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there but empty bedrooms and attics full of centuries of junk.
    This would be just the place he needed to hide his important papers far away from prying eyes.
    The Earl edged round a clutter of broken wood and pushed open one of the attic doors. Just inside was an old walnut writing desk badly damaged by water and damp in the past and left to rot probably by his grandfather.
    Carefully he put down the candle, pulled open one of the drawers, wincing at the squealing of warped wood and placed the slim black leather case inside.
    Then with a sigh of relief he picked up the candle once more and returned to the corridor.
    He felt exhausted, but knew that when he went to bed he would just lie there for hours, unable to sleep, his mind full of memories and regrets.
    And sleep would never have come to him at all if he had known that Pardew had woken only a few minutes earlier from his drunken stupor.
    Desperate for more brandy he had set out towards the library where he knew there was a full decanter.
    In the dark he had seen the Earl walking upstairs with a candle and intrigued had followed him.
    And as the Earl hid the briefcase Pardew watched him from the shadows, a sneer on his lips, and then slipped away before his Master spotted him.
    *
    Inside the ornate gold and turquoise bedroom in the South Turret a soft and gentle snoring showed where Mrs. Rush had fallen asleep in her comfortable armchair.
    The cook had sat by the young lady’s bedside for hours, but apart from tossing and turning restlessly in her sleep the girl had not woken and finally the long day had taken its toll on the plump Yorkshire woman.
    Somewhere in the unfathomable depths of the great castle, a clock struck two and Jasmina woke with a start – she felt hot and desperately thirsty.
    In her still fevered state she did not notice the water carafe on the bedside table.
    Instead she slipped out of bed, her feet silent on the thick rugs. The room was still spinning darkly around her, but somehow she reached the door and stepped out into the stone flagged corridor.
    The sharp cold air now hit her fevered skin and she walked forward slowly, dreamily, almost unconscious, her temperature soaring.
    Unknowing Jasmina passed by the top of the great stairway in the dark.
    Her bare feet were taking her straight towards the East Turret, the jagged edges of broken beams and a deadly plunge down to the stone floor below!
    The Earl turned from closing the attic door behind him, when suddenly a movement at the end of the corridor made him look up sharply and the flickering candle jerked in his hand, sending mad amber shadows dancing across the old grey stones.
    â€œA ghost! Damn it. I believe I have seen a ghost!” he exclaimed out aloud, almost laughing for the first time in months.
    He had been brought up by his old Nanny with tales of a castle ghost – the Grey Lady, who haunted the upper passages after dark.
    As a story to keep a mischievous small child firmly in his bed at night, it had not been that successful. The young boy had often crept out of his room when Nanny or his nursery maid had gone downstairs for supper.
    He had wandered all round the castle in the dark as sure-footed as a young goat, discovering all sorts of hidden doorways and passages, but he had never seen the famous ghost.
    â€˜All these years and I thought it was make-believe,’ he chuckled to himself.
    Then the laughter died from his eyes.
    In the glow from his candle he could see that this was no ghost!
    A young woman in a lace nightgown was walking slowly towards him and what was more terrifying towards the very place in the East Turret where the banister rails were broken!
    He could see bright golden hair cascading down her back and although her bare feet were hesitant in their steps, they were leading her slowly but surely towards her doom.
    The Earl dropped the candle which blew out and hurled himself forwards.
    â€œStop! Wait! Do not move!”
    Through the swirling