“Of course, I’m dead,” said the Duke reasonably. “Ghosts do not have hearts. I don’t know what they do have. But there it is.”

He rose from the table and strolled from the room, whistling a jaunty air.

Alice sat for a long time where he had left her. He was a heartless philanderer. She thought of Lady Helen, a voluptuous brunette. It was easy to attract men when one had all the money in the world, and surrounded by servants who had nothing else to do but to dress your hair and sew your clothes and fetch your paint and powder. When one was rich, one could flirt with the men one wanted to flirt with, thought Alice sadly. “But for me, that really is a fate worse than death. If I get with child, then I will be pushed out of doors.”

The next day, she resolved not to see the ghost again. The house guests departed and the servants reported that the Duchess was still berating the Duke and the Duke was still pleading his innocence.

Alice scuttled quietly about the kitchen, trying to hide when Mr. Bessant, the Groom of the Chambers, made his stately entrance. But somehow, his dark, little eyes always seemed to be fastened on her in a greedy way.

At last it was night and time for bed. Thanking God for the departure of the guests, the servants took up their bed candles and made their way to their various quarters.

Alice lay down on her pallet and stared up into the blackness of the scullery. She was fully dressed because she had never known the luxury of undressing for bed.

Then all at once she knew she had to try to see the ghost again.

Quietly she rose to her feet and as silently as a shadow, made her way back up to the banqueting hall. She paused on the stairs thinking she had heard a step behind her but, when she turned around, the hall was deserted.

She scuttled on up the stairs only to find the banqueting hall empty. She knew she could not call him. She had not the courage. And he would be angry with her.

Then she heard the door opening and swung around, a smile of welcome on her face. Mr. Bessant, the Groom of the Chambers, made his majestic way into the room and Alice slowly got to her feet, staring at him in fear and horror.

“Well, well,” said Mr. Bessant, breathing in an urgent, raspy way. “Our little kitchen wench is trespassing and our little Alice will be whipped within an inch of her life and turned out of doors.”

“I haven’t done nothing wrong,” pleaded Alice.

“Oh, but you have.” There was a silver cup lying on the table. Mr. Bessant slowly picked it up and put it in his pocket. “I found you stealing this and took it from you. You’ll hang.”