrong about all of this. Even though the handwriting resembled Mr. Vernon’s, there could be a completely different explanation for that page you found.”

“There could be.” Athena sighed. “But it would be so much fun if it’s true! Somehow, I have to prove it.”

“What will you do? Show Mr. Vernon the page? Get him to admit his secret?”

Athena shook her head. “A single page doesn’t prove anything—it’s not from a published work. And he could claim no knowledge of it.”

“But what about the secret room?”

“He could make up some story about its history. No, I would rather have irrefutable evidence before I confront him.”

“How do you propose to get that?”

Athena’s mind hummed. “By going to Darkmoor Park and proving that he really is writing there in secret.”

“An excellent notion.” Selena nodded, grinning. “And I’ve just thought of the perfect opportunity.”

“So have I.” In unison, they cried, “The concert! Tomorrow night!”

*

“I can hardly wait to hear Mrs. Augustus sing,” exclaimed Lucy Russell.

“My parents heard her once in London and said she is magnificent,” remarked Miss Weaver.

All five pupils were dressed in their finest frocks, capes, and bonnets, and as they made their way up the crowded street towards the village hall, their excitement was unmistakable.

“Promise me you will be on your best behavior,” Selena warned the girls. “You must stay with us at all times, and no talking during the concert.”

“Yes, Miss Selena,” the girls chorused.

It was a blustery evening. Clouds obscured the moon.

The street was lined with lanterns in honor of the event, their dancing flames piercing the darkness.

Athena spotted Edward Ackroyd arriving on horseback.

Miss Quince and her father hovered outside the hall along with Bridget and George Osborn, Mr. Carson, and dozens of other people who were waiting for the doors to open.

She looked hopefully for Mr. Vernon but saw no sign of him.

A carriage arrived, delivering Neville Sinclair and his wife. Moments later, Mrs. Hillman’s carriage drew up. She and Mr. Chapman descended and exchanged greetings with Athena, Selena, and their pupils.

This is the moment , Athena decided. She yawned and said quietly, “Oh, dear.”

“What’s the matter?” Selena asked.

“I feel so tired all of sudden,” Athena responded. “I fear I stayed up too late last night planning lessons.”

“If you’re too tired to stay,” Selena told her, just as they had rehearsed, “I can chaperone the girls on my own.”

“Are you sure you don’t mind?”

“Not at all.”

“Oh, but Miss Taylor! To miss the concert!” Miss Russell sounded aghast.

“It is a shame, but I think it’s best that I go home and have an early night.” Guilt stabbed Athena in the chest. She valued the truth above almost anything else in life. But it was just a little, white lie, and it wouldn’t harm anyone. “I’ll look forward to hearing all about it afterwards.”

“Would you like me to walk you home?” Mr. Chapman proposed.

“No, thank you,” Athena replied quickly. “I’ll be fine. And I wouldn’t want you to miss a moment of the concert.”

“If you’re weary, I won’t have you walking home,” Mrs. Hillman insisted. “You must take my carriage.”

Athena hadn’t expected this offer and was about to refuse.

But on second thought, she realized, taking Mrs. Hillman’s carriage would be far more expeditious than walking.

“Thank you, ma’am. I would be most grateful.

But now that you mention it—if you and your coachman don’t mind—is it possible for him to take me to Darkmoor Park first?

A good book always helps me to relax and fall asleep, and there is a novel in your library that I have been dying to read.

If I could begin it tonight, it would help make up for missing the concert. ”

“Of course. I’m afraid there’s not a soul at home, but you are welcome to stop in.” Mrs. Hillman turned to her coachman. “Sam, please take Miss Taylor to the house, wait for her while she fetches a book, and then drive her to Thorndale Manor.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the coachman responded with a bow.

Athena said her goodbyes and climbed into the carriage, which whisked her away.

The road was dark, lit only by the gleam from the carriage lamps. Athena guessed they were about a quarter mile from Darkmoor Park when one of the horses gave a sharp, anguished whinny and the coachman uttered, “Whoa there!”

The carriage lurched to a halt. Athena heard the driver descend from his high seat, followed by some bustle, and then the carriage door was pulled open.

“What happened?” Athena asked.

“One of the horses threw a shoe and stepped on a nail,” the coachman replied. “I’m sorry, miss, but I can’t continue. I have to walk back to the village and fetch the farrier. You can wait here if you like, but it may take a couple of hours to set this right.”

“It’s quite all right. I’ll walk the rest of the way—it’s not far. The night air will do me good.” Athena grabbed her reticule and accepted his help stepping down from the vehicle.

The man handed her a lantern. “Take this. I have a spare.”

“Thank you.”

While the driver unhitched the horses and tethered them to a tree, Athena set off on foot.

As she walked down the road, the wind set her bonnet ribbons flying and made her shiver despite the protection of her woolen cloak.

Thankfully, the candle inside the lantern’s glass casing remained lit all the way to Darkmoor Park.

As promised, the manor house was dark and looked deserted.

As she approached the front door, Athena was once again assailed by a stab of guilt.

It bothered her that she had lied to Mrs. Hillman and the girls.

What kind of person was she becoming? To utter a falsehood like that to people she cared about! It was so out of character.

And it wasn’t the first time she had stretched the truth of late.

Before, however, it had always been in the service of solving the case .

