Old-Fashioned, or Another Story With Ghosts

Chapter 15. Wilkins learns about the ghosts and Greg receives an invitation

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"Is it the ghost again?" The same policeman demanded shagging the raindrops from the uniform. The policeman's face expressed the universal patience and dedication to serve and protect. And to return to his dinner as soon as possible.

"The ghost, Sergeant?" Wilkins was not patient at all. He just did not show it. 

"It's Chief Sergeant, sir, if you may. You haven't heard, eh? That Scottish chap from some circus agency claimed he saw lord Blacke was killed here! A couple of days ago. That one lord, God save his soul." Chief Sergeant crossed himself looking at the portrait.  Wilkins frowned. Some bits of lord Blacke's peculiar guest suddenly started to make sense. 

"And then another one arrived, the alive one." Chief Sergeant enjoyed passing the brilliant gossip to the new ears. "Poor Scottish sod, he made such a fool of himself. God help him to get a lesson from the whole deal. Drugs never do good a young..."

"I see." Wilkins interrupted the monologue with the shiny politeness of higher education. "I'm afraid we had a very real intruder representing the problem you just mentioned. Ghosts were not involved. Except, possibly, ones who were showing themselves after an extensive intake of stout." The policeman frowned but was not given time to think through Wilkins' wits. The butler stepped aside. "This way, please. His Grace will see you in the study. He has five minutes for you to fill in the forms."

Greg was leaning upon the sink in his bathroom. He sneaked here right after sparks in front of his eyes faded and the hall became empty. He checked the nose bones with his fingers hissing and cursing. Thanks God, his nose was fine, just puffed, red, and blooded.

Everything else was broken, though, like his almost-year sort-of relationship.

How could he forget about the phone?! 

How could he forget everything...

He bit his lip pulling the spoiled sweatshirt from his head making even more mess on his head. Looked at himself in the mirror and pushed two rounds of paper napkins in both nostrils.

His bag was already on the bed with drawing kit inside when somebody knocked.
Greg gasped. But it was Wilkins instead of James who nodded to him when he opened the door. "I'm almost ready, Mister Wilkins. Can I have ten more minutes?" Greg gestured loosely towards his tamponed nose. "Don't want anyone to lose time wiping blood drops from the stairs."

Wilkins looked upon him, glanced into the room, and raised the brow. "It would be extremely sudden for lord Blacke if you decide towards leaving us so soon. Especially after his victorious battle over your...offender. Dinner will be served at 7. But if you need more time to recover after that upsetting incident, the time could be changed."

Greg blinked. "But that was my fault. That J...lord Blacke had to...saw that...and you..." 

"You definitely could not be blamed for another person's actions. The above mentioned person was already taken away by the police, so it is safe to come out. And if you allow me...that was the wise decision you made prior to the fight."

Greg blinked again.  Then slowly nodded.

Wilkins glanced towards the wardrobe. "There is a small choice of shirts in the wardrobe. Let me know if you need anything else."

Greg blinked for the third time.

James was definitely not hungry after two rounds of conversation with the dumb Sergeant. He never told the intruder and Gregory have been aquatinted, of course. Sergeant who had taken  the Donny person away was sure he had some kind of psychosis claiming there was his boyfriend in the house.