Old-Fashioned, or Another Story With Ghosts

Part 8. Charlotte takes action and the first night together occurs

That was when it was happening. Lord James Blacke walking through the dark passage in the haunted family house, the candle holder in his hand lightening the way. And Greg, sleepy and exited at the same time, hanging on the elder man's elbow. Not as polite as the night before. Almost literally hanging on it and pressing himself into James. James must have been of Greg's father age. 

Somehow the fact made him even more appealing. Ah, who the hell he was trying to mock?! James was as hot as the fireplace in that damn room!

When the wind howled somewhere, Greg hid behind James' shoulder and squeezed out the nervous smile to  James' raised brow.

The bedroom was...well, pretty much like its owner. All clean, no, clear, with the arranged bed, the pile of books and a Kindle on the bureau. No mess, no laptop, no clothes hanging from the chairs. The heavy wardrobe. Probably, bathroom stuff in the bathroom, all arranged by height. That was the extend of what Greg managed to caught before James leaned upon the bureau with the candle and headed him a small portrait, like the one you never pay attention to in museums cause they lay somewhere aside under the glass and there is always some more interesting stuff to watch through or play with.

"Here it is. Please, take a look. Maybe, she would remind you of something."

"Nah, don't think so..." Greg took the canvas with the right hand and hissed pressing the fresh cut too hard to the old painting...

The roses were wonderful that year. The garden was finally worked out to brilliance, and visitors were coming from all over the country to see it. She was arranging the huge bouquet in the china vase carefully placing each white and tea flower on its rightful place. She always knew the place, and the whole house tended to be the extension of the garden during summer months.
When she was satisfied and took up the vase turning away with the soft rustle of the black skirt, His Grace was standing there. He was waiting for her, her James, and she could not stop the smile crawling on her lips from the depths of her soul. Everybody thought her a sinner. She never felt so. Never near him. It was time for her to return to the town... and it was so cold suddenly. Like when a floating cloud shades the sun in the early spring, and you cannot rely on its warmth for long...

Greg was panting. After a while, he realised he was also sitting on the floor near the wall, and James was near him on one knee with a glass of water.
Electric lights turned on making him moan and shut the eyes. His temples were ready to explode.

"Are you back, dear Gregory?" James put the glass to his shaking lips. It was probably the best idea not to mention him it was a couple of seconds earlier he had put the arms around his neck and kissed him, asking if he liked the roses.

James didn't catch it at first, taken a back but found himself answering the kiss surprisingly. Then it took him a second to understand it was... Charlotte.

"What happened?"

"Charlotte happened, I believe. Allow me..." James helped him to stand up and sit in the large armchair. Gregory was still shaking.

"What did I do?"

"Nothing Charlotte wouldn't."

"She was wearing black."

"Curious. Mourning?"

"No. Rough fabric. Eco... type. Now, I mean. Not then." He grasped the glass as tight as possible pulling the knees to the chest, rotting deeper into the armchair. "She was from the town. Something not...like you. Him. A...help." Greg sobbed suddenly. "She was happy. A happy ghost. Am I getting crazy? Insurance doesn't cover this."

"Probability of mental disfunction in the two of us simultaneously is extremely low, Gregory. You should get some rest. Would you like to go to your room...? "

"No! Please...can I stay a wee bit...here. Not alone."

"Of course."

In fact, Gregory fell asleep in the armchair in about five minutes after that. James felt him watching his back while he was writing down some notes he needed to remember about the night into the notebook.

When James said something and there was no answer, he turned to see him peacefully sleeping. Signed, gave it a thought and moved a leg cushion under the young man's legs, covered him with the plaid, turned off the light, and returned to the table.

***