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seemed quieter, less colorful, less alive. As she watched, Gerrard threw a brief, watchful glance at the door.
    Draining her teacup, Patience inwardly humphed. She would need to protect Gerrard from Vane Cynster’s corrupting influence—nothing could be clearer.
    A niggle of doubt slid into her mind, along with the image of Vane behaving so attentively—and, yes, affectionately—toward Minnie. Patience frowned. Possibly corrupting. She shouldn’t, she supposed, judge him by his wolf’s clothing, yet that characteristic, in all her twenty-six years, had never proved wrong.
    Then again, neither her father, nor his elegant friends, nor the others of that ilk she had met, had possessed a sense of humor. At least, not the sort of sparring, fencing humor Vane Cynster deployed. It was very hard to resist the challenge of striking back—of joining in the game.
    Patience’s frown deepened. Then she blinked, stiffened, and swept across the room to return her empty teacup to the trolley.
    Vane Cynster was definitely corrupting.

Chapter 3

    V ane helped Minnie up the stairs and down the gloomy corridors. After Sir Humphrey’s death, she’d removed to a large suite at the end of one wing; Timms occupied the room next door.
    Minnie paused outside her door. “A stroke of fate you should stop by just now.”
    I know . Vane suppressed the words. “How so?” He set the door wide.
    “There’s something strange going on.” Leaning heavily on her cane now she was no longer “in public,” Minnie crossed to the armchair by the hearth. Closing the door, Vane followed. “I’m not at all sure what it is”—Minnie settled in the chair, arranging her shawls—“but I do know I don’t like it.”
    Vane propped his shoulder against the mantelpiece. “Tell me.”
    Minnie’s brow furrowed. “I can’t recall when it actually started, but it was sometime after Patience and Gerrard arrived.” She looked up at Vane. “That’s not to say I think they have anything to do with it—their arrival is merely a convenient gauge of time.”
    Vane inclined his head. “What did you notice?”
    “The thefts started first. Little things—small items of jewelry, snuff boxes, trinkets, knickknacks. Anything small and portable—things that could fit in a pocket.”
    Vane’s face hardened. “How many thefts have there been?”
    “I don’t know. None of us do. Often, things have been gone for days, even weeks, before they’re noticed as missing. They’re those sort of things.”
    Things that might fall into a flower bed. Vane frowned. “You said the thefts came first—what followed?”
    “Odd happenings.” Minnie’s sigh overflowed with exasperation. “They’re calling it ‘the Spectre.’ ”
    “A ghost?” Vane blinked. “There are no ghosts here.”
    “Because you and Devil would have found them if there had been?” Minnie chuckled. “Quite right.” Then she sobered. “Which is why I know it’s the work of someone alive. Someone in my household.”
    “No new servants—new helpers in the gardens?”
    Minnie shook her head. “Everyone’s been with me for years. Masters is as mystified as I.”
    “Hmm.” Vane straightened. The disapproval aimed at Gerrard Debbington started to make sense. “What does this Spectre do?”
    “It makes noises, for a start.” Minnie’s eyes flashed. “Always starts up just after I’ve fallen asleep.” She gestured to the windows. “I’m a light sleeper, and these rooms look out over the ruins.”
    “What sort of noises?”
    “Moans and clunks—and a grating noise, as if stones are grinding against each other.”
    Vane nodded. He and Devil had shifted enough stones in the ruins for him to remember the sound vividly.
    “And then there’s lights darting about the ruins. You know what it’s like here—even in summer, we get a ground fog at night, rolling up from the river.”
    “Has anyone attempted to catch this Spectre?”
    Chins setting, Minnie shook her head. “I