“It is not so humorous. I saw them with my own eyes!”
“There must be a rational explanation.”
After a minute, they set forth along the curve of lakeshore. Several small rowboats lay on the gravel bank.
From somewhere beyond the rustling reeds came a rhythmic creaking sound. Not frog-peeping, and accompanied by hollow wooden thuds. As they stood watching, a rowboat slid into sight from behind the reeds. It edged towards the middle of the lake. The moon hung low in the ink-blue sky, and it shed a shimmering white line across the water. The rowboat passed through the moonbeam.
“Only a fellow with his lady,” Ophelia said. “Mighty romantic. Let’s go.”
“Wait. Do my eyes deceive me, or is that . . . Prince Rupprecht?”
Ophelia squinted. “Certainly looks it.” The prince’s pale hair caught stray light, and even from this distance Ophelia saw the glimmer of his medals. The lady, seated across from him, wore a bonnet and some kind of veil. She held herself with ladylike stillness.
“I’ve got an awful feeling about this. The prince is the murderer. He ought not be alone with a young lady. And where’s he taking her? Shouldn’t she have a chaperone? If something were to happen to her, well, that’d be blood on our hands.”
“I tend to agree.”
Ophelia was already leaning over and shoving one of the rowboats into the water. She hopped in. The rowboat wobbled from side to side and her skirts swayed, but she managed to sit without capsizing.
Penrose leapt into the boat just as it launched out onto the water. He clambered around Ophelia, sat, took up the oars, and began to stealthily row. Out they went, past the thicket of reeds and into the wide-open water. Because Penrose was rowing, his back was turned to Prince Rupprecht and his lady. Ophelia watched the prince as well as she could through the dark. He seemed to be making for the far shore. He was speaking to the lady; his rumbling voice reached Ophelia’s ears. He did not seem to have noticed Ophelia and Penrose’s boat.
Then a third rowboat nosed into Ophelia’s vision. Off to the right and a little behind them. It must have been hidden in the reeds.
“Professor.” Ophelia tipped her head.
“I had no notion the lake would be such a popular spot this evening.” Penrose leaned into the oars, and they sped up.
The third boat was occupied by two narrow, hooded forms. Were they two ladies, or two slight gentlemen, or one of each? Impossible to tell. But they were plainly aware of Ophelia and Penrose, for two pale faces turned towards them. Ophelia’s scalp crawled as she stared into the hollows of two pairs of eyes.
She’d never believed in ghouls, but she was thinking about giving it a try. “I fancy those two spooks are turning their boat towards us. Steer away, would you? I don’t know who they are, but I don’t reckon I wish to.”
Penrose stole a quick glance. “Good heavens, it cannot be—no. Impossible.”
“What? Who?”
“Don’t laugh, but I would avow that is Lady Cruthlach at the oars.”
30
“Lady Cruthlach behind the oars? How could that be? Her arms would snap like twigs if she tried to row a boat. And Lord Cruthlach can’t sit up like that. Hume carries him around.”
“Hume was concocting elixirs from that book. They might’ve had a revivifying effect.”
“I couldn’t believe that hogwash if my life depended on—”
CRACK! Something zinged past Ophelia’s ear. One of the spooks had fired a gun.
“Get down!” Penrose cried. He rowed harder, and Ophelia threw herself to the bottom of the rowboat.
Another CRACK! Penrose stopped rowing and hunkered down. He patted at his jacket.
Searching for that revolver of his, no doubt.
“Let me row!” Ophelia said. “They’re catching up!” The spooks’ oars were splashing closer and closer.
“No. I could not live with myself if something were to happen to you.” Penrose pulled the revolver from his jacket and checked the cylinder. He lifted his eyes and the gun’s barrel over the edge of the rowboat. He aimed.