The Ghost of Winn Peterson

37. Winn

31 December

The weeks go by in such haste now that I have something to look forward to, something to fear. The last day of my packing has been a nervous one. Without trying to draw too much attention too myself (the maid was given excuses about changing my wardrobe out for the lengthy winter season), I have been scurrying as many clothes, notebooks, and pens as I could from my room to the meeting room, as Atticus has taken to calling it. As the doctor never greets guests, the final tour destination for the Lord DeCourt seemed appropriate to set up our centre for secrets. My room was never safe, we all realised too late, not if the doctor could slip in whenever he liked, moving furniture around with little noise.

How grateful I am not to have been touched in my sleep! Once we'd determined that the doctor had indeed been in my room without my consent, the topic of course came up, but if I am sure of anything, it is that I remain unmolested by that foul man's deathly hands.

I write today and not yesterday or any other day in the past seven because Evie has just returned from the front door with the post in her hands. Aside from a few receipts and messages from patients in the heart of the city (how many of them were doomed, and they knew not!), there was one item she was most excited to behold - a summons from the Lord.

As the doctor neither celebrated nor permitted the exultations of holiday spirit in any way, Atticus was freed from the slave-like duties he'd been subjected to in the last month. Indeed, the doctor had been so furious at the arrival of any gifts we'd set aside for him that he'd gone off on the poor cook's son, berating Atticus for a failure to inform us when he very well should have known better. It would be quite unnecessary to mention how thoroughly put out Atticus was when Evie summoned him into the meeting room. Still, I will not fail to mention his mood changed considerably once Evie pulled the letter out of the envelope and read it triumphantly.

"Mrs. Radcliffe,

As the new year approaches fast, it would make my evening if you and your delightful acquaintance, Ms. Peterson, would join me for a midnight supper at my home. If your husband objects to the matter of his lady wife being separated at such an ungentlemanly hour, then we can, of course, reschedule for the daytime, when the year is fresh. I shall not take a refusal on this second matter! If your friend is feeling hesitant about another visit, I offer warm drinks and sweets to carry her through the cold evening safely.

Ever yours,

Carroway DeCourt."

"That's quite brief, isn't it?" Atticus wrinkled his nose and blearily rubbed a few freckles. "How are you to know if it means what we want it to?"

"He requests Winn specifically - warm drinks to keep her safe?" Tapping him on the head with the letter, Evie smiled widely at us in turns. "That's our sign, now isn't it! Of course our wonderful doctor wouldn't like me going along. It's a fancy way of inviting Winn back to Dorset, under his protection."

We all stared at the paper in Evie's hand. An expectant breath lay suspended over the table.

"So, that's it, then."

"She's not going off to die, silly."

"No, but it certainly feels like it, what with her stealing off into the darkness.

"Excuse me!" As much as Evie looked at me, the talking over my head was proving to be overwhelming, and I blinked in frustration at the two of them. "She is right here!" The identical look of sympathetic concern from the both of them made me realise that they were indeed made for one another. I couldn't even help being upset, so amusing did I find it, though my smile quickly faded when I remembered what house I was in, and who the head of that house was. If even a shared look betrayed their feelings for one another, then I was neither the only one to notice, nor would I be the only one to figure their affections doomed.