The Ghosts of Tullybrae House by Veronica Bale Read Free Book Online Page B

discovered an elaborately set table, with fresh-cut, late-bloom toad lilies from Tullybrae’s back garden. Lamb stood at the oven in one of his serviceable aprons, where he had a roast beef dinner with all the trimmings going.
    “Lamb,” she chastised. “It’s still my week to make dinner.”
    He eased open the stove door and removed a pan with a roast sirloin tip in it. “T’was no bother. It’s been far too long since I’ve had someone to have a proper roast beef supper with.”
    Aw, the old darling.
    “When there were more servants in the house, Mother used to have Cook do a roast for the staff on Saturday nights,” he continued. “Lord Cranbury, you see, he wanted his roast with the family on Sunday.”
    “I’m flattered.” She looked around the kitchen which, in contrast to Lamb’s intensive labour, was still immaculate. “Is there anything I can help with?”
    “If you wouldn’t mind taking the puddings out of the muffin tins, that would be kind.”
    The puddings, of the Yorkshire variety, were a sunny yellow in the centre, and golden brown around the edges. She breathed deeply the sweet steam that fanned out when she pulled each one from its tin. It was heavenly.
    “I haven’t had much Yorkshire pudding, but I remember liking it the once or twice I did have it.”
    “I do hope so. These are from Mother’s recipe.”
    “Another famous Mrs. Lamb recipe? You’ll have to show me some of them sometime.”
    “Er, well, I don’t have them written down. They’re… they’re all in my head, you see.”
    “Didn’t you say you had a cook?”
    “Oh, that was in the very old days. Back then, Mother was the head housekeeper, and there was a separate cook. Mrs. MacGuffy was her name. She and Mother got on famously. Mrs. MacGuffy passed in ’sixty-four. By that time, the girls—that is, Lady Camille and Lady Anne-Marie—they had married and moved away. After that, his lordship saw no reason to employ a new cook.”
    “I hope your mother got a raise for taking on the extra work.”
    Lamb shrugged. “Well, Mother’s no’ one to complain. She does love Tullybrae so. Do you have the bottle of red?”
    Emmie reached into the tote hanging from her bent arm. “So this is why you wanted it, you sly devil.”
    Stuffed full of roast beef, mashed potatoes, two Yorkshire puddings, and the best apple crumble she’d ever tasted, Emmie retreated to the third floor. Tonight would be an early night, preceded by a nice, long soak and more of her book. Her head was warm with the wine, just enough to make her feel exceedingly content, yet not so much that she would feel poorly in the morning.
    It was as she was lumbering up the servants’ stairs, watching thin patches of clouds brush across the moon through the window, that a niggling thought pricked her brain. Something Lamb had said.
    He said his mother does love Tullybrae. Does —present tense.
    The thought brought her to a halt, one foot suspended in the air to take the next step. Lady Rotherham said the house was haunted, and Lamb said his mother loves Tullybrae.
    Could it be…?
    “Oh, don’t be silly,” she chided. Lady Rotherham clearly said there were two ghosts: the sixth Countess of Cranbury, and the young girl Clara. No mention of any others, and certainly not of Lamb’s mother.
    Fun to think about, though.
    In her room, Emmie changed out of her clothes. Even for a day out she’d made the effort to dress up. Her favourite slim-cut, dark denim jeans were folded neatly and put back in their drawer. Her black ballerina flats were lined up precisely beneath her bed, and her white tunic-style shirt went into the armoire on its hanger. The delicate gold bracelet and her teardrop silver earrings came off piece by piece and were returned to their designated places in her jewellery box.
    It was a ritual she never missed—putting each item back where it belonged. It was like a book end. She started the day in a state of order, and she finished it that