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champagne in her gloved
    hand. Her laughter was growing louder by the minute. She would no doubt be calling for her tonic in the
    morning, Emma thought. She would certainly not be needing the services of her companion tonight.
    Grateful to be free for a while from the demands of both of her employers, Emma started up the
    staircase. Of the two careers she was pursuing this week, she feared her duties for Edison would prove
    to be the most onerous. If it were not for the fact that she had accepted his offer of employment, she
    would not have taken another drop of Miranda's obnoxious tea. All the ridiculous talk about a missing
    book and occult elixirs had given her some serious second thoughts about her new employer. She
    wondered uneasily if he was mad as a March hare. But even if that proved true, he was a very rich mad
    hare, she reminded herself as she climbed the stairs. And if she lasted the week in his employ, she would
    have triple her usual quarterly wages to show for it. The thought of the money made her more inclined to
    view Edison Stokes as clear-witted and eminently sane. She rounded the landing on the second floor and
    prepared to ascend into the darker reaches above. The staff did not waste many candles lighting the
    gloomy wing in which her bed chamber was located. Down below, the music swelled as the dancing got
    under way in the
    ballroom. Voices rose in drunken laughter. But the noise was quickly absorbed by the thick stone walls
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    of the old castle. By the time she reached the third floor and started along the corridor to her room, the
    sounds from the ballroom were muted, ghostly echoes in the distance. Her footsteps rang hollowly on the
    uncarpeted stone. She stopped in front of her door a nd opened her small reticule to retrieve her key.
    Another tiny shiver went down her spine. That bloody tea. Edison was certain that it could not possibly
    affect her. But what if he was wrong? In addition to the fact that it made her head swim, she was begin
    ning to have an uneasy suspicion that it actually worked. She had always been good at guessing games,
    but her luck with Miranda's cards tonight had been a bit unnerving. Tomorrow she would merely pretend
    to drink the stuff, she vowed. She wondered if she should mention her concerns about the tea to Edison.
    After a moment's contemplation she decided not to say anything to him. It was all very well for her to
    wonder about his sanity, she thought. But she certainly did not want him to question hers. She went into
    her room and closed and locked the door behind her. The rituals of undressing and preparing for bed did
    nothing to settle her increasingly agitated nerves. Garbed in her nightgown and a little white cap, she eyed
    the bed. She did not think she would be able to sleep. The urge to take some fresh air before retiring was
    suddenly over whelmingly strong. Perhaps such an excursion would help dispel the lingering fumes of
    Miranda's dreadful tea. A stroll around the top of the old castle walls might do the trick. Decision made,
    she took her faded chintz wrapper off the hook inside the wardrobe and put it on. She tied the sash,
    stepped into her slippers, and dropped her door key into her pocket. She let herself back out into the
    corridor, relocked her door out of long habit, and went down the hall to the heavy oak door that opened
    onto the battlements. When she reached it she had to lean her full weight againstt it in order to get it open.
    Outside, she ffound herself on top of the ancient stone walls. She
    walked to the edge and looked out past the battlements. Down below, the extensive gardens, bathed in
    moonlight, ringed the castle. Beyond the cultivated foliage lay thick, dark woods where the moon made
    no impact. She took a deep breath of the brisk air and began to walk toward the far end of the wall.
    Music and voices drifted up through the night from the ballroom. As