The Countess by Catherine Coulter

Thomas slipped his hands under my arms and lifted me off Amelia’s bed. He took

my place, his palm against her forehead. “Does your head ache, dearest? I have

the mixture that you gave to me that proved so very effective for my headache

last Tuesday.”

“No, Thomas, I feel quite well.”

“Do you remember when we left the Black Chamber, Amelia?”

“Yes, certainly. What of it?”

“We were walking down the corridor of the west wing when suddenly you stopped

and looked at a door that was open. You said something about that was odd and

went in to look. Do you remember that?”

She was silent for at least a full minute. I felt a chill run up and down my

arms even as I watched her. I was frightened. This just wasn’t right. What had

happened in that empty room?

She said finally, “What I remember, Andy, is that we were talking about my

father and ghosts and otherworldly phenomena and then?” She looked down at her

white hands. I watched Thomas caress her shoulders, bring her into his arms. He

gave me a dirty look. Then she pulled away. “No, there is nothing else I

remember, Andy. There is simply nothing else.”

I said then, drawing a deep breath, “There is simply nothing to explain this.

Amelia doesn’t remember anything at all. I think we must have a ghost at work

here.”

“That is rubbish,” said John, the first words out of him since we had come into

Amelia’s bedchamber.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, John.” I turned on him. “You weren’t

there.”

“I have never seen or heard or experienced anything in this house since I was

twelve years old that was remotely like some damned ghost. Forget it.”

“Very well, then how do you explain what happened to Amelia?”

“I can’t, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t a good explanation.”

I turned back to Amelia, who was leaning against Thomas. He was lightly stroking

his fingers through her hair. I said, “I believe, Amelia, that you should write

your father. I think he should visit Devbridge Manor and search out the spirit

that drew you into that room. Do you think he will come?”

“Oh, yes, if I write what happened, he will be here in a trice.”

“Now, see here, Andy,” Thomas said, “you don’t know anything. Of course there

are ghosts here, every old house has ghosts, dozens of them. However, our ghosts

just do not seem to ever announce their presence. If there was a ghost in that

room with Amelia, it didn’t do anything bad or frightening, it just put Amelia

to sleep. And she needed sleep after last night when she became so exhausted.”

“Why was she exhausted last night?”

He flushed scarlet, and I remembered the comments at the breakfast table. I just

shook my head. “Never mind. Amelia, have you had anything like that happen since

you came to Devbridge Manor?”

“No,” she said slowly, “this was the first time, but don’t you see, Andy? I don’t

even know if anything happened. Perhaps I just had a sudden urge to nap and did.”

“On the floor in the middle of an empty room? Listen to me, all of you. Who’s to

say that what happened to Amelia won’t happen again? What if next time she doesn’t

just lie down and sleep? What if she goes to sleep but doesn’t wake up? There

must be some answers. We have to find them.”

“I don’t like this,” John said. “I don’t like what happened, and I don’t like

reducing all of it to a damned dead spirit.”

I turned on him. “Then you come up with something else, John. If all you can do

is find fault, then you are not being very useful, are you?”

“I will think about it,” he said to me, a wealth of dislike in his voice. “Oh,

the devil.” Then he held out his hand. “Come along, it’s time for you to ride

Small Bess. I’ll take you around the property.”

Before I went with him, I said, “Amelia, I don’t want you to be alone. All right?”

“All right,” she whispered, and I knew she was frightened. I was sorry about

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