Frankfurt or Vienna, and followed the girl up the stairs. “Uh, Miss …”
“Karen Simms. But you can call me Spike.” She touched her stiff hair. “My mother hates it,” she added with a self-satisfied grin. She pulled a cell phone from one of her many pockets. “I’ll text Harry to bring up your boxes.” A few lightning-quick taps later, she clicked it shut. “All set.”
“About this tower suite—”
“You’re gonna love it. You’re a history buff, right? I mean, I assume you are because you’re here for the conference. Well, this suite has been completely restored. Two bedrooms and a sitting room overlook the south lawn. Which, by the way, I gave you for the single room price at the conference discount.”
“But if no one ever stays in it—”
“No problem. We keep it pristine clean so the ghosts don’t get upset. At least that’s what Gram always says.”
“About those ghosts—”
“Deirdre Cracklebury and her younger sister Mina. They were born in the manor house and lived here around the time of the Regency. I’m not real sure about exact dates, but you could check with Gram if you want to know the details. Everyone here just calls them ‘the girls.’ Several of the staff, and a few guests, have claimed they encountered paranormal stuff like cold spots and misty apparitions in the hallway—you know, weird junk like that. I’ve never seen anything myself.”
Spike stepped aside to let two giggling women guests pass on the stairway. Eleanor’s first impression was that two delicate porcelain dolls had come to life, but her attention was quickly caught by their exquisite costumes: one in dark rose and the other in deep blue silk. She noted the intricate handwork on the gowns with envy and foreboding. If this was the quality of the competition, was she wasting her time and money starting her own costume business?
She could still go back to her old job at the movie studio. Were Spartan togas and mummy rags her only future? She almost turned to ask the women about their clothes, but she noticed Spike had taken a right turn at the top of the stairs and had gotten quite far ahead. She hurried to catch up.
“You’ve missed supper,” Spike said, trucking down the hall at a speed that made the chains on her oversized cutoff jeans jingle-jangle. “But if you’re hungry, I could get you a sandwich or something from the kitchen.”
“That’s not necessary. I’m fine.” She’d eaten a protein bar in the cab from the train station.
“The welcoming reception has already started. Costumes are optional, so if you don’t have time to change, that’s okay.”
Eleanor didn’t bother to look down at her rumpled brown travel pantsuit before shaking her head. “All I want is a hot shower and a bed.” Local time might be only seven-fifteen in the evening, but she’d had little sleep in the last twenty-four hours. Her eyes kept crossing from fatigue. She had to fight to refocus them.
“This suite has a bathing chamber with a huge old-fashioned claw-foot tub. No shower.” Spike paused at the end of the hall where it turned left into the south wing. She used another of the large old keys on a big ring to unlock the door tucked at an angle in the corner.
Eleanor entered an elegant sitting room decorated in shades of green and gold and filled with antique furniture. Across from the door a round area with eight windows was the obvious reason why it was called the tower suite.
Spike scooted in behind her. “This is the last room in the oldest portion of the house. The wings were added in the mid-1700s, giving the manor its U-shape. I’d recommend the bedroom on the left. Newer construction, so to speak. Plus it has the bathroom.”
“I think I stayed in the newer section last time I was here,” Eleanor said. Her room had been quite ordinary. Nothing like this.
She headed straight for the room on her left. Inside, a four-poster bed with pristine white linens tempted her to kick off her shoes and climb the three-step riser to sink into the feather mattress, travel-mussed clothes and all. Although there was lots of dark wood, the delicate blue and white touches kept the room from being overpoweringly depressing.
Spike walked past the bed to an armoire placed against the far wall. “The
A tap on the door signaled Harry’s arrival. The skinny adolescent’s face had not yet filled out enough to balance his oversized nose and ears, but he was obviously still growing because his pants were at least an inch too short. Unless that was the style for English boys his age. He awkwardly hustled two large boxes on a wheeled dolly into the room. Eleanor directed him to set them in the corner. After expressing her appreciation in generous tips, Eleanor was finally alone.
First, she called her father. His voice mail kicked in, meaning he was probably at lunch with his golfing buddies or one of his lady friends. His old-fashioned manners dictated that it was rude to answer the phone when one was in the middle of a conversation, so he always turned his cell phone off when he was in company. She left him a message to let him know she’d arrived safely and would call him as usual on Sunday night. She tucked her phone into a pocket on her carryon as she headed to the bathroom.
Because of increased airline restrictions, she’d packed her toiletries and cosmetic bag in her suitcase, which by now was probably in Istanbul. Fortunately, the airline had provided each passenger with a Ziploc bag that contained soft footies, an eye-mask, and best of all, a disposable toothbrush and tiny tube of toothpaste. She’d had the forethought to snag the extra one from the empty seat beside her and drop it in her carryon. She dug it out.
After a quick dip in the tub, she promised herself a long luxurious soak before she left the inn. For tonight, sleep took precedence.
Wrapped in a large fluffy towel, she unpacked the smaller box and put on a floor-length, granny-style nightgown. Even though it was part of her planned presentation on a Regency lady’s wardrobe, it would serve until her suitcases were located.
Because she wasn’t a morning person, Eleanor had developed the habit of setting out her clothes the night before. Knowing she would sleep better if she had everything organized, she checked the seminar schedule and laid out her outfit for the following morning: a day dress of white muslin embroidered with green leaves and tiny violets, period underclothes, white silk stockings, and flat shoes made of green fabric.
She added the matching beaded reticule, so small that it held only the absolute necessities: ID, credit card, registration confirmation letter, a handkerchief instead of tissues, breath mints, lip gloss, and the big old-fashioned key to her suite. Then she hung up the rest of the dresses from the larger box. Running out of steam, she climbed the riser and flopped into the bed with a sigh, asleep the second her head hit the pillow.
“Who is that in your bed?”
“I haven’t the vaguest idea,” Deirdre answered.
Mina peered closer. “She resembles our cousin Ellen. Same dark auburn curls, heart-shaped face, and green eyes.”
“Her eyes are closed.”
“I noticed the striking color earlier when we passed her on the stairs. And her smile. She has great teeth, straight and—”
“Our cousin Ellen died nearly two hundred years ago. This person is alive.”
Mina leaned over the figure in the bed. “Who are you?” When she got no response, she poked the sleeping female’s arm. “Why are you here?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Deirdre said. “She’s one of the guests.”
“They rarely put guests in our rooms. Are you sure she’s not dead?”
“Of course I’m sure. Well, we had best wake her up and scare her off,” Deirdre said.
Mina tipped her head to one side. “She has a gentle face. Couldn’t we let her sleep a bit longer?”
“Easy for you to say. She’s not in your bed.”
“I wonder who she is. I still say she resembles Cousin Ellen.”
Deirdre pulled the sleeping female’s travel bag out of the bathroom and looked through her belongings.
