Her guardian frowned at her critically. “If it was as dark as that,” he observed, “I don’t see how anyone could have possibly brought you home. Didn’t you carry a light?”
The two girls looked at each other, surprised. Neither had thought about this. “No,” answered Kate, “he didn’t carry any light at all. I was walking right by the horse, and I kept tripping because I couldn’t see. I don’t know how he knew where he was going.”
Hugh Roberts looked from one to the other of them. “Your great-aunts didn’t see this gypsy,” he remarked.
“He stopped just past the orchard and said he wouldn’t come in,” Emily said carelessly.
“And he rode back the direction he came,” said Kate with a shudder.
Their guardian rubbed his chin thoughtfully, surveying them both. “And you say this man was my cousin?”
“That’s right,” said Emily. “He said he was family. He said that your grandfather and his mother were cousins.”
“Yes,” added Kate, “and that their fathers were brothers.”
Hugh Roberts put his hands behind his back and began to pace slowly. “Now, that’s a nice little puzzle,” he told them. “And if you work it out, you’ll find that such a cousin would be the child of Dentwood Roberts’s daughter Adele. But Adele Roberts, as you know, Miss Winslow, died as a child. She left no children of her own, and her playmate’s son inherited the estate.”
Adele again! Kate was dumbfounded. She called to mind the picture from the Hall parlor. Black hair and green eyes, laughing. Adele, who had died so that Kate could own Hallow Hill.
“Let’s examine this rationally,” Hugh Roberts suggested, ticking the points off on his fingers. “You get lost within sight of your own house. You meet a hooded man who claims he’s the son of Adele Roberts. You walk home without so much as a candle through a pitch-black night, and then you raise a fuss because he’s some sort of ghastly monster. Really, Miss Winslow!” he concluded in irritation. “Don’t you think I’ll see through a story like that?”
Kate stared at him, confused. “Why do you think we would invent such a thing?” she asked.
Emily jumped up in a fury. “We really did get lost last night,” she declared, “and your cousin Mr. Marak really did bring us home. He knew all about Aunt Prim and Aunt Celia, and he knew about you, too. He knows lots of things about this place that you don’t know, and he assured us that he always speaks the truth.”
Hugh Roberts failed to look either mollified or convinced. “Miss Emily,” he replied heatedly, “if you can introduce me to this monster cousin, I’ll be happy to believe you. Otherwise, let me just remind you that you’re dealing with an educated man who knows the difference between fact and superstition.” He glared over his spectacles at Emily, who glared right back.
Kate hurried to say something more helpful. “I know it sounds unbelievable, Mr. Roberts,” she said. “I can’t explain how we got lost, but Mr. Marak certainly is no creation of ours. He’s the most unpleasant man I’ve ever met. He deliberately scared the wits out of me.”
Hugh Roberts studied her narrowly, clasping and unclasping his hands. Her pale, worn face and earnest voice made it obvious that she was sincere. “So you really believe in that story you told?” he demanded in surprise. “You didn’t invent that monster? You didn’t just make it up for a thrill?” Kate shook her head without a word. Her guardian noticed again how thin and sick she looked.
“Children, run up to your rooms for a few minutes. I’d like to speak to your aunts alone.”
Hugh Roberts left in the dogcart half an hour later. Noticing her aunts’ frightened eyes, Kate wondered in irritation what on earth he could have said. They soothed Kate and fussed over her like two old hens. They didn’t let her sew or read. They wanted her to rest. And every time she said something—anything—they exchanged furtive glances.
Emily fared little better. At suppertime she tried to bring up the strange rider again, and Aunt Prim snapped at her.
“Don’t tell stories,” she said sternly.
“Stories!” Emily cried. “I never do! Kate—”
But Aunt Celia interrupted. “Leave your sister out of this,” she said sadly. “Kate’s nerves aren’t strong, but we expect you to know the difference between facts and falsehoods.”
“Well, I like that,” Emily stormed a few minutes later as she stomped back and forth on the wooden floor of Kate’s bedroom. “We tell them what someone else says, and we get blamed for lying. I’d like to see them face a ghost. I think your nerves are just fine.” She flung herself down on the bench at Kate’s dressing table. Looking in the tall, old mirror at its back, she made a disgusted face at herself.
Kate lay on her bed, not really listening to Emily’s tirade. She was staring up at the canopy, trying to puzzle through to the truth of last night. It did seem very much like a dream, like the nightmares she had been having. Maybe she had exaggerated. Maybe she had been half asleep and hadn’t really seen enormous cats or children with beards. Maybe she hadn’t really seen that strange caricature of a face. Facts and falsehoods. Weak nerves. She closed her eyes, terribly tired.
“Come look at this.” Emily’s voice rang out loudly, blaring like a bugle call through Kate’s foggy brain.
“Oh, Em, what?” she begged. She opened her eyes and turned toward the dressing table. Nothing. Sitting up grudgingly, she found her sister standing by the window, staring out at the rainy trees beyond.
“Now they can’t say I’m a liar!” Emily declared triumphantly. “This is great! Shall I call Aunt Prim?”
Level with the window but a dozen feet away, a cat crouched disconsolately on a dripping tree limb. It turned its golden eyes toward them, ears flat against its head, and shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. It was very wet, very unhappy, and very, very large. It was the big black cat from the bonfire.
“Poor Seylin! He’s so miserable,” Emily said sympathetically. “Kate, don’t you think we could call him down and bring him inside?”
“No!” yelped Kate more forcefully than she had meant to. “No, Em. We have to think this through. If that man who brought us home last night is a ghost, then his friends can’t be much better, can they?”
“But I petted Seylin!” Emily protested. “He’s perfectly solid and not in the least terrifying. And he’s out in the rain. You can see how much he hates it.”
Kate went to the window and pulled back the lace to get a better look. The huge cat stared at her steadily.
“No, Em,” she said at last. “I don’t like it. He may be a normal cat, but I’m not willing to find out. Aunt Prim would never let a cat into the house, anyway, much less a wet one as big as that. And I don’t think it’ll do any good to tell the aunts he’s the same one we saw last night. They don’t want to hear about last night at all.”
Emily went grumbling off to bed. Kate spent another minute staring out at the cat. Then she dropped the sheer lace and pulled the long, thick curtains over the window. The rainy evening was fast becoming a rainy night. She lit the candle on her dressing table and changed hurriedly for bed.
She fell into a restless slumber, but even in the confused shreds of dreams, she knew she wasn’t safe. In her sleep, she was telling Emily all about it. “Then I heard a click as the window opened,” she said, and in that instant Kate was wide awake. The click hadn’t been a dream. She craned her neck to see over the footboard. The heavy curtains still covered the window, but they were billowing gently outward as they caught the breeze.
Kate crawled to the bedpost and ducked behind the thick, gathered curtains of the bed. The open window let in all the sounds of a drizzly night: the gentle dripping and tapping, the wind sighing. Another unmistakable sound joined them: slow, heavy footsteps by the window. They wandered in an unhurried fashion down the room as if the unseen caller were looking casually around. They came closer and closer. They were right beside her bed.