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A torrent of rain lashed down with fury, so cold that Roger gasped as the water struck his skin. Beside him, Carolyn yelped and pulled her coat up to try to cover her head.
“That won’t quite suffice, kitten!” Roger called, raising his voice to be heard over the storm. He snatched his own hat and put it on her head, keeping a hand in place so the hat didn’t immediately blow back off again. That was the sort of thing that would happen in weather like this, and with his luck. “Here, my dear. That’s better.”
“Uncle Roger, the path is washing away!” She clutched at his arm, eyes wide. She was quite a brave girl on the whole, but even the bravest child of ten could be frightened by a storm, and Carolyn had always hated bad weather. “We’re not gonna be able to make it home, are we?”
“Not right now, I’m afraid. The way that water is rising, we’d likely be swept right off Widow’s Hill.” Perhaps not the most reassuring thing to say, really, but Roger had said it in a theatrical enough tone that Carolyn giggled instead of bursting into tears. “Come along, now. We’re near the Old House, and as much as I hate to admit it, it’s likely best that we shelter there until this storm dies down.”
Roger pulled off his jacket, although it would likely do little good with how soaked it already was, and put it around Carolyn. Holding onto her tight, just in case he’d been right after being swept away by the water, he rushed her down the path that led to that dreary, looming old ruin.
By the time they reached the place, he was shivering badly enough that his teeth were chattering. He led Carolyn by hand into the darkness, struggling to stop himself from showing any signs of being too chilled. The poor girl was alarmed enough without worrying about him.
With each flash of lightning outside, long, grasping shadows reached out at them. Furniture, he reminded himself. Furniture, broken glass, candlesticks. Certainly not hands, long cold fingers brushing against him.
Carolyn pressed closed to his side, wrapping her arms around his waist. “Uncle Roger, is the Old House really haunted?”
“Certainly not, no matter what any of the servants say.” Roger struggled to keep his voice smooth and even, but that was absolutely imperative. Carolyn was dreadfully perceptive, and would notice if he was upset. “Come on, let’s see if we can light a fire. I have some matches, although I’m not sure if anything is dry enough to burn in this crumbling relic of a building.”
“It’s not just the servants. Everyone says it.” Carolyn didn’t let go of him even as he collected old, broken wood to toss into the fireplace. “They say on stormy nights…”
A gust of wind crashed into the building, and the shutters banged. Carolyn squealed and hid her face in his stomach.
“Shh, it’s all right. There’s nothing to be frightened of. It’s only the wind.” Roger gently peeled her off him and kissed the top of her head. “Come on, kitten. Help me with the fire.”
If there was one thing that any Collins learned early, it was how to build a fire, and Carolyn calmed down considerably once she had something to do. Roger found himself quite glad of the help, as his hands were shaking despite his best efforts. His shivering had only gotten worse, and the general feeling that ghosts might pop out of the darkness at any minute did not help.
“Gee, Uncle Roger, you sure are cold.” Carolyn pressed her small hand to his cheek as he knelt to strike a match, and he noted with relief that she was markedly warmer than he was. “Are you getting hyp… hypno…”
“Hypothermia, my dear, and no. This is the twentieth century, after all! I’m sure the people who lived in this house were freezing half to death all the time, but I have no intention of joining them.” Even if it felt like he was joining them. “There, we have a nice fire started, at least. Let’s just sit together.”
He sank into one of the moldering chairs and was relieved when it didn’t collapse underneath him. Carolyn immediately climbed into his lap and snuggled up against him, still wearing his hat. “You’re sure you’re okay?”
“Of course I’m okay, kitten.” Roger fought against the shivering, putting his arms around her. “I have to get you home, after all, so I have absolutely no choice in the matter.”
He said it with utter confidence, but his stomach twisted uncertainly. If they didn’t turn up, a panicked Liz would certainly send all of the servants out to search for them, but he really was quite horribly cold. Although he was certain that Carolyn would be physically fine, she would be scarred for life if her favorite uncle froze to death after she’d asked him to take her for a walk.
After a great deal more shrieking and howling, the wind died down. The rain had slowed, too, enough that it was a drizzle instead of a downpour. Carolyn dozed in his arms, kept reasonably warm by cuddling and the fire.
It was probably safe to try to make it home now, as long as they followed the high path that didn’t generally flood, and which stayed away from the cliffs. But at this point, Roger wasn’t wholly certain he had the strength to make it back. He was tired, so tired, and it would be so easy to just close his eyes and slip into dreams too.
For a moment, the room seemed to grow even colder, and he looked down to see if the fire was going out already. That would be typical.
But the fire was still burning, and now an odd smell filled the air. Roger sniffed, frowning. It was a flowery sort of smell, something quite incongruous with either the smoke of the fire or this musty old house. Perhaps it was perfume, from one of the servants Liz had probably sent to look for them. There was a light in front of him, no doubt a flashlight.
Struggling to keep his eyes open, Roger raised his head. But rather than a servant with a flashlight, a glowing figure stood before him, white dress and veil rippling in a nonexistent breeze.
Roger stared at the figure, his jaw dropping as he wrapped his arms tighter around Carolyn. He could hardly move, but if this… this thing tried to hurt his niece…
Slowly, the figure moved, sweeping back her veil. She bent, just as slowly, the flowery scent enveloping them.
And then she kissed Roger right on the forehead. Warmth flooded through him, and strength, and when the ghost held out a hand to help him upright he took it.
“Uncle Roger?” Carolyn mumbled as Roger carried her through the drawing room. “Why does it smell like Mother’s garden? Are we home?”
“Not just yet, kitten.” Roger glanced around, and was unsurprised to find no sign of the ghostly figure, just a low fire, old furniture, and the painting of Josette Collins above the mantelpiece. “I think the smell must be something on one of the pieces of wood we tossed into the fire.”
The rest had apparently rejuvenated him, and he set off into the lingering drizzle with vigor. The walk seemed to pass swiftly, and in no time at all they were greeted by the lights of Collinwood.
“Roger! Carolyn!” Liz met them at the door, wringing her hands. “Oh, I’ve been so worried. I was just about to call the sheriff to send up a search party.”
“Mother!” Carolyn squirmed, and Roger put her down so that she could run to hug her mother. “Uncle Roger and I got to hide in the Old House!”
“It’s not much warmer than the storm, granted, but we managed,” Roger said. He suddenly found himself shivering rather badly again, and his legs wobbled. “I think I need a brandy.”
“What you need is to have the doctor examine you.” Keeping one arm around Carolyn, Liz took Roger’s hand. “Oh, Roger, you’re freezing! You probably have at least a mild case of hypothermia.”
“Told you!” Carolyn piped up. She extracted herself from her mother’s hold. “I’ll go call Dr. Woodard, and then bring you all my blankets!”
She hurtled into his arms for a quick hug, then charged off to the phone. Roger chuckled, resigned. “Well, I suppose I can’t protest now. She did quite well, Liz. It must have been frightening for her, hiding in that spooky old ruin, but…”
Roger’s teeth began to chatter again, and he lost his train of thought. Liz took him by the arm, leading him to the drawing room. “And what about you, Roger? Did you see anything spooky?”
“Well, I thought I did.” Even now, despite the returning chill, Roger could still feel that gentle ghostly kiss on his forehead. With another laugh, he shook his head at himself for the fancy. “But there’s no such thing as ghosts. Whatever I thought I saw was just the effects of hypothermia, I’m sure.”