Free 1 A Spirited Manor by Kate Danley Page A

beings she found herself trapped with.  She looked
back at the door, wondering if Wesley was still safe or lost in the rain and
when he might return.  She wondered for a moment if she should perhaps go out
and search for him so that he was not traveling alone when Marguerite placed a
tumbler full of something in her hands.
    "Cheers!  Hilda is
dead!"
    "One should not speak ill
of those who have passed," Clara tactfully replied.
    "You didn't spend much time
with her.  If I knew who killed her, I'd probably kiss him on the mouth."
    "Marguerite!" said
Horace in shock.
    "Come now, don't pretend
you don't feel the exact same thing.  She was a pain in your backside and as
tragic as a death might be, things suddenly get a whole lot easier for
you."
    Horace's eyes narrowed and Clara
saw a flash, just for a moment, of the man who had found killing the creatures
now beheaded and hanging from his walls great sport.
    Clara looked at them both. 
"What do you mean?"
    Marguerite lifted her glass to
her lips.  "Oh, nothing.  Just fun and games with Nero inheritance rights. 
Cracking good decision to get that daughter of hers all engaged to your son,
wot wot!" she said, mockingly at Horace.
    But before Clara could inquire
further, the sound of the door flinging open filled the house.  They all ran
out into the hallway.
    Wesley stood there, drenched to
the bone.  He removed his borrowed hat and tried to brush off some of the water
in a futile gesture.
    "Well?  Did you get the
police?" asked Horace.  "Are they on their way?"
    Wesley shook his head.  "I
got as far as the bridge, but it is completely washed out.  The river has risen
and there is no crossing it.  I'm afraid that we are on our own until this
storm passes by.  There will be no getting in or out until the water level drops. 
I wouldn't be surprised if the entire area doesn't flood."
    Horace clasped his hands behind
his back and tried to see a bright side.  "Well, at least the house was
built upon an elevation.  Bedrock foundation.  We shall be quite cozy and dry."
    "And sitting ducks for
whenever the murderer decides to show up again," pointed out Marguerite.
    They all looked at one another. 
Horace took the key out of his pocket and went to the front door.  He closed it
and locked it.  He then went to the parlor, shut that door and locked it, too.
    He placed the key in a small
pocket in his waistcoat meant for a watch.  He patted it soundly and said,
"Well, that is the only entrance to the parlor and I am the only one with
a key.  We shall just keep it locked until the police arrive.  I shall make my
rounds around the house since Gilbert is indisposed and ensure that all the
doors and windows are fastened." 
    Wesley just stood by the front
door, dripping sadly.
    "Perhaps it is best if we
were all to bed," Clara offered, going over to help Wesley remove his coat
and hang the sopping mess where it would not ruin the floors.  "I am sure
things will look much different in the morning.  There is nothing to be
accomplished tonight besides fret.  I advise all of you to finish your drinks. 
We shall lock ourselves into our rooms, just in case the murderer is still at
large, and hopefully with the dawn, a course of action will present itself."
    They all nodded in agreement. 
Marguerite went back into the dining room to pour herself another glass.  Clara
held her hand out to Wesley, inviting him to come with her.
    They walked up the stairs and
passed the bathing room.  Clara went inside and grabbed several fresh towels for
Wesley.
    "Dry yourself off.  I would
hate for you to catch your death of cold when there seem to be so many other
ways of catching death around this horrible home."
    He laughed, even as he shivered
slightly.  "You are too kind, Clara."
    "Not at all.  You went out
into that storm to save us all.  Finding you a towel is truly the least I can
do.  Would you like me to come in and build up the fire in your room?"
    "I can see to it,"