I glanced around the deserted kitchen before leaving, and it struck me as strange that the cook, at least, was not present. Had the grieving Lord Snetton dismissed the servants for the day, or had every one of them given notice after the lady of the house had been found dead? A thought occurred to me, and I crossed to the hob and cautiously placed my hand on the enamelled surface. It was quite cold, which meant the oven had not been lit that day. The staff, then, had been dismissed before dawn… or perhaps the night before.
I frowned as I spotted a milk churn near the pantry door, lying on its side. The contents had spilled, and I wondered what the short-tempered cook I'd met the day before would have to say when she saw it. Quite a lot, I guessed. Then I looked at the pantry door again, and a cold chill ran up my spine. What if the pantry contained something larger than game birds and cured meats? What if it contained the lifeless bodies of the cook and the scullery maid?
I approached the pantry slowly, hesitantly, and my fingers shook as I reached for the doorknob. My heart was in my mouth as I turned it, and I eased the door open inch by inch, fearing what I might see.
Yeowl!
I leapt back as a fast-moving shape launched itself from the pantry, almost knocking me over in its bid for freedom. It was a tabby cat, ears laid flat against its skull as it raced for the door, paws scrabbling on the hard floor. At that moment I don't know which of us was more frightened… myself, or the unfortunate cat.
I took a deep shuddering breath and turned to the pantry, opening the door fully. The insides were in disarray, thanks no doubt to the cat, but to my relief there were no human victims within. I managed a rueful smile, for I recognised that my recent experiences with ghostly apparitions were leading me to imagine the worst kind of horrors behind every harmless door.
There was nothing else of interest in the kitchen, and so I slung the haversack across one shoulder and took the hallway to the front door. On the way I looked into the sitting room, where I saw Roberta engaged in conversation with Lord Snetton. His mood appeared to have brightened considerably, and he was speaking animatedly of his late wife. Roberta, for her part, shot me a meaningful look as I passed the open doorway. A look which all but demanded I rescue her. A look which I ignored, for I needed her to hold Lord Snetton's attention whilst I inspected the upstairs bedroom.
Chapter 22
Once upstairs I located the master suite, which looked almost exactly as it had the day before. However, despite the late afternoon sunshine leaking through gaps in the shutters, the room was filled with an air of sorrow and despair. The bedclothes were drawn back, and I imagined I could see an indentation in the bed where the unfortunate Lady Snetton had breathed her last.
Shivering, I turned away from the four-poster and approached a nearby desk. Here, I extracted various items from my haversack, placing them carefully so as not to mark the polished wooden surface. After I had placed the trap and the metronome, I gripped the sword in my left hand and donned the dichromatic spectacles. I was not sure what to expect as I surveyed the room through the red and black lenses, and I held the weapon at the ready and prepared to defend my very life from any vengeful spirit that might present itself. A small voice inside my head told me I was being exceedingly foolish, and that I should have left the investigation to one more capable than I. However, the professor had already departed, and Roberta was all but chained to Lord Snetton, who showed little inclination towards giving up her company. Another voice, this one tinged with jealousy, suggested that the wealthy admiral might already be picturing Roberta in the role of his third wife, but I quickly pushed the uncharitable thought aside. She was a sturdy young woman, and I had no doubt that Lord Snetton would receive a swift punch to the nose if he made an untoward suggestion of that nature.
Once I'd cleared my mind of misgivings, I stood on the spot and scanned the room with my glasses, inspecting every nook and cranny. In the professor's study, the spirit had been cloaked inside a deep black cloud, and so I paid particular attention to deep shadows. I assumed phantasms came in all sizes, and I did not want to miss even the smallest if it was hiding in that room.
I reached the end of my arc, having scanned every inch of the room without success. To make doubly sure, I moved to a new location and repeated the process, but there was nothing to be seen. Relieved, I relaxed my deathlike grip on the weapon. Although I was no expert, I was convinced there were no phantasms lurking in that quiet, sad room.
Removing the spectacles, I placed them next to the trap and turned to the metronome device. Roberta had described it as a sort of detector,
