“Milord!” the nearest one gasped. Her name was Sally and she trembled where she stood leaning hard against the wall.
“You near scared the life out of me, my lord,” said the laundry woman, Mrs. Owens. What was she doing here?
“Who is hurt?” he repeated after making sure that both ladies looked hale.
“Wot?” Sally said.
“Nothing’s amiss,” said Mrs. Owens.
But then he heard it again. A low moan coming from beyond the doorway. “Who’s that?” He meant to push forward, but the women stepped clearly into his path.
“That’s nothing but a bit of playacting from Lady Clara,” Mrs. Owens said. Then she tapped his arm. “How about I make you a nice pot of tea to welcome you home? You can have a rest down here until she’s done.”
Aaron felt his gut sink down to his toes. His sister was an eccentric woman, to be sure, but she normally kept her exploits to evenings with her friends from the lending library and the occasional odd visitor. Whatever this was marked a stark increase in his sister’s oddity.
“Step aside, ladies,” he said firmly. And when they did not comply, he bodily lifted Mrs. Owens up and set her down below him on the stairs. The younger Sally was agile enough to scramble out of the way as he pushed through the doorway. But two steps onto the main floor had him frowning in confusion.
“You were me favorite wee bairn. A bonny boy you were.”
It was a strange woman’s voice spoken in a brogue that came and went as if to suggest a Scottish origin but still make the words clear.
“Nana?” a man’s voice said. “Is that you?” Now that voice he recognized…but he couldn’t remember from where.
“Well o’course it’s me, ye bonny lad. I’ve come with a message fer you.”
“But how do I know it’s really you?” The man sounded breathless or on the edge of a laughing fit. It was hard to tell.
“I’ll bump the table to show I’m real.”
Nowthatsounded more Cockney than Scottish. Truly confused, Aaron stepped around the corner to look into the dining room. The room was filled with cheap candles that smoked, placed haphazardly about the room and table. Sitting in place were seven souls. He recognized his sister and her maid, placed as though they were guests. Another woman with her back to him, plus a footman, were also seated like guests. At the head of the table was a woman dressed in colorful robes, her face and hair obscured by a hood. Before her smoked a brazier that was no doubt the source of the strange fruity-foul scent that permeated the room. And at the base of the table was a gentleman by the looks of him. The one who’d spoken before, but whom he couldn’t quite remember.
“Ohhhhhhahhhhheeee.”
A weird moan came from hooded woman. It was a loud sound punctuated by a groaning gasp—very theatrical and wholly ridiculous. Though when the table abruptly jumped, he was startled enough to take a step backwards. Not because he was frightened, but because he wanted to see who was under the table making such a ruckus with his furniture.
He couldn’t see. The room was too dark. Besides he was distracted by the way his sister squeaked in alarm. Her and another lady.
“Never fear, Lady Clara,” said the gentleman at the base of the table. “I shall protect you.”
It would have sounded most gallant if there hadn’t been an undercurrent of humor in the words. Meanwhile, a person approached him from the side. He saw the man coming and recognized his butler.
“If you would come away, my lord,” the man whispered. “I can explain.”
He didn’t need the explanation. He knew his sister too well. This was one of her spiritual gatherings that had nothing to do with religion but a great deal to do with tomfoolery. Though he had no idea how she roped in his own staff to participate. There was only one thing he wanted to know, and so he leaned over to whisper in his butler’s ear.
“Who is the gentleman at the end of the table?”
“Lord Loughton.”
His sister’s suitor! Of course. But before he could say more, the man in question started speaking.
“That tells me you’re real, spirit from beyond, but not that you’re my Nana.”
“I am,” the hooded woman said in a definite London accent. “I be your granny, the mother of yer da Seamus.”
Now the woman was turning Irish, and Aaron started to smile. It was like watching a bad play in his own home.
“I held yer bonny body in me own arms when you were born.”