A match flared, and the sight of Sir Percy’s face, lit eerily from below, made it absolutely impossible for me to follow his advice. I quivered like a cornered rabbit while he leaned forward to light the candles in the silver candelabra.
“Happens all the time.” He puffed on the match to extinguish it. “Why do you think we have so many candles about the place? Had to rewire the whole castle, you know. Things are bound to go pop now and then. The lights should come on again shortly. Mrs. Gammidge knows the fuse box like the back of her hand.”
My own hands shook as I picked up my water glass, which had, fortunately, been empty. When I’d stopped quaking, I eyed Sir Percy suspiciously.
“Are you sure you didn’t have Mrs. Gammidge pull the plug on purpose?” I asked. “You were telling a spooky story, after all.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, my dear,” said Sir Percy. “The legend’s quite ghoulish enough without adding special effects.”
“I agree,” Damian said severely. “And if you want Lori to get any sleep at all tonight, sir, I’d suggest that you change the subject to something less ghoulish.”
“Quite right,” said Sir Percy, chastened. He thought for a moment, then began, “Did I ever tell you about the tone-deaf goatherd I came across in China? Well, this fellow loved to sing . . . .”
By the time the lights came back on, I was wiping tears of laughter from my cheeks.
Sir Percy invited me to view a film after dinner—“A light comedy, I promise!”—but I gave him a rain check and returned with Damian to the Cornflower Suite. I left him at his post in the foyer and went alone into the suite, where the bed had been turned down, lamps had been lit, and a turf fire had been laid, ready to light. A porcelain box on the mantel shelf held wooden matches.
I touched a match to the tinder, watched the flames rise, and decided to step out onto the balcony. Although midnight was approaching, I needed to collect my thoughts before sharing them with Aunt Dimity. Apart from that, Sir Percy had piqued my curiosity. I wanted to see if the night sky was all it was cracked up to be.
It was everything he’d promised and more. I’d thought the sky above the cottage was crystalline, but it was murky compared to the sky above Erinskil. I’d never seen so many stars. The heavens were strewn with a million pinpoints of light, and each pinpoint was reflected in the restless waves. The waxing moon could do nothing to diminish their brilliance. I stared openmouthed, unaware of the chill night air, lost in awe and delight. It was like being inside a glitter-filled snow globe. Could there be a more perfect spot, I wondered, to teach Rob and Will about the constellations?
The thought gave me pause. I hesitated, then went to knock on the foyer door.
“Come in,” Damian called.
He was still fully dressed and awake, watching the flickering images of Dundrillin’s entrances and passageways on his laptop.
“I’m sorry to bother you,” I said, “but do you know how to find constellations?”
A moment later we were both on the balcony and Damian was pointing out shapes in the star-crowded sky: Cassiopeia, Orion, Taurus, Gemini—he would have gone on much longer if I hadn’t stopped him.
“Whoa,” I said, laughing. “I think that’ll do for now.” I leaned on the stone parapet and lowered my gaze until it came to rest on the dark contours of Cieran’s Chapel. “I can usually find my way around the night sky, but I can’t do it here.”
“Too many stars,” he said, still peering upward. “The constellations are hidden in plain sight.”
He seemed in no hurry to leave, and I couldn’t blame him. Who’d sit in a windowless room when there were such riches to behold?
“How long have you been a bodyguard?” I asked.
“Twenty years.” He rested his hands on the parapet and scanned the sea. “I’m an old man compared to many of my colleagues.”
“I’d say that getting older is a definite plus in your line of work,” I said. “It proves that you’re good at your job.”
“No.” He shook his head decisively. “If my clients get older, it proves that I’m good at my job.”
I smiled wryly. “How did you meet Percy?”
“He hired me.” Damian shrugged. “The oil business took him to some dodgy parts of the world. I helped him out of a few tight corners.”
“Sounds very cloak-and-dagger,” I said. “Would I be right in describing you as a real-life action hero?”
Damian’s silvery eyes flashed dangerously as he turned to face me. “The last thing on earth I want to be is a hero. I do not want to be forced to do what I do best. I do everything in my power to make sure I’m not.”
“That’s . . . er, good,” I stammered, cowed by his intensity. “I’m fond of dullness myself. If you ask me, excitement is highly overrated.”
“Highly,” said Damian, and turned to go. “Good night, Lori.”
I shook my head, wondering if he’d ever lighten up, took one last look at the moonlit sea, and saw a dim golden glow illuminate the jet-black silhouette of Cieran’s Chapel. I blinked, and it was gone.
“Damian!” I cried.