This time, she didn’t have as valid an excuse.

She was only here to satisfy her curiosity about Mr. Vernon’s secret identity.

This will take no more than a few minutes , she reassured herself.

I’ll be in and out of the house in no time .

With the lantern to light her way, Athena made a beeline for the servants’ stairs, which led to the attic on the northern side. Athena thrust open the old, wooden door on the top landing and stepped inside.

The attic was dark and musty and, from what Athena could discern in the feeble light, filled with distant piles of accumulated possessions. But this area at the top of the stairs was an open, uncluttered space with several cobwebby windows.

Athena raised her lantern. Her heart skittered.

Before her stood a large, brick wall very much like the one in Thorndale Manor’s attic. Did the building end here? Or did this wall also contain a secret door?

“Pryor Corbett,” she murmured, “is this your new secret writing place?”

By the light of her lantern, Athena searched for any evidence of hairline cracks in the mortar that would indicate the entry point to a hidden room. But she saw nothing unusual. It appeared to just be a solid, brick wall.

Athena was so certain there was a secret door, she started pressing on the brick wall here, there, and everywhere, hoping she might come upon it by accident. All at once, to her excitement, the wall moved, and a door sprang open!

But in so doing, it smashed into Athena’s lantern, which crashed to the floor, extinguishing the candle and plunging the room into pitch blackness.

Athena gasped in dismay. “Oh, no!” At that moment, she heard a new and unexpected sound.

Footfalls. Heading this way from the other side of the attic.

Her blood froze. She couldn’t see a single thing.

“Hello?” Athena called out to the darkness. “Who’s there?”

No one answered. Who could it be? Everyone she knew, including Mrs. Hillman’s servants, was at the concert. Whoever it was, they didn’t appear to be carrying a light. The sound of footsteps continued.

“Who’s there? Declare yourself!”

There was no reply. Athena’s pulse leapt with alarm. Who would come up here without a lantern or candle? Instinct told her that she was in danger. I must hide. But where? In this open area, there was no means of concealment.

Except for the secret room behind her. If it was indeed a secret room.

The darkness was so complete and so disorienting. Athena took three steps, and then three more, crunching on the broken glass from her lantern. Where was the door?

The footfalls were louder now, marching ever closer.

Another sound: that of a window being thrust open. Why? A rush of wind blew into the attic but did not admit a speck of light.

Athena reached out in the blackness but felt absolutely nothing. What had happened to the wall? Had she moved in the wrong direction?

All at once, someone grabbed her. Athena screamed. “Let me go!” She struggled, but strong arms held her firmly in their grip, pinning her arms against her body. She was being half-dragged, half-carried… where? By whom?

It was all happening so fast. She screamed again at the top of her lungs. Suddenly, a jolt of pain dashed through her body as she was thrust up against something hard. Wind rushed in her ears. Where was she? It felt like the frame of an open window.

Dear lord. Did her unseen assailant intend to throw her out an attic window?

Athena screamed again and fought back with all her might, trying to brace herself with her feet against what she presumed was a windowsill. But her attacker pressed on with unwavering force.

Is this the end? Am I going to be hurled to my death?

Just then, a crash rent the air, akin to shattering glass or crockery. Her attacker cried out and lost their hold on Athena, who tumbled to the floor.

Athena heard but could not see a scuffle taking place beside her in the pitch darkness. Someone else was there. Who had come to her defense? A shout. A scream. A gasp. The sounds of pummeling. Ragged breathing. Athena rose to her knees, shaking, desperate to help. But how? She could see nothing.

There came a sharp cry. A thud , as of a body falling to the floor. And then a new and distant exclamation, from the opposite side of the attic—a deep, masculine voice crying, “Is someone up here?”

Athena heard the pounding of racing feet. A nearby door slammed. Someone had fled. Was it her attacker? Or the person who had tried to save her?

“I heard screams!” called out the newcomer, who seemed to be headed this way. “Is anyone up here?”

Athena had heard that voice before, but she was too overcome to identify it or to reply. She had almost died just now. She didn’t know who had tried to kill her, but she could guess why. In her investigation into Harold Sinclair’s murder, she was getting too close for their comfort.

Her eyes, she realized, must have been getting used to the dark, for she was able, at last, to perceive a hint of the scene before her.

Someone lay on the floor a few feet away.

Athena crawled to the slender, unmoving form.

It was a woman. She lay face up and wore a simple, cotton frock.

She looked too slight to be Athena’s attacker.

A shattered crockery pitcher lay beside her. Was she alive or dead?

Athena touched the woman’s chest, confirming that it rose and fell. She was just unconscious. Was it she who had come to Athena’s defense? The assailant must have knocked her out and fled.

The approach of a light and continued footfalls indicated that the newcomer was trudging in her direction.

Athena’s mind buzzed with confusion. What on Earth was this woman doing in the Darkmoor Park attic?

She appeared to be in her late twenties.

Even in the dim light, Athena could see that she was pretty.

Beautiful, in fact. Her hair was raven black and her complexion was as pale as snow.

It struck Athena that the young woman’s features were familiar. Why?

With a gasp of recognition, Athena understood where she had seen her before. They had never met in person. Athena had only seen her in portraits.

She was staring at a ghost in living form.

It was Caroline Vernon.