“The abbot!” William said breathlessly.

“Yes,” Lucien said. “The guards screamed in terror, awakening the others. The knights were frightened, but their captain tried to brazen it out. ‘Show us your treasure!’ he shouted. And the abbott began to lead the way. The captain called to his five bravest men, and they followed the monk into a secret passage. The others were too frightened to go near him, and waited.”

Again, Lucien paused.

“Yes, yes! Then what happened?” Henry insisted.

Lucien smiled. “They were never seen again!”

There was a suitably awed silence, then William said, “But the treasure! What happened to the treasure?”

“It was never found. Accidents befell any who tried to discover it-especially those who ventured near the old sanctuary. Eventually, this land was given to one of our ancestors. He had the portion of the Abbey that had been the sanctuary sealed off, and built his castle over it. But the local people will tell you that the Headless Abbot still walks on winter nights. Some say they’ve heard the sound of hoofbeats coming from the part of the Abbey which lies nearest the sanctuary-the ghostly horses of the accursed knights.”

“Which part of this old pile is that?” Henry asked, trying for nonchalance.

Lucien appeared to reflect, then answered, “Why, I believe it is very near to your rooms.”

All Henry’s bravado disappeared. “Mother!” he screamed, running from the room. Fanny burst into tears and soon followed him. William hurriedly escaped on her heels.

“My word!” the governess said, rather pale, although perhaps she feared her employer’s displeasure more than headless monks, for she hastened after her charges.

“My compliments,” said Lucien calmly. “You appeared suitably frightened. If you continue to play your part so well, my dear Edward, I believe we can have them on their way by first light.”

I decided not to admit that I was genuinely frightened, but I think he knew in any case, for the delightful prospect of the Bane’s departure made me smile, and when he saw it, he said, “That’s the barber! They’ve been beastly nuisances to me, but worse to you, poor boy.” He looked closely at my face, which had served as a target for Henry’s fists a little earlier in the day. “Daresay you’ll have a mouse under your right eye. Was it Henry who tried to darken your daylights?”

I nodded, fairly certain that Henry had indeed given me a black eye.

“Nasty fellow, Henry. I’ll have to think of some special treat for him. But never mind that-you’ve got more bottom than the lot of them. Game as a pebble, you are!”

Such praise, delivered for the most part in cant expressions he had learned from one of the grooms, delighted me so much, he had to remind me to appear to be frightened.

“We must be prepared, for my father will be demanding an explanation of us soon, I’m sure.”

The thought of being called before the earl was enough to restore my pallor.

“Excellent,” Lucien said, his smile broadening when Fibbens appeared at the door.

“If your lordship and Master Edward would be so good as to come with me?” the young footman said, his face revealing nothing. “Your lordship’s father asks that you join the other members of the family in the drawing room.”

“To receive a rare trimming from my Aunt Sophia?” Lucien asked.

There was the slightest twitch at the corner of Fibbens’s mouth before he answered, “I’m sure I could not say, your lordship.”

As we approached the drawing room, Lucien whispered to me, “It is absolutely essential, dear Edward, that you stand as close to my father as possible.”

These were daunting instructions indeed. Summoning all my courage, I did as he asked, making my way to the earl’s side even as Lady Bane began to deliver herself of what promised to be a lengthy speech on the lack of manners of certain members of the younger generation. Henry, William, and Fanny, hardly exemplars of etiquette, eyed us with smug satisfaction.

“Never mind that, Sophia!” Lord Bane interrupted, loud enough to cause my mother to shrink back against the cushions of the sofa she occupied, but silencing-however briefly-his own wife.

No sooner had I taken up my position near the earl’s chair than he stood, picking up a decanter and walking toward Lord Bane, as though none of the havoc in the room was actually taking place. I looked to Lucien, who subtly signaled me to stay where I was.

“Lucien,” the earl said quietly, as he finished refilling Lord Bane’s glass, “I don’t suppose you would mind troubling yourself to give me a brief summary of the events of this evening? I am particularly interested in those which caused your cousins to fly to their mama and hold to her skirts.”

Lord Bane laughed at this, even as his wife protested. As my stepfather walked back toward me, he paused, and seemed to study me for a moment before refilling his own glass and returning the decanter to the drinks tray. “Edward,” he said, in the gentlest voice I had yet heard him use, “come stand here with me by the fire. My sister tells me all our chimneys smoke, but I fear I’ll need to feel some warmth while Lucien recites his chilling tale.”

So we moved nearer the fireplace, with its holly-draped mantel. The warmth of the fire felt good, and so did some nearly imperceptible change in my stepfather’s manner toward me. Lucien began his tale, but the earl kept his eyes on me.

“As you have so often told us, Aunt Sophia,” Lucien said, “you are a woman who is accustomed to finer treatment than we may afford you here at the Abbey, in part because you consider London your home, and were not often here as a child. That being so, I do not imagine the tale of the Headless Abbot has come to your ears.”

“I should say not!”

Lucien turned to his father. “I thought it only fair to warn my dear cousins about him, sir.”

“Your dear cousins,” the earl repeated. “Just so.”

Lucien again recounted the legend, this telling no less unnerving than the previous one. My mother had recourse to her vinaigrette no fewer than five times, but was an avid listener.

“Poppycock!” Lord Bane declared. “Fairy tales.”

“I used to think so,” Lucien said. “But if it’s just a fairy tale, there ought to be a good earl in it. But there isn’t, you see.”

“A good earl?” his father asked, looking sharply at him.

“Yes, Father. The abbey should have been protected by a good man, someone who cared about the defenseless men who lived there. He would not have let the ruffians who descended on the abbey have their way.”

“Perhaps he was otherwise occupied,” the earl said.

Lucien shrugged. “Perhaps he did not see his duty.”

The earl raised a brow. “Perhaps he was taking a switch to the backside of his impertinent son.”

Lucien gave a little bow. “I trust in your wisdom, sir. You must have the right of it.”

“Doing it much too brown, Lucien!” the earl said, but there was a twinkle in his eye, which did not abate, even as his sister upbraided him for using such terms.

“And why you talk of earls, which has nothing to do with the case, I’m sure I don’t know!” Lady Bane protested. “You seem to forget, dear brother, that Lucien has frightened poor Fanny and her brothers half-to-death!”

“I beg your pardon, Aunt Sophia,” Lucien said, when she paused to draw breath, “if I’ve caused you or my cousins any fright. But I do think the experience of seeing the ghost or hearing the hoofbeats is much less frightening if one is prepared. Imagine the shock one might feel, if he were to see a bloodstained, headless apparition floating outside his window at midnight, if he didn’t know the legend.”

“Nonsense!” Lady Bane declared. “We’ve spent Christmas here these past three years and more. Why have we never heard this legend before now?”

“If I may offer an explanation, Aunt Sophia?” Lucien said. “There is only one section of the Abbey which is haunted-beneath the chambers you occupy. No one is ever disturbed in any other part of the house, so we did not wish to frighten you with the tale. But since you wished to have the rooms nearest the north tower-”