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very large.” She drew a deep sigh. “Pity about the moonlight waltzing party.”
    Beau stretched his long arms. “What do you say we have an early night? I am a bit fagged after the trip.”
    “It is only nine o’clock. I shall go and see how Miss Wantage is making out.”
    “I am for my hammock.”
    Cressida found Miss Wantage propped up in her bed, still pale and distraught but recovering. “There is something in the attic,” she said in a weak voice. “I heard sounds overhead.”
    Cressida listened but heard nothing. Miss Wantage was the sort of lady who looked under her bed at night before retiring, counted her change twice to make sure the merchants were not cheating her, and invariably heard strange noises when she was alone. Cressida talked to her for a while to calm her, then went to her own room.
    She was beginning to think that if she was to be a social pariah here, she must invite a special friend or two to visit her. Not a large party, but a congenial married couple, perhaps, so that they could at least play cards in the evening.
    She took up a lamp to examine a few of the guest rooms. The yellow room at the end of the hall proved to be the finest free chamber. Like the rest of the house, it had been cleaned and polished in preparation for her arrival. She drew back the counterpane to check the quality of the sheets. The bed was not made up, but as the house came fully equipped, there would presumably be extra sheets in the linen cupboard.
    Finding the evening long, she went below stairs and called for Tory to discuss the linen.
    Tory appeared nervous but gave a good account of the situation. “There were only the four good sets of sheets,” she said. “There are plenty of old ones in the cupboard. Her ladyship sends them down here when she is through with them at the castle. I put the good ones on your and the master’s and Miss Wantage’s beds, milady, and asked Jennet to wash the other set.”
    “Then perhaps tomorrow you will have Jennet make up the yellow room. I may invite a friend to visit.”
    “Certainly, milady. And about the gingerbread—”
    “It was so delicious, perhaps you should bake two the next time.”
    This was her discreet manner of saying that she had no objection to the servants eating as much as they wished, but she did expect to have sufficient food in the house for herself and any caller. They discussed the matter of acquiring supplies. Tory was eager to handle all the domestic arrangements. She was so relieved to find her mistress reasonable that she said, “I’ll ask Old Muffet’s advice for anything I’m not sure of, milady. It will save pestering you, and make him feel he’s useful.”
    “What a good idea,” Cressida said, swallowing a smile to think what Muffet would make of that piece of condescension.
    In the meanwhile, Beau had retired. For lack of anything better to do, she decided to take her new copy of The Lady’s Companion to bed. She remembered leaving it on the sofa table before dinner, but a look about showed her it was not in the room. She spoke to Muffet, but he had not seen it.
    “Jennet was in the saloon,” he said suspiciously. “Very likely she’s taken it to look at the pictures.”
    Not wanting to create further discord among the staff, Cressida said she would speak to Jennet in the morning and went to the library to get a novel instead. When she saw the rows of marble-covered gothics from the Minerva Press, she assumed the more worthy tomes were at Dauntry Castle. She selected a book at random and went to bed. The story was a lurid tale of a young lady sent to an isolated house in the country by her wicked guardian to trim her into line. Asthe heroine lay in her dark bed, listening to the creaking of house timbers and clanking of chains, Cressida began to imagine she heard things, too—in the attic. Good gracious! She was as bad as Miss Wantage. She blew out the lamp and was soon sound asleep.
     

Chapter Four
     
    The morning