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certainly look well for your age,” Muffin said with an admiring tone.
    “I’m not—”
    “Tut tut, my dear.” She winked. “I keep secrets very well.” Oh geeze. “You were saying? About the suicide?”
    “Oh yes. Very sad story.” Muffin’s hands fluttered for a moment, and the small gesture made the glittery butterflies in her hair wobble. “Are you sure you want to hear it?”
    Cora nodded, trying to fight down a lump in her throat. “Please.”
    “Well, the father was very much in favor with King Henry. He was given this land and instructed to improve upon the fortifications—from what I understand, they were simply wooden walls back then. So he built a nice, fine castle of stone and protected the land. But then Henry died, and the baron lost favor with the royal family—something about a girl that his son and Prince John were both interested in. To get the boy out of his hair, the baron sent his son on Crusade with Richard to try and make amends. He was gone for a very long time, or so the story goes. And when Richard finally returned from Crusade with the remnants of his army, the baron’s son returned home as well. The girl he’d wished to marry had become the prince’s doxy—by choice, mind you. His family was dead, and he had just come back from a long war. I’m afraid it was too much for the poor boy. The stories say that the castle went up in flames one night, and instead of running out of the castle, he ran straight into the turret and he died there.” Muffin let the words sink in for a moment, then added in a sly voice, “They say that he’s the one people see in the mirror.”
    “But that can’t be right,” she protested, thinking of the man she’d seen. He’d tried to comfort her , tried to make her happy. And he’d smiled at her. How could he have killed himself? “Maybe he ran in to save someone?”
    “He went in for some reason,” Muffin said. “But everyone else was out of the castle, so… if he didn’t go back in after someone, what was so important that he died for it?” Tears burned behind Cora’s eyes. Oh, oh…the story broke her heart. “I don’t know.
    What…what happened after that?” She cleared her throat, trying to conceal her distress.
    “If I remember correctly, the lands reverted back to the king without an heir, and he parceled them out a generation or so later. Some went to the church, and some went to the current line of Rutherfords. Their coat of arms is the green and yellow. Your auntie married into the Rutherford family.”
    Cora had seen it hanging in the library, next to the blazing red. She should have guessed…but she couldn’t have imagined such a tragic story. “That’s a terrible tale.”
    “Isn’t it?” Muffin agreed cheerfully. “Quite gothic.” She pulled out a cookie and began to chew, crumbs flying. “Your Aunt Martha and her husband don’t care for the tale, but it’s great for tourism, so they make sure everyone knows all about it and the ghost story.”
    He’s not a ghost, though , Cora thought. Not to me . She’d always thought a ghost would be wispy or ethereal, but the man in her mirror was strong and tanned and so alive that she wanted to weep at the thought of him killing himself.
    “Have you seen the ghost again, dearie?”
    Cora’s throat worked for a moment, and she warred with herself. Did she tell Muffin all about what had been happening, or did she keep it to herself for a little bit longer?
    A brief second later, she decided. “No,” she said, then grabbed one of the cookies to distract Muffin’s gaze. “So what was his name?”
    “Who?”
    “The man that…died.”
    “Oh,” Muffin said. “I thought I told you. He was a de Beauchamp.”
    “No, not his last name,” Cora said, a little sharper than she’d have liked. “His first name.”
    “Ah,” Muffin said, in a knowing tone. “I believe his name was Aric. With an A instead of an E. Yes, I’m quite sure that was it.”
    Aric , Cora