She came out of her room just as Miss Gardenside emerged from hers.

“Good evening, Charlotte,” she said without a trace of worry.

Just how could Miss Gardenside immerse herself so completely in a different character? And what had happened to that dreadful consumption?

Charlotte smiled uneasily and hurried ahead, taking the stairs alone. Coming up was Mrs. Wattlesbrook. She barely acknowledged Charlotte. Her eyes were hooded, as if she hadn’t slept well for days. Gnawed by guilt? She recalled the glimmer of a smile on the woman’s face when Charlotte had claimed her fictional husband had died a painful and tragic death.

Charlotte leapt down the last three steps and entered the dining room. The maids continued preparing for dinner, their glances taking her in. Suspiciously? Charlotte tried not to make eye contact. Neville approached, his thin arms behind his back.

“May I be of service?”

She was too freaked out to attempt a casual inquiry. “Neville, how many servants are employed here?”

“Let me see … kitchen, maids, stables, gardeners—seventeen all told.”

Seventeen!

“They all live on the property? Do any of them come and go?”

“They return home to visit family. However, all seventeen remain here for the duration of our guests’ stays.”

She nodded. She didn’t know what else to ask except, Hey, are any of your staff potential murderers?

“Forgive me for the observation, Mrs. Cordial, but you are curious. It reminds me of what happened to the cat.”

Charlotte swallowed. Was that a warning from a man so infatuated with his mistress he’d kill for her? Or from a butler who wished her gone from his tidy dining room?

She scurried out, shutting the doors behind her.

The usual six were in the drawing room, and all their faces turned to her as she entered. Her heart stuck to her ribs, too frightened to beat. Someone in here was probably a murderer. Did they suspect what she knew? Or were they staring because they noticed she wasn’t wearing a corset?

“I propose a game,” she said. “I’ve been inspired by the colonel’s mystery. Let’s say …” She cleared her throat, starting to lose her nerve. “Let’s say there’s been a murder in the house, and one of us is guilty. The victim could be, oh … Mr. Wattlesbrook,” she said casually, “since he hasn’t returned.”

Mrs. Wattlesbrook choked on nothing. Mr. Mallery looked up sharply. Eddie shook his head. Miss Gardenside shifted in her chair. Miss Charming gasped, delighted. Charlotte felt her face go red hot, but she didn’t blink.

“Splendid!” said the colonel. “A locked-door mystery.”

Encouraged, Charlotte ventured forward. “We’ll go to everyone’s room one by one and search for murder weapons, clues for a motive, that sort of thing.”

“Yes, yes!” Miss Charming clapped her hands. “Blood splatter on dress hems and bottoms of shoes, clues in pockets and purses, and I’ll write up a list of what everyone has in their room, then, all detective-like, we’ll come back here and decide who’s the guiltiest.”

“I do not find this appropriate,” Mrs. Wattlesbrook said.

“Oh come now, madam,” said Colonel Andrews. “It is just a game.”

“I don’t mean to offend you,” Charlotte said. “I just thought we could pretend, you know? Anyway, it would be nice to have everyone involved, including you. All of us in this together.”

Miss Gardenside stood. “I have always said, Charlotte, that you have a very clever mind. Does she not, Mr. Grey? A very clever mind. Would you not agree, Mr. Mallery?”

“Very clever,” Mr. Mallery said.

“Right-o, pip-pip,” said Miss Charming. “Just give us all a tit, or a tat or whatever, to go straighten up first.”

At once, all were on their feet, moving toward the door.

“No, we have to stay together!” said Charlotte. “If one of us is a murderer, we can’t separate, remember?”

“Right, right, Mrs. Cordial,” Colonel Andrews said. “But hold that thought for ten, and then we shall begin.”

“It has to be spontaneous or people can hide evidence!” Charlotte pleaded.

“I’ll leave out my murder weapons, but no one is seeing my toiletries bag,” said Miss Charming, the first to the drawing room doors. “Ooh, I hope I’m the murderer!”

“Meet back in the drawing room in ten minutes, all!” Colonel Andrews called.

And like that, Charlotte was left standing alone. No noise but the ticking of a clock. It sounded scoldy—tsk, tsk, tsk. She reached into its chest and murderously held the pendulum till it stopped. She knew she’d messed up; she didn’t need some obnoxious mantel clock going on about it. If the murderer was one of the drawing room denizens, he or she likely guessed that Charlotte knew. Evidence would be hidden. How to catch the murderer now?

Her plan was foiled, but perhaps she could still glean information. She went upstairs, shut the door to her room as if she were inside, and secreted herself behind the drapes of a large hallway window. The servants pulled them closed in the afternoon to protect the paintings on the walls from bright sunlight. She stood perfectly concealed, one eye peering through the lace edging. She waited.

Seconds later, someone emerged from down the hallway. Through the lace she could only tell that it was a man. He paused at her door as he walked past, then kept going toward the spiral stairs.

Her insides itched with curiosity. The hallway was empty, the doors all closed. She left the safety of the drapes and followed.

The night of Bloody Murder, Charlotte had been confused by the rules of the game. If a murderer was hiding in the house, why would they seek him out? Wouldn’t it make more sense for the players to hide from the murderer? Yet here she was in real life doing just that, seeking a murderer instead of hiding. She wanted answers, and she was tired of being afraid.

No one was on the stairs. Up she climbed, the spiral unraveling. She could see only a few steps at a time. Anyone could be lurking. Perhaps she should just wait at the bottom to see who came down. But knowing who left the game to go upstairs wasn’t evidence of murder.

The second floor was still. The servants were probably downstairs preparing for dinner. Should she check all the rooms? She approached Mary’s room and heard the squeak of a mattress. Someone was in there. Coming toward the door? Charlotte panicked and fled, opening the secret door and hurrying inside.