She nonetheless felt very grand and ladylike, for this was surely one of the Duchess’s gowns, and was disappointed when the ghost merely stared at her curiously for a few moments and then busied himself uncorking a bottle of wine.

“Do I look like a lady?” she asked timidly.

His very bright blue eyes raked over her. “No,” he said after due consideration. “You look like a kitchen maid in one of her mistress’s gowns. Now, don’t look so miserable. You are quite pretty in a half-starved way. Pull up a chair and sit down. The food is cold—a veal pie and a brace of grouse—but we also have wine and bread and a good fire. Then you have my fascinating company. Come, smile. Girls of your class are not usually favored with such exalted company.”

“Oh, yes they are,” flashed Alice, suddenly angry. “A certain type o’ women.”

“Lightskirts? Ah, yes. Perhaps you will become a famous courtesan.”

“A what?”

“Never mind. Drink your wine, close your mouth—it is hanging open in a stupid, peasant way—and eat. We will discuss your future later.”

Effectively silenced and humiliated, Alice started to eat, handling the knife and fork very awkwardly since she was used to eating with her fingers.

Alice drank a glass of wine very quickly and then another. Like most French wines which had passed through the hands of a London importer, it was heavily fortified with brandy. At first she felt dizzy but, after making a good meal, she began to feel strangely elated. The Duke ate and drank silently, seemingly immersed in his thoughts. The November gales hurled across the Downs, throwing icy rain against the window. The fire hissed and crackled and the wavering light from the candles on the table enclosed them in a small pool of light.

Alice found herself wondering idly how it was that the Duke could take his return to life so calmly.

The Duke had not taken it calmly in the least. After his first exaltation at finding himself alive, he had settled down to some serious thought. Why had he been brought back? To atone for his sins? What if his wife, Agnes, should materialize? He shuddered. He could still hear her steady complaints, see her steady disintegration as she removed herself from the world on an opium cloud, surrounding herself with quacks who told her it was necessary medicine for her imagined ills. What was he supposed to do with this half-life? As daylight filtered from the east, he simply ceased to exist. There was no dramatic return to the grave. Just nothing. It was all very strange.