To the best of Nicholas's knowledge, his grandfather had never set foot on a ship deck in his life.
Rosalind asked, "What does he read?"
Peter gave her a lovely bow. "Forgive me, my lady, I am Peter Pritchard, the earl's estate manager. I fear I have been a bit distracted."
You have a ghost in the house. No wonder.
Peter said, "Yes, things have been rather at sixes and sevens here for the past several days, actually, since the day his lordship sent a messenger informing us of his plans to return home with a wife. Forgive me, my lady. You asked me what the old earl reads. There are piles of books on the floor beside his favorite chair. The one on top is a treatise on hermit wizards who dwell in caves in the Bulgar and eschew all human contact."
Rosalind said, "If they eschew all human contact, I wonder how anyone could write a treatise about them." Nicholas laughed.
Rosalind slipped her hand into his. "I should like to accompany his lordship to the library and make the acquaintance of my grandfather-in-law's ghost."
Block heaved a sigh. "How fortuitous that you do not appear to be of a highly sensitive nature, my lady. Indeed, an overabundance of nerves could possibly prove fatal to your marital bliss, given our current visitation."
"Not I, Block. I am as stout of heart as Lee Po."
"Ah, his lordship's man of affairs. Lee Po tells the grandest stories. Come now, Cook has chilled one of the old earl's bottles of French champagne and made her exquisite gooseberry tarts. If you would like to enter, my lady, I will introduce you to the maid, Marigold, who appears to be about the same age as that young maid of yours, who looks really rather alarmed and a bit white about the mouth."
Rosalind turned to Matilde and smiled. "Come along, Matilde, everything is all right."
Matilde nodded even though she didn't think anything was all right, and dutifully trailed after Rosalind into the massive ugly house, which gave her the shudders. At least Mr. Lee Po was here. No one and nothing would try to harm her whilst he was about.
Only one young girl, dressed in a dark muslin gown, a white cap perched on the side of her head, stood at attention in the center of the massive black-and-white-tiled entrance hall. She saw Nicholas and Rosalind and quickly dropped a curtsy. "Oh, dear, here ye are, standing right here in front of me eyes." She bobbed another curtsy. "Me name's Marigold. Me mum loves yellow, she does, that's why she named me Marigold." And she curtsied again.
Block said, "Marigold laughs when the old earl sings. Or sings along with him, depending on her mood."
"He doesn't carry enough of a beat for me to dance," Marigold said. "But we do make lovely harmony."
Rosalind smiled at her and said, "This is Matilde. If you would show her to her room, Marigold, and introduce her to Cook, Mrs. Bates, Chloe, and the tweeny."
"The tweeny would be Mrs. Sweet, my lady. She's fair to doddering, but still can polish an armoire to a high shine. Not as high a shine as Mr. Block's suits, but high enough to remark upon."
Rosalind hadn't met many tweenies, but she'd never heard of one older than sixteen. "How old is Mrs. Sweet, Marigold?"
"Older than me mum, my lady, got three teeth left in 'er mouth, all in the front, a good thing, me mum says, else she'd have to gnaw 'er food with 'er gums."
"I see. I would also like you to give Matilde a tour of the house. Matilde, when you are finished, come to my room. Go along now. Thank you, Marigold."
"Yes, my lady." And yet another curtsy, this one deeper, nearly toppling her onto her face. "Matilde, now that's a purty name too, I'll ask me mum what she thinks of it." And off they went.
Nicholas was looking toward the library, listening.
Block said, "I suppose even a ghost must occasionally take a respite."
At that moment, they heard a strong loud bass voice sing out,
I went to sea as a wee young goat. I crossed the waves in a very small boat. I learned to swim—I can tell you that! And never once did I wear a hat. Hey ho. Hiddy ho.
The sun burned and blistered but there I sat And not once did I wear a hat.
There were three more eminently forgettable verses, then silence, dead and utter silence.
Peter gave them a crooked smile. "The hair on my arms no longer rises. To become used to the presence of the ghost of my old master, now, doesn't that bespeak a tortured brain? But the fact is he is indeed here and so what is one to do?"
Nicholas saw a pallet lying in the corner. Peter's had, he supposed. "Rosalind , why don't you accompany Block upstairs and I will go bid Grandfather hello."
Like that would ever happen, she thought. "Oh, no, I'm coming with you. Do you know, perhaps the two of us can sing a duet."