Footsteps in the Dark by Georgette Heyer

ghost? These fair ladies are much too stout-hearted to believe in it, Strange. It would take more than the Monk to shake your nerve, Mrs. Bosanquet, wouldn't it?"
    "I am thankful to say I have never suffered from nerves," Mrs. Bosanquet responded. "But it is certainly very disturbing when…' She encountered Charles' eye and blinked. "When the servants are afraid to stay in the house after dark," she concluded placidly.
    "I'm sure you've seen something!" chattered Mrs. Roote. "Or at least heard awful noises. Now haven't you, Mrs.. Bosanquet?"
    "Unfortunately," replied Mrs. Bosanquet, "I suffer from slight deafness."
    "I see you're all of you determined not to satisfy our morbid curiosity," said Strange.
    Mr. Titmarsh took off his spectacles and polished them. "On the subject of ghosts," he said, "I am a confirmed sceptic. I am devoid of curiosity."
    "Well, I don't know so much about that," said Dr Roote. "I remember a very queer experience that happened to a friend of mine once. Now, he was one of the most matter-of-fact people I know…' He embarked on a long and rather involved ghost story, interrupted and prompted at intervals by his wife, and it only ended with the departure of the ladies from the dining-room.
    Two bridge tables were formed presently, but the party broke up shortly before eleven. The Rootes were the first to leave, and they were soon followed by the Priory party and Strange. Strange's two-seater stood at the door, and when he found that the others were walking back across the park he promptly offered to take the three women in his car.
    Celia, who had already begun to peer fearfully into the darkness, jumped at the offer, but stipulated that Strange should not leave them until Charles and Peter had reached the house. "You'll think me a fool," she said, "but the Priory after dark is more than I can bear. Can we really all get into your car?"
    "If one of you doesn't mind sitting in the dickey I think it can be managed," Strange replied. "And of course I'll wait till your husband gets back. I'm only sorry I can't take you all."
    "Well, really, this is most opportune," said Mrs. Bosanquet, getting into the little car. "I notice that there is quite a heavy dew on the ground."
    Whatever Strange's wishes may have been it was Margaret who sat in the dickey, while Celia managed to insert her slim person between Mrs. Bosanquet and the door.
    "We've no business to impose on you like this, of course," Celia said, as the car slid out of the White House gates. "It's only a step, across the park, but I do so hate the dark."
    "It's not an imposition at all," Michael answered. He drove down the road for the short distance that separated the White House from the Priory, and turned carefully in at the rather awkward entrance to the long avenue. The headlights showed the drive winding ahead, and made the tall trees on either side look like walls of darkness. The house came presently into sight, and in a few moments they were all inside the softly-lighted hall.
    Celia stood for an instant as though listening. The house seemed to be wrapped in stillness. "I love it by day," she said abruptly. "It's only at night it gets different. Like this. Can't you feel it? A sort of boding."
    "Why are you so afraid of it?" Strange asked her. "You must have some reason other than village-gossip. Has anything happened to alarm you?"
    She gave a tiny shiver. "I'm a fool, that's all," she answered. "Let's go into the library." A tray with drinks had been set out there. "Do help yourself," she said. "There's whisky, or a soft drink, whichever you prefer."
    "Can I bring you anything?"
    "I'd like some lemonade, please."
    Mrs. Bosanquet emerged from the cloud of tulle she had swathed round her head. "My own opinion is, and always will be," she said firmly, "that there are no such things as ghosts. And if - mind you, I only say if - I thought there was anything odd about a house, I, personally, should inform the police."
    Strange carried a glass