Old-Fashioned, or Another Story With Ghosts

Chapter 9. The night passes and Wilkins enters the manor

"Certainly, sir." Wilkins nodded. He looked worried, though.

"Oh... and there is a guest in the house. He might still be in my bedroom. Please, prepare him a room, would you?"

"Certainly, sir."

At least, he managed to surprise Wilkins. Probably, for the first time in their acquaintance.

James wondered if the ghost will still return once the place was crowded.

Wilkins sent someone to the kitchen.

And someone was already taking away the champagne bucket full of completely dry  roses from the drawing room.

James raised a brow.

***

Greg was rarely forgetting to put on an alarm.
On the other hand, he was finding himself in a haunted house falling for occasional lords even more rarely.

So it was understandable, his fuckup. Or his forgetfulness, as James would say.

Finally, he rolled on the other side of the bed, sneezed, and returned from the dreamland. His head was glassy but surprisingly clear, no sign of ghostly presence nearby.

No sign of James either.

He gasped out in hidden disappointment and discovered he was half-hard under the blanket. And soon enough discovered also that unlocking cufflinks was enough for finishing up. In general.

They were going to change bedsheet here anyway, weren't they?

There was no sign of the yesterday sun outside. Only the wind blowing and some sort of housing sounds from the distance. So he probably still had some time before leaving.

Finally, Greg exhaled and pulled up the phone looking up at the time. And a dozen messages in Whats'App.

"Shite, shite, shite..."

He rolled from the bed on the cold floor, caught his reflection in the turbid mirror on the wall, and got scared. Maybe, more scared than at night. Grabbed his travel bag and shut the door wide opened trying to remember where the bathroom was.

There was a lass in the corridor. She was wearing a uniform from another BBC documentary, this time from Victorian time, and she cleaning a candelabra.

The idea he was sleeping for more than 24 hours, everybody including James left and there was a movie shooting in the house stroke Greg firstly. Also, he was wearing an underwear, a sweater and his sneakers, cause his t-shirt was still drying on the chair.

The lass noticed him, nodded good morning, and moved to the next candelabra.

Greg mumbled something and fell back in the room, sliding down the door.

It took time to decide what to do now. And the need of bathroom was increasing drastically.

The knock made his poor soul to jump up and opened the door again with the shiver upon the back praying there would be anyone but James. When he saw the visitor, the error in wishing became obvious.

"Er... I'm almost ready to go, swear. Sir."

The bearded gentleman with the overall appearance of an Oxford professor bowed slightly and raised the brow. "Good afternoon, sir. I am Wilkins, lord Blacke's butler. I understand you would be staying in the house for a while. Your room is ready in the East wing. If you prefer to proceed there now, your belongings would be delivered there  immediately. Lunch will be served at 2 o'clock."

Greg gulped. He had a bad breath and didn't want to let the Englishman know. So he tried a smile. "Sorry, are, hm, is there anybody still here? Except, er, you..."

"Could you clear the people you are enquiring about, sir?"

Wilkins wasn't the kindest. No, James let poor bewitched Scottish soul down.

"Um, Alice, the groom, Margaret..."

"The event agency has left entirely."

"They just forgot about me..."

"Miss Angela will show you the way." Wilkins was totally busy, that was obvious. Greg felt guilty for disturbing a busy person from the serious business with his insignificant presence.

"Wait, just one second, please!.." The Englishmen half-turned back. "Is... James still here? I mean... somewhere in the house?"

Or there is no James, and problems with mental health and insurance would arise pretty soon.

"Lord Blacke is attending business meeting in the town. He intended to return back to lunch. Will it be all?"

Greg blinked. And tried the smallest nod. "Thank... you?"

The Englishman nodded back and retired.

Even his back was busy.

Greg closed his mouth.

***