1 A Spirited Manor by Kate Danley Page A

head.  "No,
what if that fiend is still loose?  I am far safer with this group than on my
own."  She stopped herself and then admitted what she really felt. 
"I am far safer with...you...than on my own."
    He nodded and gently transferred
Clara so that she could lean against him, wrapping his arm around her waist and
resting her head upon him.  "I shall keep you safe, dear Clara."
    They slowly walked down towards
the others.  When they arrived, Horace was fiddling with his key ring, looking
for the right one for the lock.  "Damnable nuisance."
    Clara should have extracted
herself from Wesley's embrace at this point for reasons of modesty and good
taste, but after such a day, she could not bear to stand alone on her own two
feet.  Instead, they stood, leaning against one another for strength as they
waited.
    Finally, the door opened. 
Horace bellowed as he walked into the room.  "Gilbert!  Gilbert, get up
from bed you damnable fellow!"
    But Gilbert did not stir. 
Instead, he lay upon the mattress, sleeping so soundly that he did not even
move.
    "Is he deaf?" asked
Marguerite incredulously.
    "I should say not!"
said Horace.  He strode over and shook his butler harshly.  "Wake up,
man!"
    That's when Gilbert rolled from
his side onto his back.  His eyes were wide open.  His throat was covered in
blood, oozing from two puncture wounds in his jugular.
    "Well, he is not
deaf," said Marguerite.

Chapter
Sixteen
    H orace closed and locked the
door behind him, in shock.
    "Three deaths in one
night?" he said, incredulously.  He repeated it again.  "Three
deaths.  In one night.  Under my very own roof."
    "And the murderer does not
appear to be Gilbert," said Marguerite.
    Horace placed his hand upon the
door, as if to assure himself that it was still solid and real.  "How did
someone get in there?  They must have been a magician!  To get into a locked
room?  To kill not one, but two men...?"
    "Maybe it was Norman and
then he fell and broke his neck?" offered Marguerite.
    "No, no, that's not
it," said Horace.  He turned and looked at Clara sharply.  "You said
that you heard footsteps coming down the hall.  What if that was the murderer! 
What if he lured Norman down just as he lured you down, and it was only your screams
that kept the blackguard away!  Dear, you may have saved us all!  And yourself!"
    Clara looked at Wesley and then
at the faces of the others.  "I don't believe I heard the murderer,"
she replied.
    Horace did not seem pleased that
she did not ascribe to his theory.  "Well, then, you just tell me what you
think happened."
    "I don't know," Clara
replied.  "It was..."  She realized that to hide the truth would make
her look like she was lying, and in this situation, they might assume the
worst.  So she relented.  "It was the same woman that I saw during the séance. 
She woke me and told me to come downstairs."
    "You're telling me some
ghost told you to come downstairs and you just happened to stumble upon some
room where Norman was lying dead?"
    Clara cleared her throat
uncomfortably.  "Yes."
    Wesley looked at her. 
"Really?" he asked, but she could see in his eyes that he believed
her.  Or at least that he wanted to believe her.
    But it seemed that Horace had
been pushed beyond that which his mind could accept.  "Bah!" he
said.  "I have three dead people in my house.  There might be ghosts, but
there aren't GHOSTS.  These aren't some haunted halls where dead women come to
take a stroll.  Don't tell me you believe this nonsense, Medium!"
    Wesley held up his hands, as if
asking him to provide a better answer if he had one.  "There are stranger
things in all the heavens than known to man."
    "Don't go slaughtering
quotations at me and expect me to take you seriously."
    "Nice turn of phrase,
Horace," Marguerite sighed.
    "All I know is that there is
a real, live, flesh and blood murderer still in this house and none of us are
safe."  Horace began pacing.  "Perhaps not all of the staff