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“It’s miss and sure.” Mariah scribbled her signature to say she’d accepted, and Thomas snatched the paperwork back off her.
“Well, good luck!” Thomas chirped, backing away.
Mariah frowned.
“Thomas, Mr Marks, aren’t you supposed to show me around? You’re meant to show me where the main fuse box is and the water mains cut off.”
To her amazement, the young man’s face drained of blood.
“Er, yes. I suppose I should,” Thomas replied and didn’t move.
“Well, you can’t do it from there,” Mariah said, exasperated.
“You know the inn is haunted?” Thomas whispered, leaning towards her as if he could be overheard.
Mariah frowned before laughing.
“You don’t believe silly rumours, do you? There’s no such thing as ghosts. So please, let’s finish, and you can happily leave.”
Thomas glared dubiously at her before following her to the entrance and opening the doors. Mariah’s breath left her body as she gazed at the inside of the inn. The Black Cat was stunning. Before she could look around, Thomas hustled her towards a swinging door and shoved through. He pointed out the water mains cut off and nearly dragged her to a closet with the fuse boxes in.
The whole time he was there, Thomas kept looking over his shoulder. Mariah struggled to not snort in derision at him. The hotel she’d previously worked at was meant to be haunted. Still, it had been nothing more than creaky pipes and floorboards settling when the temperature dropped. A scratching noise made the hair at the back of her neck stand up, and Thomas froze mid-explanation. His eyes darted about, and Mariah saw fear descend on him.
A loud slam made them both jump as the front door flew open, and that was all it took. Thomas was on his heel with a high-pitched squeal and ran. Mariah’s mouth opened as the man fled with the speed of Usain Bolt.
“It’s only the wind!” Mariah called, but she heard his car start, and he was leaving clouds of dust as he tore down the lane. Mariah sighed and shut the door. Obviously, the latch hadn’t dropped properly into place, although it did now.
Shaking her head in amusement, Mariah turned and stared at the Black Cat. Contentment settled over her as her gaze roamed about freely. The bar was opposite the entrance, a long, beautifully cut wood. Stools stood underneath a lip shoved up tightly against it. To her left were round tables with chairs and some booths tucked against the far wall with rectangular tables. A fireplace was in between the four of them.
On her right was a similar layout. And in front of the bar, pushed back to not to hinder customers, were further round tables. The front wall was lined with booths families could eat at and look out the diamond-leaded windows. There was so much wood and brass, although dusty and full of cobwebs, it would gleam with dim lighting and the fires roaring.
Mariah noticed three doors on the left and an identical amount on the right. Opening them, she discovered private parlours, clearly for the wealthier guests.
She pondered the idea of tearing down the two walls that latched onto the dining area, having their exposed beams on show, and making the dining area much bigger. Each parlour also had its own smaller fireplace. Mariah noticed a door with a ladies’ and gents’ toilet sign above on the right. To the left was a rather generous office with the requisite fireplace.
As Mariah walked out, she discovered a set of stairs next to the office, which led to the upper levels. Forgoing investigating them, a covered-up portrait caught Mariah’s attention on the main wall. Clambering onto a bench and sending up dust clouds, Mariah yanked the sheet off, and her mouth opened in surprise.
Unsure what she’d been expecting, even though it had been a big painting, Mariah stared at the man who gazed over her shoulder. Hazel eyes, nearly amber, stared into the distance. His hair was dark brown and curling around his nape, his body appeared strong and muscular, and he wore old-fashioned clothing. Mariah was no expert, but she believed it to be from several hundred years ago. His nose was straight, and his lips firm, just as she liked. There was a dusty plaque underneath, and she rubbed it clean.
“The Hon. Benedict Norton. Born 1691, died 1716,” she read. “Benedict, you were a fine specimen.”
“Yes, I was,” the whisper floated through the air, and Mariah’s head shot around, looking for somebody.
There was no one there. Thomas’s fear had clearly messed with her.
“No such thing as ghosts, right Ebenezer Scrooge!” Mariah murmured and climbed off the bench. She realised the position of the portrait allowed it to be viewed from any angle of the inn, which made her spine tingle. Those sexy eyes would be watching her while she worked. Um, not a bad thing.
“Shame you passed three hundred years ago. Guess you’re long gone, pal. You died so young. I wonder what it was. Disease was rife back then. Oh well, men like you don’t exist today, and that’s a fact,” Mariah said, her mind flicking to her cheating ex and then moving on.
“Fleeeeeee,” a voice whispered, and Mariah jumped before giving a small laugh.
“Damn that Thomas. He has me imagining stuff. I suppose I better see upstairs.”
Mariah headed for the staircase with one purpose in mind.
Benedict
Fancy that. Mariah, as he now knew she was named, had completely ignored him and continued merrily on her way. Benedict scowled. He did not have time or inclination to chase the contrary young miss off. Benedict had a rather excellent set of books in his room to read and wished to return to them with a glass of brandy. He followed Mariah upstairs, watching her nose wrinkle at the condition of the boarding rooms. Yeah, they were a complete mess. And this little lady appeared to be one who wouldn’t like getting her hands dirty.
