But the portrait was in the shadow between the two windows. Still, with that feeling of unreality, she lit a branch of candles and carried it over to the portrait, reading the brass plate underneath first.

“Gervase, Eighth Duke of Haversham,” she read aloud. She raised the candelabra and looked up at the picture.

He was certainly somewhat like Alice’s present master with his high-nosed handsome face. But where the present Duke’s face was cold and his eyes pale, this man’s eyes held a mocking glint and his mouth was curved in a smile. He was dressed in the clothes of the period in which he had lived, gold brocade coat with lace foaming at his throat and wrists, silk knee breeches and powdered wig. He had his hand on his sword hilt, and behind him, the artist had faithfully painted the magnificence of Wadham Hall.

Suddenly Alice realized what she was doing and where she was. She would be thrashed within an inch of her life if they found her here. The candelabra shook in her hand and she looked from the portrait to it in dawning horror. It was made of solid gold. Perhaps they would accuse her of stealing and she would surely be hanged.

She turned to flee but something made her turn slowly round and look back up at the picture. It was a kind face, she decided.

“Oh, I wish you was here now, sir,” said Alice. “I wish to God you was!”

With a little sigh, she turned away from the portrait and walked back toward the banqueting table to replace the candelabra.

Gervase, Eighth Duke of Haversham, was seated in the high-carved chair at the head of the banqueting table. There was an expression of stunned surprise on his handsome face. Alice stood hypnotized, one part of her mind wondering why she felt no fear.

The Duke stretched out an elegant leg encased in a clocked stocking and ending in a diamond-buckled shoe with a high red heel and studied it carefully. Then he tossed back the lace at his wrist and pinched himself with long, delicate white fingers. Then he shrugged and felt in the capacious pocket of his coat, pulled out a snuffbox, looked at it with surprised delight, took a pinch of snuff and sighed with pleasure.

“Stap me vitals,” said the Duke in a light, amused voice. “It’s I, in the flesh. Back again. Odd’s Fish!”

Alice approached timidly. “Are you a ghost?” she said in a croaky voice.

The Duke stared down the banqueting hall at the ragged girl, holding the branch of candles.

“I suppose I must be. Come hither, child.”