Old-Fashioned, or Another Story With Ghosts

Chapter 2. The party is prepared and the murder takes place

***

"That's bad news, lad." 

Greg got a message from the company right after he looked out of the window to wonder how the hell fog collected in the garden in the middle of the day. And how would the decorations be placed now.

The following message meant the company had to deal with 5 wedding to change the venue. And for some reason Greg was "to use his charms to deal with the bride."

The clock in the ex-cabinet with the best lightning prepared for a small make up party stroke, making him jump. Greg checked his phone. It was 10 o'clock in the morning.

The clock showed 11.

"Old shite..."

Greg looked back into the window, sure he saw a person in the fog outside, but just cursed under his nose again and return to his devices.
"At least, they clean up down here..."

Then he heard steps outside the room.

Lord James Blacke returned from the garden, asked the tea in his cabinet and looked at his pocket watch. It was already 10 to 11. He did not have much time, but decided to finish the documents he started in the morning. He was to meet his fiance later that evening, and had no wish to deal with the papers after her arrival. The butler brought in tea at 11 o'clock exactly.

The fog started to gather in the garden; it was going to be a gloomy morning.

"Where is everyone?!"

The space was all prepared. It was agreed for the "rehearsal party" to start at 19. The whole fuss with arrangements, decorations, enormous buckets of flowers and enormous quantity of food being prepared, as well as guests accommodations on the first floor was concentrated in the most impressive central part of the house and the right wing. The left wing, much worse preserved, remained the well of silence and creaky floors. It was not forbidden to go there, but busy people buzzing constantly about the changed ownership and risks of loosing contracts from inadequate brides had much more to be tucked into.

The mystery of the gates were solved pretty soon. He managed to use the wrong gates, inconvenient enough for never using them nowadays. Nobody else made the same mistake. Of course, they have been locked for decades. Yes, and the door, the manager of the venue mumbled when Gregory asked chasing him between the boxes with orange and black ribbons. Miles of ribbons. And plastic bats and pumpkins. All doors except the main gates were locked. The owner is... was strict about it.

Greg preferred not to insist. Somebody just forgot to check, that's all.

The first part of preparations was over exactly before the first part of the guests arrived, together with the grey clouds covering the sky. The venue was becoming more and more ghostly, and Greg was ready to mention it the moment the participants step inside the room with candles and fireplace ready. 

After making enough arranged photos and failing to post them in Insta he dropped the phone on the couch seat and covered his face. 

"I'm fucked. They forgot. They were given schedule. How am I supposed to write to the chat if no coverage in the damn place?! I'll open wine myself, swear!"

The fire was cracking peacefully.

Somebody knocked and tried to turn the door knob from the other side.

"Finally! I need my drink fast..." Greg jumped on his feet and rushed to the door. He seemed to leave it opened slightly but was not sure...

The passage was empty, either ways from the room. 

"Not funny, gals!!"

Greg could not define any more if he was annoyed or... uncomfortable with being alone in the super crowded mansion. 

He could hear nothing, somehow, only wind shaking windows slightly. Specially arranged weather, no less.

When clear step decented from the first turn to the right, he hissed again and briskly walked towards them ready to become the fiercest ghost himself. No matter how wealthy the fucking rich a gal was.

***

"Where is the fucking makeup guy?!" The bride threw her powder case onto the mirror table.

"We've looking for him just this very second..."

Somebody looked into the green dining room just to find it empty.

James heard somebody laughing down the corridor and the lights being lit. Must have been the maids. He returned to do...something he was doing. He was not sure why he needed to finish very soon indeed. He looked up, just to catch his thought. There was a strangely dressed young man in the doorway, looking inside the room with his mouth slightly opened. James stood up to light the doorway a bit more, bringing the candle light away from his face.

"Excuse me?"

There was no one. Just the distant laughter.

When he lowered the gaze again, he raised a brow, watching the dark, thick drops covering the paper on his table in front of him.

He looked up again but saw nothing but the dark fog of the garden. He was desperately late now, wasn't he?

***