her eyes, she obliged. ‘You mean Hartington Manor has a real live ghost?’
He gave a pained frown. ‘I can see you don’t take the matter seriously.’
‘Should I?’
‘Oh, definitely. We can’t have Sir Roger upset.’
‘Sir Roger?’
‘Sir Roger Strange. But I’ll tell you all about him later… Now, are you game?’
‘I suppose so,’ she agreed a shade doubtfully. There was something about his manner, the glint in his eye, that she didn’t altogether trust.
‘Then let’s get started.’ He got to his feet and offered a hand to pull her up.
Pretending she hadn’t seen it, she rose obediently.
‘It’s bound to be cold,’ he remarked, ‘so we’d better have our coats.’
He lifted Anna’s down and held it one-handed while she slipped it on, before shrugging into his own jacket. ‘And we’ll need a candle and some matches to take with us.’
Wondering what he was up to, she asked, ‘But surely the lights will work?’
‘Oh, yes, if the generator holds out. But not all the house has been modernised, so we’ll need the candle for later.’
Trying to sound merely practical, she asked, ‘Wouldn’t it make more sense to go when it’s daylight?’
‘What, and spoil the fun?’
‘I think you’re trying to scare me.’
Instead of denying it, he asked, ‘Am I succeeding?’
‘No,’ she said firmly.
Collecting the matches, he dropped them into his jacket pocket. Then, while she watched with growing misgivings, he crossed to the huge dresser and picked up a beautifully ornate candlestick.
Made of black wrought iron, it was fashioned in the form of a dragon standing on clawed feet, while its tail curled to form a handgrip and its raised wings and open mouth held the candle.
‘Perhaps you wouldn’t mind carrying it for the moment?’ he asked politely.
She took it from him and found it was surprisingly heavy.
‘Now, shall we start in the basement?’ He turned to lead the way.
They went through a small door at the end of the hall and descended a flight of worn stone steps. There was a wide stone passage which branched off into a series of storerooms and sculleries.
Opening the door into a large, stone-flagged room, Gideon told her, ‘This used to be the kitchen, while the present kitchen was once the servants’ hall.’
Peering in, Anna saw deep stone sinks, a scrubbed oak table flanked by massive dressers and, in the huge fireplace, an old iron spit, big enough to roast a whole ox.
It was so cold their breath made a white vapour on the air, and she wasn’t sorry when he switched out the light and moved on.
At the end of the passage, another flight of steps led up to the main living quarters. A peep into the various rooms showed they were elegantly furnished, with beautiful wall-papers, ornately plastered ceilings, and everything necessary to gracious living.
‘As you can see this part of the house has been altered and brought up to date as much as possible, without spoiling the old place. It used to be quite comfortable, and no doubt will be again when the heating’s working,’ he added dryly.
‘On the floor above, apart from the Morrisons’ self-contained flat, there are seven bedrooms and various bathrooms, but there’s nothing much of interest, so I won’t take you upstairs until we go to bed.’
His words were innocent enough on the surface, but there was something, some nuance, that made every nerve-ending in her body tighten.
‘This archway leads through to the East Wing,’ he went on smoothly. ‘It hasn’t been lived in for donkey’s years, and it’s by far the most interesting. There’s neither gas nor electricity, so this is where we’ll need to light the candle.’ Taking it from her, he went on, ‘The matches are in my right-hand pocket, if you’d be kind enough to fish them out.’
Feeling in his pocket seemed somehow so personal that Anna had to brace herself to do it.
Judging by the mocking gleam in his eye, he knew exactly how she felt, and was enjoying her discomfort.
As she stepped closer, she fancied she could feel the warmth emanating from his body, and shivered in response.
The box located, she struck a match and lit the candle he was holding. She was annoyed to find that her hand shook.
‘Something bothering you?’ he asked innocently.
Hurriedly blowing out the match before it burnt her fingers, she replaced the box in his pocket, and answered, ‘I’m cold.’ It wasn’t a complete lie.
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