Room 214

Kevin had worked the night shift at the Carlyle Hotel in Edinburgh for almost three years, and he liked it. The guests were usually asleep, the phone rarely rang, and he could study for his history degree behind the reception desk while the old building creaked around him. Most nights, the most exciting thing that happened was a delivery of clean towels at five in the morning.

On the Thursday in question, the phone rang at a quarter past midnight. It was room 309. "I'm so sorry to bother you," said a woman's voice, soft and very polite. "I was wondering if you could tell me what time breakfast starts." Kevin told her it started at seven. She thanked him warmly and hung up.

Twenty minutes later she called again. "Sorry, it's me again. Do you happen to know how old the hotel is?" Kevin explained that it had been built in 1862 as a private house for a wealthy merchant and had become a hotel after the war. "How fascinating," she said. "Thank you so much."

The third call came just after one. "I hope you don't mind my asking," she began, "but could you tell me who stayed in room 214 last year? In October, I mean." Kevin sat up. He explained, as kindly as he could, that he wasn't allowed to give out information about other guests. "Of course, of course," she said quickly. "I quite understand. Forget I asked."

At two o'clock, she wanted to know whether the ghost stories were true. Kevin had heard them, naturally. Every old building in Edinburgh had a ghost, and the Carlyle's was supposed to be a young woman in a gray coat who walked along the second floor corridor, looking for something she had lost. "I've never seen her myself," Kevin admitted. "Have you any idea what she's looking for?" the guest asked. He said he didn't.

By now Kevin was curious, and a little uneasy. He checked the computer. The woman in 309 was a Mrs. Helen Fraser, from Toronto, staying for two nights. He wondered why someone would fly across the Atlantic and then spend the night asking about a room on a different floor. Could she be a journalist? A private detective? Or was she just someone who couldn't sleep?

At half past three, he heard footsteps on the stairs. A small, white-haired woman in a long cardigan appeared at the desk, holding a pair of reading glasses. "I thought I'd stop phoning and come down," she said with an apologetic smile. "You must think I'm mad." Kevin assured her that he didn't, and asked whether there was anything he could do to help.

She sat down in the armchair by the fire and told him. Her daughter, Anna, had stayed in room 214 the previous October during a conference. On her last night, Anna had lost a silver bracelet that had belonged to her grandmother, and she had been too embarrassed to report it. Since then she had refused to talk about the trip. "I was coming to Scotland anyway," Mrs. Fraser said, "so I wondered whether anyone had ever found it. I just didn't know how to ask without sounding foolish."

Kevin knew exactly where to look. In the office behind reception there was a cupboard full of things guests had left behind: umbrellas, phone chargers, a surprising number of single shoes. Each item had a label saying when and where it had been found. It took him ten minutes. At the back of the top shelf, in a small envelope marked "Room 214, 14 October, under bed", was a thin silver bracelet.

Mrs. Fraser held it for a long time without speaking. Then she laughed. "Do you know what?" she said. "I think I've just solved your ghost story too. Anna told me she spent half of that night walking up and down the corridor in her gray coat, looking for this." Kevin wasn't sure whether she was joking. But the next morning, when he mentioned it to the day manager, she admitted that nobody had heard of the ghost until about a year ago.