Page 76 of The Tartan Trap

“Perhaps.” Margaret frowned.

In her opinion, the young lady deserved every censure pointed in her direction. Not for the failed engagement, perhaps—such things were an unfortunate part of life.

“So what experiment do you propose?” Margaret asked, nervously. “Regardless of Daisy’s debatable success, I don’t wish for anything we try to play out in front of society as a whole.”

“Neither of us wants that. At least, not until we’ve proven the theory on a smaller scale.”

“I feel like a fool,” Margaret said, her voice muffled by the fabric. “And I can’t see anything.”

Rachel tutted and tugged on Margaret’s sheet until her eyes lined up with the holes in the fabric. “There.”

Margaret faced her bedroom mirror and examined her reflection. “I’m not sure if that’s better or worse. Though at least it smells nice and clean under here.”

“Don’t be a ninny,” Rachel said. “This is for science, remember?”

“If you say so.”

“Just think of how jealous your sisters will be when your name is printed in a scientific study or journal.”

Margaret winced at the thought. She hardly thought such a thing would impress her sisters. Claire would undoubtedly make some cutting remark about Margaret’s great contribution to society. Lily would smile and say it was wonderful, but since she said such things about the feeblest attempt, her praise meant little at all. And Beatrice would be incensed that she’d been left out of it and would demand her own ghost costume.

“Are you sure this is going to work?” Margaret asked.

“Of course not. That’s why it’s called an experiment.”

Margaret didn’t know whether she wished for it to work or not. She suspected the entire thing was balderdash. After all, she had felt invisible most of her life, but the actual ability to disappear had eluded her, even when she was eight and Daisy had pushed her into a mud puddle and called her piggy.

Or when some strange force of static had caused her outer dress to ride up, exposing her underskirt in front of them two weeks later. Margaret wasn’t sure which nickname she abhorred more from that summer—“piggy” or “drawers.”

“Come on, then,” Rachel said, dragging Margaret out into the hall. “Let’s go test the theory.”

Margaret hurried to keep up on the stairs, but her sheet was more ill-fitting than Rachel’s. It kept tripping her, and she had to pause and tug the eye holes back into place. She could only imagine what her hair would look like after this escapade.

Still, she reasoned this was for science, as Rachel said. And when that failed to motivate her, she consoled herself by telling herself that she was being a good friend.

“Where is everyone?” Rachel muttered when they reached the first floor and no one was in sight.

“Claire’s probably off with Lord Rutheridge, though she doesn’t want us to know it. And Beatrice is at that bookstore of hers again.”

“What about Lily?”

Margaret shrugged and caught motion out of the corner of her eye. It was their reflection in a mirror across the hall. Margaret huffed a laugh. Even as a ghost, Rachel was far prettier than she was.

Rachel fumbled and patted Margaret’s sheet until she found her wrist. “Never mind about your sisters. We’ll just have to find one of the servants.”

“We shouldn’t disturb them,” Margaret said.

“They won’t even see us. That’s the entire point.”

Margaret begrudgingly trailed after Rachel into the parlor. Two maids were present. One watered the potted plants with a diminutive brass watering can while the other attacked the tiled fireplace threshold with a horsehair brush. Rachel pulled Margaret to the center of the room and they stood there silently.

Margaret couldn’t help but roll her eyes. She was fairly certain that the maid watering the plants had turned and started when she’d seen them, then whipped her head back around toward the palm.

“I think we’ve been spotted,” Margaret said under her breath.

Rachel peered around at the two maids, who now appeared deeply focused on their work. “Nonsense,” she whispered. “They don’t see us at all.”

“They’re only pretending not to see us,” Margaret hissed. “They’re busy and they don’t want to be dragged into whatever nonsense this is. Remember the other day when you pressed the entire staff into a game of blindman’s buff?