utes to do a quick tour of the premises.”
Nicole stood in the courtyard and surveyed the depressing building. A frisson of fear rippled through her. Miss Flint might be strong, but she was not a fool.
“Very well.” She was suddenly thankful that Oliver had sent his man to keep her company. “We’ll walk through the rooms together and then you can see to the horses.”
Jackson removed the iron key from the pocket of his coat and handed it to her. She’d left Mrs Gripes’ chatelaine on the kitchen table. Later, she would remove every key and burn the blasted thing.
The front door groaned as she pushed it open. A chill breezed through the hall, brushing against her neck like ice-cold fingers. Darkness engulfed them.
“Stay close, miss,” Jackson said as a faint scratching noise permeated the silence. “No doubt the field mice are looking for something to nibble.”
They moved into the dining room. A plate of bones, an empty tankard, and a scrunched napkin littered the table.
“Someone’s here.” She clutched the sleeve of Jackson’s coat.
Jackson nudged the plate. “Happen a servant left them.”
Nicole didn’t think so. They’d not been there when she left.
In the stillness, one imagined hearing strange noises: creaks and moans, fingers tapping the window, the wind whispering ominous warnings.
As they rounded the table, the curtain flapped back and forth. She gestured to the window. Jackson strode over and punched the material before yanking it to the side and searching behind. His boots crunched on something underfoot.
“Mind where you walk, miss. There’s glass on the floor.”
Nicole stepped closer. Just like the door at the solicitors’ office, one square pane was broken. She glanced back and peered around the room. The candlesticks were missing. Where was the mantel clock?
“There’s a dead branch on the ground outside. Happen it hit the window.” Jackson offered a reassuring grin. “Once I’ve seen to the horses, I’ll find some wood and fix it up.”
They continued through the house to the upper floor but found no other evidence of an intruder.
“Where might I find a candle, miss?”
“There’s one in my room.”
Nicole led him to the bedchamber she’d shared with Rose. A thought flashed through her mind. What if Rose had come back to find the house abandoned? What if she’d forced her way in, desperate to take shelter?
But the room was empty. Their clothes hung in the armoire and lay folded in the drawers.
Nicole stood on tiptoes and patted the top of the wardrobe in search of the candle. Relief coursed through when she wrapped her fingers around the wax stick.
“Mrs Gripes refused to light the house at night. The woman was a miser and pocketed every spare penny she could.”
Jackson pulled a tinderbox from his pocket and with a few precise strikes lit the candle. “Will you be all right here while I go out to the stables?”
“Of course.” The place was not nearly as terrifying without Stokes and Gripes in residence.
A look of pity flashed in Jackson’s eyes. “I can sleep downstairs tonight if you like.”
“Honestly,” she began, about to decline the generous offer. But then a pang in her chest forced her to reconsider. “Just for tonight then. This house can be a little unsettling in the dark.”
Jackson nodded. “Perhaps you should settle down for the night. I’ll lock the front door while I see to the horses, and then I’ll fix the window and bed down in the dining room.”
“Thank you, Jackson.”
Nicole stood and waited for Jackson’s footsteps to recede. The loud thud of a door closing indicated he’d left the house.
She placed the candle in the holder on the side table, and then undressed and slipped into a nightgown but was too tired to go in search of clean water. Instead, she climbed in between the cold sheets and thrashed her legs about to get warm.