But ghosts didn’t carry lamps or torches. And one or the other was needed in these attics, where the only illumination came from those tiny windows.
He walked back to the stairs, and went down them, bent on searching that floor as well, but as he stepped out into the dim passage, someone leapt out of the shadows and swung something in his direction.
Even though he ducked, he wasn’t in time, and whatever it was brushed by his head with enough force to send him to his knees.
Hamish was shouting, “On your feet!”
Shaking his head to clear it, he was in time to see someone just starting down the next flight of stairs. He could hear the clatter of boots on the treads.
Rutledge stumbled to his feet, and followed. These were the back stairs, now, leading down in darkness to the kitchen passage. He was moving fast and he could still hear whoever it was he was following, a flight ahead of him.
The passage door to the back garden swung open in a momentary shaft of light, bright after the darkness. Rutledge saw a figure dressed in black dart out and turn left, toward the stables.
He had only one more flight to go when the passage door into the kitchen was flung open, and a woman stepped out.
“What in God’s name are you playing at?” she snapped.
He nearly cannoned into Lady Benton.
“Out of the way,” he ordered, but she refused to move, and he had to physically set her aside as she protested vehemently, one hand clutching his arm. But he got clear and went through the door, turning left through a bed of young beets, trampling them underfoot as his quarry had done before him. But when he reached the stable yard, there was no sign of the man he’d been after.
Rutledge went into the stables and the carriage house next to it, flushed his quarry from behind a handsome landau, and chased him into the yard.
He had vanished again. Swearing, Rutledge searched everywhere he could think of, but the man was nowhere to be seen. He had just come out of the small shed where gardening tools were kept when he stopped abruptly.
Lady Benton was bearing down on him, her face flushed with anger.
“Go back inside. There’s an intruder—” he began.
“Where? Not in the house, surely!”
“The old attics. Go inside, I tell you. Find the other women and make sure they are all safe.”
“What was he doing up there? And how did he find a way inside?”
“Wait here,” Rutledge said, still breathing hard. And ignoring her protests, he turned and ran toward the lane. But it was empty in both directions as well. Had the intruder hidden in the hedge? He started after him again but whirled as he heard running feet. But whoever it was had reached the road, and was out of sight.
It was useless to follow him, there were endless places to hide in the fields across from the Abbey’s wall.
When he turned back to Lady Benton, she was waiting impatiently. “You must tell me what is happening.”
And this time he caught the anxiety beneath the anger.
“I was coming up from the airfield. I saw a light in the old attics. I let myself in and went to see who might be up there. It isn’t a likely place for your staff to go.”
“Oh, dear—Margaret had just gone to the servants’ floor to look for a pail she remembered seeing there—”
“I might have caught him, if you hadn’t stepped out of the kitchen just at the wrong time.” He was still angry with her, while her own anger had changed to worry.
“I heard someone racketing down the stairs when I went to fetch more milk for the undercroft. We have visitors. I thought one of them had dropped out of the tour and was wandering about on his own. I didn’t recognize you at first, and when I did, I thought perhaps that’s who you saw.”
“It’s late for a tour,” he told her.
“They asked for the evening. A half dozen couples. It seems they were staying in Chelmsford, and someone who had toured the house before suggested it. They wrote to ask for this evening. They wanted to see it by candlelight, as it must have been ages ago. A good deal of work for us. But they offered a great deal of money, and so I agreed. They’re having a special tea in the undercroft.”
“Then let’s go there now, and see if there are still six couples.” He started toward the door to the house.
“I won’t have you disturbing them,” she said, hurrying after him.
“Lady Benton, I’d rather disturb your guests than know someone got into your house.” He kept walking, long strides.
She had no choice but to try to keep pace.
Rutledge opened the door into the house and held it for her, then followed her into the sitting room and beyond. Mrs. Hailey had a long-handled candle snuffer and was putting out the candles in the third room they came to. Beyond, on the way to the chapel, evening shadows were thick. But Lady Benton led the way with the assurance of long practice.
In the dimness, lit only by the windows high above, the Madonna was almost ghostly in her gray robes.
He could hear voices and laughter coming from the undercroft, and as he descended the stairs, Lady Benton was speaking to him. But he ignored her.
There were four tables set with white cloths, china and silver, and tall candelabra gave a flickering softness to the low-ceilinged room that the usual lamps lacked.
He did a quick count. Six couples, twelve people. They were all there. At the long serving table, the middle-aged woman attending it looked up and smiled when she saw Lady Benton.
But Rutledge turned, and with a hand on her back, gave Lady Benton no choice but to retreat back up the stairs.
“I thought—” she began, but Rutledge shook his head.
“There were twelve people at the tables. None of them appeared to have been racing back to take his seat. And Mrs. Hailey would have seen him.”
Exasperated, she said, “Well, what am I to do, pray? Are you certain he’s gone? Or did he slip back into the kitchen passage, where we left the door standing wide?”
Rutledge said, “Do you want me to search?”
“No—no. But I expect you ought to stay until the guests leave. Just to be certain all of them do.” She sighed. “I must admit, this is getting on my nerves. And I’m not usually timid or easily frightened.”
“I don’t believe you saw a ghost. What you saw was real enough. I’m nearly certain that the second man was an accomplice, who got up and walked away.”
“But who is doing this, and why?”
They were in the hall, speaking softly because their voices echoed. “We need to be a bit more private,” he suggested, but she shook her head.
“They’re due to leave in another twenty minutes.”
He began to say something when Mrs. Hailey came out of the state rooms and reported, “All the candles are out. I went back through, to make certain of that. They did enjoy going through, I can tell you. I heard some of the comments, and so did Elizabeth and Sara. I told them to go into the kitchen and put the kettle on.”
“Yes, that was well done. Ah—I think I hear movement.”
She turned, waiting, and a few minutes later, the first of the guests began to appear at the top of the steps, smiling and talking, clearly pleased with their evening.
Lady Benton turned toward the main door. Mrs. Hailey was already pushing it open.
“You’d better stay. The butler?” she said to Rutledge, and then to Mrs. Hailey, “Will you begin to see to the locks?”