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Ravensmount — Marjorie McEvoy
If she inherited a fortune--she inherited death...
They said Robert Dungower was a drunkard, a womanizer, and a smuggler. Unfortunately, Charlotte found him highly attractive. That was just one more problem to add to her present ones. As the most likely heir to the Herries fortune, disgruntled relatives were endeavoring to either marry her - or do away with her....
BEWARE OF LADY MARGARET!
“They'll make your life so miserable you'll be glad to go,” Rachel said. “They've started already, putting you up on the top floor in a pokey little room. I wouldn't sleep there for all the tea in China!
Charlotte stopped on the stairs, looking back at the girl whose eyes shone strangely. “Why not?”
“It's so cold in winter, and the floors groan and creak like lost souls. And there's the ghost -- the ghost of Lady Margaret. Take care you don't see her or something horrid will happen!”
Charlotte stopped walking up the steep narrow stairs, so eerie with pools of shadow where the oil lamp failed to penetrate.
“Who's Lady Margaret?” she asked in rising panic. But Rachel, like a pale ghost herself, had run downstairs, leaving behind only the echoes of her laughter…
They said Robert Dungower was a drunkard, a womanizer, and a smuggler. Unfortunately, Charlotte found him highly attractive. That was just one more problem to add to her present ones. As the most likely heir to the Herries fortune, disgruntled relatives were endeavoring to either marry her - or do away with her....
BEWARE OF LADY MARGARET!
“They'll make your life so miserable you'll be glad to go,” Rachel said. “They've started already, putting you up on the top floor in a pokey little room. I wouldn't sleep there for all the tea in China!
Charlotte stopped on the stairs, looking back at the girl whose eyes shone strangely. “Why not?”
“It's so cold in winter, and the floors groan and creak like lost souls. And there's the ghost -- the ghost of Lady Margaret. Take care you don't see her or something horrid will happen!”
Charlotte stopped walking up the steep narrow stairs, so eerie with pools of shadow where the oil lamp failed to penetrate.
“Who's Lady Margaret?” she asked in rising panic. But Rachel, like a pale ghost herself, had run downstairs, leaving behind only the echoes of her laughter…