Max’s mother touched her arm again and nodded, her lips closed tightly.
Maggie debated how she should answer the question. She was not sure if she had seen the ghost, but she never felt scared by the thought of her. “I suppose the short answer is that I have not.” All conversation ceased in the carriage as she struggled to answer. “While I have not seen the ghost, Shep and I heard her singing. And there was the scent of roses.” She looked at the little dog sleeping on her lap. She had refused to leave him behind. “Shep reacted to it first, but not hastily. He seemed to recognize it. We heard a woman softly humming a song—a lullaby from my childhood. My grandmother and mother used to sing it to me. If a ghost exists, it must be one of them. Since my grandmother died from an illness, I believe it to be my mother. At one time, I did not believe in ghosts, but I am no longer sure. I have felt only welcome in the house. I had a sense of being cared for there. Blankets and a pillow were in the safe room—which I found unusual—and there was food. The uncovered well gave us easy access to fresh water.”
Mr. Nizal’s and Max’s mouths were hanging open; perhaps startled at her comments. Lady Worsley nodded and pushed a tear away from her eye. Shep lifted his head, then licked her arm before returning to sleep in her lap.
“My dear, you could have the right of it. Your mother would never harm you, and she would do her best from the beyond to intercede on your behalf. I heard a discussion about the ghost of a woman that peers from behind the curtain in the middle room on the third story.” She took a breath. “Observers say the moonlight almost gives enough light to see her face, and she has long dark hair…much like your dear mother.”
The thought of her mother not being at peace unnerved Maggie, but because of her sudden death, she understood the unrest.
Mr. Nizal harrumphed, interrupting her thoughts. “Well, I am not sure of ghosts and such, but we should at least consider the possibility that someone is living in the attic. I would like to start there.”
A hush descended upon the four. The ground changed to cobblestones, signaling they were pulling into the drive. Shep opened his eyes but kept his head down. Maggie bit back any response. It was best to let people believe as they wanted, but she had heard the humming herself.
Max rapped on the ceiling of the carriage and the driver slowed to a stop. He leaned out of a window and gave directions to the back portico, and the driver moved the carriage to the rear entrance.
Once they stopped, Max opened the door and helped his mother, then Maggie, from the carriage. Mr. Nizal followed Shep, who was not waiting. Maggie felt sure that the discussion of a ghost had disquieted all of them. No one spoke for a long minute.
“There is a key to the servant’s door…or was a key in the loose brick at the base of the well,” Maggie offered, moving to retrieve it. “Found it.” She held the long skeleton key up for approval.
“Wonderful. I should like to see the attic and work my way down to the study, if you do not mind. And I would like to visit the room behind it…the safe room, you called it.” Mr. Nizal eyed the shrubs and garden area in the back before nodding and moving to the door. “No tracks here, save our own. That is good. Let us proceed.”
Max quietly offered Maggie his arm. She slid a gloved hand over his arm and was unprepared for the tingle of warmth that tickled her. She kept her touch light as she entered the only home she could remember. She had shared her story but was still unsure she should have told all about Father’s box. Too late now. She closed her eyes and took a deep calming breath. Maggie needed to find that key to gain entry to her father’s secret box, otherwise she might have to break it. She preferred not to do that. Maggie had only wanted the money her father had spoken of before his death, but now she realized she needed to see the contents of his will and the deed he spoke of for herself. I need Max’s help.
* * *
Max was happy to see Meg looking more herself. She was still bruised, but the bruises had yellowed, and some had faded. The small cuts had healed, and her cheeks were once again rosy, drawing attention to her plump lips. He shook his head slightly, needing to clear it of these thoughts. He was here to help her, not take advantage of her. The brisk air may have had a bit to do with it. He was leery of what they might find, but with Mr. Nizal’s men blanketing the area, he felt better. He and Harlow had traversed his own lands, and neither of them had come upon men they would have recognized as undercover runners—at least, not until they came in to eat; even then, they raised no suspicions. They took food to his hunting cabin and left it for the men. Only key members of his household knew of them. The less they knew, the better. He had to protect Meg.
The short distance to her home gave him a few moments to relax and contemplate things. What if Meg was right about her uncle and her parents’ deaths? How could he determine that? There would have had to be witnesses. There was a mountain of circumstantial evidence that surrounded it; he could see why she had concluded what she had, but without direct evidence, it would not hold up against a peer.
Max glanced over at Meg. Her face was nearly pressed to the glass of her family’s parlor window, staring
