The upstairs hallway was dark and quiet, and George broke into a smile when he saw Cally reach the top of the stairs. “Are you happy here?” he asked her.
She stooped to squint at the lock on the Rose Room door. The lamp on the butler’s desk was dim and flickering – she suspected the bulb needed to be replaced. “I like this place very much,” she assured George. “I didn’t see you at dinner or at the little... storm party.”
“Oh, I’m not part of the family,” he explained, nodding as if this was just fine with him.
“That doesn’t seem to stop everyone else.” Cally finally fit the key into the lock. She thought she knew the real reason George tended to make himself scarce. “I take it Joan is also her usual charming self toward African Americans,” she guessed.
“Dear lady,” he said, “I am neither African nor American.”
Cally straightened up, turning awkwardly to face him. “I’m sorry! Sorry, George,” she stammered, groping for a way to dig herself out of this faux pas. “That was presumptive of me. Where are you from, then, if you don’t mind my asking?”
To her great relief, he did not seem at all offended. “I am from very far away from here,” he said. “It’s a fascinating story, full of action and adventure, and I would love to tell it to you. I think you might like to make it into one of those books you write.”
“I would love to hear your story,” she said, finally succeeding in getting the door unlocked. “But as to making it into a book, I think I ought to focus on ghost stories, for the present.” She opened the Rose Room door and turned to apologize for this, in case it had been a further slight, but George wasn’t there anymore.
“Great,” Cally said, shutting the door behind her. “He probably thinks I’m a total jerk, now.” Someone had switched on the little bedside lamp and she saw the bed had been turned down. The wrinkles she had made in the coverlet during her nap earlier had been smoothed, and all the little rose-shaped throw pillows had been stacked in the bedside chair, but otherwise Cally was gratified to see everything else was as she had left it.
She was an insomniac at the best of times, but after such an eventful evening, and because of her nap earlier, she knew it would be pointless to get into bed just yet. She sat down at the desk and took her laptop from the drawer, telling herself she might get started compiling some of the stories she’d heard that day, maybe make them into organized research notes. When she powered the computer up, though, she saw the chat icon was illuminated. She smiled at this, abandoning all thought of work, and clicked the icon to accept the chat.
The avatar Emerald always used, a cartoon image of a fairy dressed in purple, appeared on the screen with the first line of chat already beside it.
> Emerald<< Having fun yet?
>
> Cally>> Loads!
>
> Emerald<< How do you like the place?
>
> Cally>> It’s beautiful. Everyone is great. Well, almost everyone.
>
> Emerald<< Ah, so you’ve met Joan?
>
> Cally>> LOL
>
> Emerald<< And who else have you met?
>
> Cally>> I’ve met Ian May. He gave me an interview this afternoon. He’s lovely. Also met his daughter and son-in-law.
>
> Emerald<< Is Bethany still there?
>
> Cally>> She is. She’s sweet. And Ignacio and Katarina, and the Captain.
>
> Emerald<< I remember the Captain. Listen to him - he has the best stories.
>
> The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
>
> Cally>> I have an appointment to interview him at lunchtime tomorrow.
>
> Emerald<< If he’s awake. He should be getting on in years by now!
>
> Cally>> He is, but he still seems pretty spry. Oh, I also met your friend George.
>
> Emerald<< You’ve met Georgie! Excellent. Yes, very good!
>
> Cally>> All the ghost stories seem to be pretty standard fare so far, though.
>
> Emerald<< How about you? Heard any Mysterious Footsteps, yet?
>
> Cally>> Well, things have been moved around in my room. Does that count?
>
> Emerald<< ?!
>
> Cally>> Oh nothing has been taken, or anything like that. Only rearranged. I’m sure whoever it is thinks they’re being helpful. Might be George.
>
> Emerald<< I don’t think Georgie could do that. You should mention it to Bethany, if it bothers you.
>
> Cally>> I might.
>
> Emerald<< Maybe it’s your first real ghost!
>
> Cally>> LOL yeah right ☺
They chatted for the better part of an hour about this most recent big change in Cally’s life, even though Emerald already knew most of the details, as she had helped Cally plan them. Cally had “met” Emerald years ago by way of an internet listserv. The topic might have been Celtic Folklore or something similarly nerdy, but neither could really remember anymore. They had kept up their correspondence long after listservs had disappeared from the internet, and they still used outdated text chat applications to keep up their correspondence, partly because that was what they were used to, but mostly because neither of them had a computer new enough to support video chat. Emerald had been a source of strength and comfort when Cally was coping with her crumbling marriage, and it had been Emerald who had suggested Vale House to Cally when she had despaired of ever being able to break her writer’s block.
The two of them had talked many times about finding a way to meet “in real life,” but had not yet contrived to do so. They had each also talked about getting better computers so they could at least use modern video chat technology, but that would have to wait until Cally had an income again. For now it was enough, Cally thought, to just have someone she could let down her guard and be herself with, especially when the rest of life seemed so uncertain.
> Emerald<< OK well it’s going on 2:AM now where you are. You should get some sleep.
>
> Cally>> I will try. Hope I’ll be able to wake up in time for breakfast. I want to go back into town tomorrow and try to interview some of the locals.
>
> Emerald<< The lady who runs the coffee shop knows a lot of good stories. I’ve chatted with her a few times. They say she serves very good coffee.
>
> Cally>> Well that’s important! Maybe I’ll go back to that News Store, too.
>
> Emerald<< Yes, Ben Dawes is a real hottie, isn’t he? At least, he was last time I saw him.
>
> Cally>> That’s not what I meant! You know I am over men. Completely. Forever.
>
> Emerald<< LOL sure, if you say so. ☺ Hey, while you’re in town, you should also check out the bookstore.
>
> Cally>> Oh, there’s a bookstore! Great!
>
> Emerald<< The two chicks running it are a hoot. You’ll get a kick out of them.
>
> Cally>> Really, Em, chicks?
>
> Emerald<< You’ll see what I mean! Goodnight.
>
>
Cally closed the laptop and turned off the lamp on the night stand, slipping under the rose-covered comforter. For the most part, she failed to follow Emerald’s advice to get some sleep. This was completely normal for her, but the voices of people talking on the porch, and the sound of footsteps passing slowly by outside her door, didn’t help.
“Well,” she told herself, “you did want to stay in an authentic haunted house with authentic ghosts, didn’t you?” She got up and opened her door. It was at this point in a good ghost story, she knew, she should see a lady in white wafting down the hall, gowns a-flowing, perhaps holding a candle, though what she really expected to see was the Iversons making their way at last to bed, or maybe Nell or Foster. When she peered out into the hallway, though, all she saw was the old gray cat sitting next to the lamp on the butler’s desk.
She laughed and went back to bed and did her best to get some sleep. Eventually she dreamed a Lady In White was standing at the foot of her bed, gazing at her with a sorrow so deep it almost made her weep in her sleep.
When she awoke in the morning, she only saw the gray tom cat sitting on the rose-covered coverlet, glowering at her as if she had neglected to give it its breakfast.