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"And I want to help you," Lady Ferguson said, her tone hinting at exasperation. "But the islanders, a few of them appeared here one evening. They were the ones who spoke against the resort plans... I can’t recall their names as, beyond the few who help me here, I am too busy looking after my son, but there were so murmurs in the corners, hushed conversations in the halls when they came here. I knew it was not a friendly visit checking in on their lady of the island."
Finn interjected, "Can you describe them? Any particular characteristics that stood out?"
Lady Ferguson closed her eyes momentarily, trying to retrieve the memories. "There was one... a tall man with a beard. Sea-weathered face. He seemed to be leading the conversation. The others deferred to him. And then there was a woman, younger, probably in her early thirties, with striking red hair, much like yours, Inspector. She was vocal, emotional about the island’s traditions being ruined."
Finn and Amelia exchanged glances. Finn had noticed a few islanders matching those descriptions during their visits to the pub and around the town. "Do you think they might have taken their objections to a violent level?" Amelia asked, her voice filled with a mix of curiosity and concern.
"I'd like to think not," Lady Ferguson replied slowly. "However, emotions run high when people believe their way of life is being threatened. It might drive someone to do something they'd regret."
The conversation was interrupted by a distant rumble of thunder, the storm outside growing more vehement. The wind howled, shaking the windows of Huldra House, a reminder of the island's unpredictable temperament.
"We'll need to track these individuals down and speak with them," Finn noted, jotting down the descriptions in his notebook.
Finn then spoke: "Before we go, Lady Ferguson, we were hoping to talk with your son."
Lady Ferguson's face immediately tightened, her previously amiable demeanor replaced by one of caution and defensiveness. "And why would you want to speak to Nathaniel?" Her voice was colder, clipped.
"We're merely exploring all possible avenues, Lady Ferguson," Finn replied, his tone steady.
The matriarch's eyes flashed with anger. "You are guests in this house, Detective. Remember that. I won’t have you or anyone else implicating my son in this."
Amelia, sensing the rising tension, stepped in swiftly, her words measured. "We didn't mean to suggest he's involved, Lady Ferguson. We just wondered if he might have been out of his room the night Ivar Ward died and perhaps seen or heard something. Anything that could help."
Lady Ferguson looked between the two detectives, her posture rigid. "He wasn’t. Nathaniel doesn't leave his room during storms. The sounds distress him."
There was something in her eyes, a hint of hesitancy, perhaps a touch of fear, that made Finn's instincts flare up. He was convinced she was withholding something. But he held his tongue, choosing instead to store away this observation.
Amelia persisted gently, "Regardless of that night, we would still like to meet Nathaniel, if only for a brief moment."
Lady Ferguson's gaze was steely. "I appreciate your position, Detective, but you must understand that Nathaniel’s psychiatric issues are profound. Subjecting him to questioning, even casual conversation, could prove detrimental to his mental well-being."
Finn glanced at Amelia, noting her expression of understanding. She shook her head subtly to indicate they shouldn't press any further. Not yet. As much as they wanted to gain every piece of information, they needed to tread carefully.
"Very well, Lady Ferguson," Amelia conceded, "but if at any point you feel he could assist in our investigation, please let us know."
Lady Ferguson gave a curt nod. "Thank you for understanding. But now," she glanced outside, where the world was quickly being swallowed by darkness and the storm's crescendo, "the night is coming. I suggest you both retire to your rooms. This house has many old memories, and not all of them are kind. Sleep well."
With those final cryptic words, Lady Ferguson turned away, her silhouette receding into the dim corridors of Huldra House.
Amelia and Finn exchanged a look, a shared sense of unease passing between them. The house, with its secrets and shadows, seemed to press in on them, as if urging them to discover the truths it held within.
“If one more person tells me about secrets and shadows here,” Finn said. “I'm going to break out my Hawaiian shirt and bring a bit of color to this place.”
“I wouldn't wish that on anyone,” Amelia said with a soft smile. “But Finn, don't get too frustrated. We've only been here two days, and a place as remote as this can sometimes push back against outsiders.”
"Tomorrow," Finn murmured, more to himself than to Amelia, "we dig deeper."
Amelia nodded, mirroring Finn’s determination. The weight of the mysteries surrounding them was palpable, and they both knew that the path ahead was laden with challenges. But they were resolute, prepared to unravel the threads of deceit and uncover the killer lurking amongst them.
Finn stretched his arms. “I'm starving, care for a candlelit dinner?”
Amelia prodded Finn affectionately in the side. “I'm not here for the romance, but we skipped lunch today, so I think you could bend my arm to heating up whatever Frederick has left for us in the kitchen.”
Standing up, Finn nodded and then stepped out of the room into the hallway. “Uh, which way is the kitchen?”
Amelia looked around, the hallway spread out in more than one direction like veins through a cadaver. “I... I think it's this way, come on.”
Sure enough, after a few corners and one dead end, Amelia lead Finn into the kitchen, which was large lit by dull incandescence. Somewhere outside, the wind howled, battering the thick black-stoned walls of the house.
