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“Vile, interfering woman. Go home! Return whence you came!” Benedict yelled, and Mariah heard the sheer anger in his voice.
“Why don’t you crawl back into your grave and stay there, Mr Ribena!” Mariah countered, and a giggle erupted from behind her. No! She’d forgotten Bea and Melisandre.
“Now seeing him, I can imagine Daniel being turned blue. I couldn’t quite grasp the concept, but… oh, it hurts,” Bea said to Melisandre, who stood with a stunned but amused look.
“More intruders!” Benedict cursed.
“I’m watching a purple-coloured grape ghost!” Melisandre giggled. “God, Sabine should be here for this. We had Papa Smurf and now Mr Ribena!”
Melisandre fell about laughing as she thought of the popular blackcurrant drink and its dark colour. Mariah hadn’t been wrong in her nickname. Benedict made a noise of sheer disgust, and several newspapers on top of the bar blew towards them before he disappeared.
“You don’t look so stunned at seeing a ghost!” Mariah accused the two women.
“No. Let me phone my husband. Tell him to come immediately. Nicholas will explain more. In the meantime, want to show us what you would like done?” Melisandre said mysteriously. Mariah waited until Melisandre completed her call and then started walking them around downstairs. The parlour rooms she wanted to keep, and both Bea and Melisandre agreed they could be restored.
Their faces blanched at the mess upstairs. Both women whipped out laser tape measures and began planning the rooms with ensuite bathrooms. Melisandre was shaking her head in despair at the ruination of the upper floor but assured Mariah it could be fully repaired. She promised to search for the appropriate period furniture when they heard a car pull up. Moments later, Melisandre’s phone rang, and she smiled.
“Nicolas is here with Emile and Harcourt. Let’s go meet them. It would be better to have the following conversation outside, away from prying ears.”
They walked out together, and Mariah stopped as she spotted the three people in front of her. Each wore period dress, and she wasn’t talking about the 1950s. From what she could figure out, the clothing was similar to what Benedict displayed in his portrait. Was someone making fun of her?
“Mariah, meet my husband, the Earl of Mortimer, Nicholas Pembroke. This is The Duke of Windmere, and his wife, Henry and Emile Harcourt. We call Henry Harcourt because Sabine and Daniel have a little boy called Henry,” Melisandre expressed as a tall man greeted her with a kiss.
“Were you at a period play or something?” Mariah demanded.
She winced as she realised how rude her words were.
“No, we just prefer our fashion style,” Nicholas responded, looking at her and then at the inn. “Melisandre…”
“Not right this minute,” Melisandre stated as Emile greeted them.
“Hello. It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Mariah,” Emile said gently.
“Hi. Urgh… how do you greet a duchess?” Mariah asked.
“Usually with a curtesy and a, Your Grace,” Harcourt replied, his face stern, but Mariah saw his eyes twinkling.
“I’m sorry,” Mariah stuttered, dipping into a curtesy. Emile’s hand shot out, and she smacked her husband across his flat stomach.
“Harcourt, do not be so cruel!” Emile chided and took Mariah’s hand. “Ignore him. He can be such a bore!”
“I don’t deal with high society much,” Mariah murmured, wondering what was going on.
“So, the urgent call, wife?” Nicholas sought as he hugged Melisandre to his side. His keen eyes regarded the inn, and a sudden air of resignation crept over him. “Oh no! Tell me you did not!”
“Didn’t?” Mariah asked, confused.
“Find another damned Norton!” Nicholas spluttered, outraged.
“Mariah has Benedict! And she is friends with Maggie,” Melisandre said, and Mariah turned to her quizzically.
“Am I missing something?” she urged as the four people exchanged glances.
Bea grinned.
“God damn it! As if one God’s Scourge isn’t enough, you found the blighter who cheated me out of a thousand pounds at cards?” Nicholas scowled while Melisandre smiled.
“Not dealing with another hysterical Norton!” Harcourt announced instantly.
