“Indeed.” From her tone, and the prince’s notorious romantic history, Alan concluded that the connection had been intimate.
“My mother, the ghost,” she added bitterly.
“Bess Harding was your…?”
“Yes,” was the bald reply.
Matters became clearer to Alan. “So you came here tonight—”
“I had to see her!” the girl exclaimed. “She can’t be just… gone. I came as fast as I could from school, but by the time I reached London, everything was over. They’d buried her and…” Her voice caught, and there was a pause. “I heard about this…haunting. So I came.” She sounded defiant now. “I know it isn’t the thing, but no one asked me for an invitation, and I was sure she would appear tonight, so I—”
“Why?” interrupted Alan sharply. “Why tonight?”
“I was told it is the largest, most important party the prince has given in weeks,” she answered. “Mama wouldn’t miss something like that.”
“But, Miss Harding—”
“Ariel,” she cut in. “You may as well know my name is Ariel Harding. She named me from The Tempest.” When he said nothing, she added, “Shakespeare, you know.”
“I believe I’ve heard of it,” he responded dryly.
“Umm. Well, I knew she wouldn’t be able to resist such an occasion. So I came.” There was a pause, then she moved slightly. “You don’t think it’s really my mother?” she asked again.
It was a moment before Alan could reply. Her small movement against him had sent a jolt through his entire body. This was entirely unacceptable, he told himself. He was a man of science. He was not subject to random physical attractions. “I do not,” he said more harshly than he might have under other circumstances.
“But who can it be then?” she wondered, brushing against him once again.
“Someone who expects to gain from the situation,” he answered curtly. “We really must get out of here.” He began to kick the door again, much more forcefully this time.
“Gain, how?”
“Possibly a political opponent of the prince who wishes to discredit him,” said Alan through gritted teeth. “Perhaps someone looking for personal revenge.” He kicked again, hard. “Halloo,” he called. “Is anyone there?”
He was rewarded by the sound of cautious footsteps in the corridor outside. “Hello?” said a tentative voice.
“It’s Alan Gresham,” he replied loudly. “I’m locked in this cupboard. Open the door!”
The footsteps advanced a bit farther. “How do I know it’s Lord Alan?” the voice inquired. “You might be a demon from the depths trying to deceive me.”
“If I were, I should burst through this door and drag you down to hell,” roared Alan. “Now, let us out!”
But the footsteps were already pounding away.
“Well, you might have known that would frighten him,” Ariel Harding said. “When someone is coming after a ghost, you do not threaten to drag him down to—”
“Be quiet.” The feel of her against him was becoming intense. He refused to give in to it. It was irrational; it was meaningless; it was the consequence of simple physical reflex and extremely awkward circumstances.
“Are you really a lord?” asked Ariel. “What sort of lord?”
“A courtesy lord,” he replied in clipped accents. “I am the sixth son of the Duke of Langford, and thus am technically Lord Alan.”
“Sixth?” murmured Ariel. “Good heavens. Do you have sisters as well?”
“I do not. And I don’t see what that has to do with—”
“Alan?” put in a voice from outside.
“Father,” he replied with great relief. “Can you get someone to unlock this door?”
“Unfortunately not,” was the reply. “There seems to be a problem about the key.”
“The numskulls have lost it,” declared another voice. “But don’t worry, I have them fetching an ax. We’ll have you out of there in no time.”
“Your Majesty! This is a cupboard. My back is right up against the door.”
“Useless blunderers,” said the prince. “Someone will be sacked over this.”
“Your Majesty!” called Alan again.
“I heard you,” answered his father. “Don’t worry.”
“This is like one of the French farces my mother used to act in,” commented Ariel.
“I’m glad you are amused,” replied Alan tightly.
“Oh, it’s not very amusing to be in it. It’s much more fun to watch.”
“Undoubtedly.” Alan was listening to the confused noises outside. It sounded as if an entire army was gathering to effect their rescue. It was going to be damned embarrassing to emerge from a cupboard with an unknown young woman.
“Why did the prince choose you?” asked Ariel.
“What?”
“Why did he choose you to unmask the ghost? Because you are the son of a duke? That doesn’t seem like a very good reason.”