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wick sizzling in protest as she tiptoed over to the bed.
    Noticing his questioning brow, she added, “Usually, I would have bare feet.”
    “I see,” he said, turning to inspect the sudden draft breezing in through the shutters. Thankfully, it had no effect on him as his body was about ready to combust.
    After dousing all the candles they were plunged into darkness, and his other senses soon sprang to attention.
    As she lay on the bed, her breathing became short, strained, perhaps from the anticipation of what the next hour would bring. His nose twitched causing him to inhale deeply, the smell of lavender swamping him now, obliterating the sterile smell that always accompanied the cold.
    Even in the dark, he was aware of the rise and fall of her chest. The movement roused thoughts of gentle waves drifting back and forth upon the shore, and he found the image calming, soothing.
    They remained silent for a few minutes, maybe more.
    Alert to all sounds, Gabriel heard a distinct shuffling noise coming from the room beneath them. Not the shuffling of feet, more like an object being pushed along a bare floor.
    “Did you hear that?” she whispered.
    He raised his hand, although doubted she could see it. “Yes, but I need you to be quiet.”
    The noise continued for a few minutes and then stopped, replaced by a scratching — nails against hollow wood — the sound of someone or something trying to claw its way out of a box.
    As the noise grew louder, he was aware of Miss Linwood’s hand gripping the counterpane, gathering the material into a tight fist. Guilt delivered a single stab to his chest, a punishment for thinking her foolish and delusional. The terrifying image of her lying night after night alone in her bed delivered the second blow.
    How on earth had she coped with this for more than a week?
    It was while he was straining to listen that the wind rattled the shutters, the shock causing him to jump. “Is that a coincidence?” he whispered.
    “No. Listen for the weeping.”
    The sound of squeaking rats could easily be mistaken for whimpering. He closed his eyes in a bid to focus his attention, hearing the faint mumble, deeper in tone than a whisper. As the noise grew louder, it sounded more like a sorrowful wail, yet it struck him that it had a distinct pattern, a rhythmical beat, like the chanting of a spell or a curse.
    Miss Linwood sat up. “Do you hear it, Mr. Stone?”
    “I do,” he said, taking a firm hold of his boot before yanking it off and placing it gently on the floor next to him.
    “What are you doing?”
    “Shh. Taking off my boots,” he said, removing the other article in question.
    She shuffled closer. “Why?”
    “Because I’m going to go down there.”
    Her hand flew out and grabbed his arm, gripping his skin through the fine lawn shirt. “No. You mustn’t.”
    He placed his hand over hers, ignoring the intimacy of the moment. “Lock the door when I’m gone.”
    With the stealth of a wildcat out on the hunt, Gabriel padded over to the door, picking up the candlestick on his way out and holding it at his side like a club.
    The hallway was dark, but his eyes were accustomed to it now and with ease he found himself in the Egyptian museum. Glancing up at the ceiling, he imagined the layout of the upstairs rooms and so followed the walkway, searching for the room beneath her bedchamber.
    As he approached Miss Linwood’s office, he could hear the mumbling and followed it to a closed door a few feet away.
    This was no curse, he thought, gripping the candlestick tightly, the metal getting hotter in his sweaty palm. This was not an infestation of rats, either.
    What he suspected was something far more sinister.

 
    Chapter 6
     
    Rebecca watched him walk through the door, her heart beating so loudly she thought it might burst through her chest.
    Her fear had nothing to do with her own predicament. The only thing she feared now was for the safety of Gabriel Stone.
    It should have felt awkward