Bonfire Night Read Online Free PDF Page A

anyone actually called Smith?”
    “Portia,” I said, striving for patience, “it is the commonest surname in Britain.”
    “All the more reason someone would choose it for a pseudonym,” she answered triumphantly.
    She fell silent at Mrs. Smith’s approach—thankfully with the champagne jelly borne behind her by yet another maid. When we had finished the meal and sent our compliments to the kitchens, we agreed upon an early night.
    “Best,” confirmed Mrs. Smith. “Good Christian folk ought to be tucked up in their beds before the dead begin to walk.”
    “But I’m not—” I trod on Plum’s foot heavily to stop him finishing the sentence. Mrs. Smith gave him a dark look and nodded towards the row of maids holding candelabra to light us upstairs.
    “Pleasant dreams and God keep you,” she said.
    We made our way upstairs, dismissing the maids and taking the candelabra for ourselves.
    Portia yawned broadly. “I don’t care about ghosts. I’m far too tired to bother even if one were to climb into the bed.”
    Plum resisted the urge to make a jest at her expense and turned to me. “Why did you stop me telling Mrs. Smith I’m no Christian?”
    “Because you are. You simply think it makes you more interesting to pretend not to be. And if Brisbane and I are to make our country home here, I should like to settle in before the local folk discover precisely how odd my family can be,” I informed him.
    Just then a clap of thunder sounded overhead and Plum gave a start of surprise. “I don’t think I much care for the notion of a haunted house.”
    “Fear not, Plum. Mrs. Smith told God to protect us. I should think the Almighty wouldn’t dare to cross Mrs. Smith,” Brisbane said lightly.

Chapter Three
    Late in the night, long after Brisbane and I had slipped into slumber, I was awakened. I lay in the darkness, listening closely. I heard my own heartbeat, thundering in my ears from the suddenness of my waking. I could just make out Brisbane’s deep, slow breaths. It was a familiar and comforting sound, and I had just turned over to go to sleep again when I heard a noise. It was a sob—a long, mournful sob. Without hesitation I snatched up my dressing gown and flung it over my shoulders. I did not stop to trifle with slippers but went directly to the door and wrenched it open.
    There was nothing but stillness and silence in the long black corridor beyond. No candles had been left burning here, for the risk of fire was too great, and it seemed Mrs. Smith was a careful housekeeper. But I would have given half my wealth for a light just then.
    I waited in the doorway, eyes and ears straining, but the sound did not come again.
    Suddenly, a heavy hand landed upon my shoulder and I whirled, stifling the shriek that rose in my throat. “What is it?” Brisbane demanded in a low whisper.
    “A sound that woke me. Like a sob,” I whispered back.
    “Is it the children?” he asked, and I felt a stab of inadequacy as I realised I had never considered it might be.
    “I think not. It wasn’t high like a child’s cry, and even if it were, we shouldn’t hear them from upstairs,” I told him. “No, this was low and terribly sad. A woman’s sob.”
    We listened together for a long moment, but nothing disturbed the long stillness of the night. Eventually Brisbane dropped his hand and I knew he meant to return to bed. I turned to follow, and just as I put my hand to the door, it came again—a long, low moan of despair.
    “Good God,” Brisbane said. “What the devil was that?”
    Just then Plum’s door opened and he emerged with tousled hair and a candle in his hand. He leapt back when he saw us, then scowled. “I say, if you’re going to go around playing at—well, whatever matrimonial games the pair of you get up to—it would be sporting of you not to wake the rest of us.”
    “It wasn’t us, idiot,” I told him. “The sound awakened us, as well.”
    Plum looked around. “Why isn’t Portia up and