In which culprits demand
Sir Hubert and Dame Hartwell’s clamoring did little to soothe Edith’s growing headache, or sway the annoyed expression from the ghost’s face.
The ghost was a man of Sir Hubert’s height, with dark brown hair and sideburns just starting to gray. He seemed a dignified, comfortable sort, well-dressed in a timeless afternoon coat. Edith stared at his gray ribbons. His heart must have given out.
Edith knew she hadn’t met him before, yet he seemed so familiar.
“Are you quite well?” the ghost asked her. His voice had a pleasantly deep timbre, with a slight echo hovering beneath his words. His brown eyes, whited over as with all ghosts, studied Edith with concern. “You ought to sit. You seem as if you might faint, and who will translate for me then?”
Edith rubbed her temples. “You can very well speak to them yourself, I’ve no doubt,” she grumbled. “The dame can Hear, now and again.”
“No, I’ve tried for years . . . She can’t Hear me,” the ghost said.
“When you whisper like that, who can?” Edith snapped. Mortified, she threw her hand over her mouth. She really needed to get more sleep. She was losing all sense of composure.
The ghost advanced upon Edith, his expression stern. “Now look, I’ve gone through a lot of trouble to steal this silly journal to talk to my wife. I’d appreciate it if you helped me.”
Edith glanced from the frowning dame to Sir Hubert’s raised eyebrows, an uncomfortable knot forming in her stomach.
The ghost tilted his head to the portrait over the mantle. Edith’s gaze followed the motion, her lips pressing together in a grim line. Ah, yes. Of course. She knew him because his portrait hung over the fireplace.
Edith adjusted her glasses, stepping closer to the portrait and wondering how she would explain this. Ten years of failing to communicate. What kept them apart, and why was Edith meant to be the medium to solve their mystery?
“What is the spirit saying, Edith? Don’t keep me in suspense!” Dame Hartwell urged.
The ghost moved to stand beside the dame, his expression doting and concerned. “You must ensure the séance occurs, so I might speak with my wife.”
Edith cleared her throat. “Sir William wants to speak to his wife.” She gestured in the dame’s general direction.
Sir Hubert blinked, turning a rather startling shade of green.
Dame Hartwell, going entirely against everything that was in her character, fainted.