‘Well, I’ve seen worse,’ she admitted grudgingly. A
log fire crackled in a triple-sized grate, and a Regency four-
poster bed rose majestically against one wall, its twisted
columns of old mahogany supporting a canopy enveloped
in Orkney lace and embroidered Hebridean cotton. The
other furnishings were also antique, perhaps Queen Anne
or early Georgian, all in smoked and highly-polished oak,
and the panelled walls were decorated with oil paintings of
Highland glens, hunting parties and shaggy cattle.
‘Then I’ll bid you goodnight,’ Conrad said. ‘I trust
you shall sleep well and won’t be disturbed by our resident
ghost.’ He smiled at that last word and began to back out.
Elsa stared at him. ‘What d’you take me for — a
dummy?’ she asked.
He paused, eyebrows rising. ‘Madam?’
‘Resident ghost my arse. You can save all that
spooky shit for wide-eyed tourists.’
‘You mean, you doubt the existence of
supernatural forces?’
‘Doubt? No, mister. Doubts are for the feeble-
minded. I’m telling you there’s no such thing as the
supernatural. End of subject. Now goodnight.’
Conrad hesitated. ‘Of course you can believe or
not just as you wish, madam, but I assure you that we do
indeed possess a ghost — a rather famous one. Or
infamous, depending on your viewpoint. It isn’t of my
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