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lord of a manor was perfectly exciting, but it had so far turned out to be a very dreary manor in the middle of nowhere, and with his ownership contested.
    When the maid came in to clear his breakfast dishes, Algernon lifted his head. “Miss Wotton? You’re a local, aren’t you?”
    “Yes, sir,” she said, bobbing a curtsey.
    “If you’ll indulge me. I suppose there are ghost stories about an old place like this?”
    “Oh, yes, sir,” Miss Wotton confirmed, eyes widening.
    “Tell me one. If you please.”
    The maid hesitated, beginning to set the dishes onto a tray as she thought. “Most of them go back to… what happened, sir.”
    Algernon leaned forward at once, pleased to have hit upon either some clue—or some further mystery. “What happened?”
    “With the old earl, sir. Everyone knows, well, you see, the old earl had three daughters.”
    Algernon nodded. “Yes. I saw their portraits.”
    “Well.” Miss Wotton set the tray aside, taking the liberty of sitting across from him at the little table and leaning in to divulge the story. “Mrs. Underwood, she says that Sarah—that was the middle daughter—was pregnant, and the old earl was in such a rage when he found out that he threw her down the stairs, and that was when Ruth, the oldest, took up his hunting rifle and shot him. The way I heard it, there wasn’t anybody pregnant, it was just that Ruth was a madwoman, she’d always been mad, and they kept her locked up in the attic because of her wickedness, but one day she escaped and snatched a rifle and shot her own father right dead, would you believe?”
    “Shocking,” Algernon agreed, nodding enthusiastically to get her to continue. “And then what?”
    “Oh, and then they all just disappeared.” Miss Wotton said.
    “Disappeared?”
    “If you ask me, I think Ruth murdered them all, and their bodies are still probably lying undiscovered in the cellar somewhere. I’m sure we’ll turn them up soon enough.”
    “No doubt,” Algernon said, clearing his throat and making an effort not to laugh at the sensational story.
    “And since then the manor’s been abandoned. That’s all.”
    “What about the ghosts?”
    “Oh! They all haunt the place something awful, all four of them, re-enacting the murder. You won’t catch me spending the night here, no, not with Miss Ruth haunting about looking for someone to kill.”
    “That seems a sensible precaution, Miss Wotton. I suppose I’ll have to take my chances.”
    Miss Wotton nodded with serious concern as she got to her feet. “I do hope you’ll be careful, Mr. Clarke. One should never cross a ghost, that’s what I say.”
    “Very sage advice,” Algernon said, also rising to his feet so that he could head downstairs to the study. “If you see Mr. Cullen, or if you hear the door, I am expecting—” The name ‘Lord Jasper’ rose to the tip of his tongue, and he bit it back with a wry grin. “Mr. Waltham to visit again this morning. Please show him in to me at once.”
    Jasper Waltham arrived as Algernon was descending the steps, which was poor timing because Algernon had not yet reached the missing step, and there was simply no elegant, dignified way to descend a missing step. While Jasper watched, he strode over it with his long legs and kept his chin up. It was hardly his fault, after all, if the step was damaged. Jasper made no comment.
    “Good morning, Mr. Waltham,” Algernon said, coming forward and extending his hand with a polite smile. “How good of you to come. Have you breakfasted? I can have the kitchen send something up.”
    “I’ve eaten,” Jasper said. He was still just as brusque as yesterday, although he was at least properly dressed and dry. His black coat was two decades out of fashion and patched at the elbows, and his top hat was similar: outmoded beaver in a lofty style no longer worn in London and scuffed at the edges. But despite that, Algernon still found him quite handsome in a rugged, country way. His