Old-Fashioned, or Another Story With Ghosts

Chapter 13. Wilkins is surprised and coffee is wasted

They continued yawning in the library together. It took Greg about an hour only to stop being ecstatic Belle style . The shelves were filled up both with bibliopolic treasures and pretty modern publication. Greg saw bookstores with less choice of classical and modern crime fiction, collections of myths, and art history folia. 

To start with.

James was studying  Greg's drawing folders for so long Greg got worried. And even touched his sleeve when didn't get an answer. 

There was no scary fog in James' eyes, though. Not in the middle of the day. Not earlier than twilights. The drawing he was observing the longest actually had some James in it. Charlotte was looking thought the window at the garden. You could see what she saw - a silhouette between the rose bushes. 

Not much of help. But Greg put out everything he had. Most probably, it was not enough, though. 

The Gustawian clock tolled pleasantly indicating time running through whatever Greg was or was not doing. 

The hell he would do nothing any more. He let out the sharp exhale and jumped on his feet.  "I... I'll ask for coffee, fine? Stay here, I'll get it!"

James didn't stop him. Or just thought it not to be polite.

Greg rushed to the kitchen stumbling to somebody in a crisp-white chef uniform, mumbled he was sorry, and asked where he'd find mister Wilkins. Still he startled, somehow like a rabbit noticing the fox too close, when Wilkins enquired about his business straight from behind his back. "May I, er, may I talk to you for a couple of minutes? In private. It-it is about J... lord Blacke, I mean."

Wilkins raised the brow, said something to the chef in Italian, and showed the way to the least educated person in the premises. Hence, Greg.

Greg has already corrected his plans for future education. He just couldn't inform Wilkins about it right now. It did not seem totally fit.

The small living room - or a study? - was probably named something like Oak study. There was light parquet  here and furniture decorated with oak leaves pattern.

Wilkins was waiting. That was an intense experience.

Greg  gathered his confidence to sound not too rabbitish. "Um. It's lovely here. In the room. And the house, all of it! Impressive as, er, extremely impressive. Hope we broke nothing, I mean, the agency..."

"All damaged items have been sent for restoration, Mister Bay. Those which were able to be restored." 

Greg's throat squeezed in shame and fear. But he had to continue. "Um. Sorry. I...think lord Blacke isn't quite well. There are those periods. When he is...not quite himself. I am afraid something could happen to him during this time." He twisted fingers barely able to look in the Englishman's strict face. "At night especially." 

Wilkins thought wrong. Greg felt his cheeks burning. It was not even true, shite!..

"As far as I am informed His Grace's health is closely monitored..."

"It-it's not health! More like... memory. Really distant memory." Greg shut his eyes for a moment. "I understand how it sounds and that he's not my business. But he's yours. I am not in his bedroom at night, swear. Please, think of something, he couldn't be left unattended..." Winkies continued watching him with the unreadable face. Greg took a deep breathe. "I'll try to help him to get rid of that memory. Don't worry, nothing more. I'll disappear soon, swear. Ah, you'll see by yourself!" Greg rubbed his nape helplessly. "Ja...lord Blacke asked for coffee. I promised to get some. Is it fine?"