the kitchen with their platters. Willoughby, who’d been carrying the scones, remained.
Emma cocked her head. “I have a question, and I hope it doesn’t sound too odd,” she said.
Willoughby’s eyes lit up. “Anything, love. What’s troubling you this fine morn?”
Emma smiled. She loved the Ballasters’ lilting Welsh accents. “Well,” she began, rubbing her chin, “I was wondering, do you have any neighbors?”
Now Willoughby cocked her head. “Neighbors?”
Emma nodded.
“Why, yes, we do, although they’re several kilometers away,” Willoughby said. “Lovely old couple. Just celebrated their sixtieth anniversary a month back.”
Emma sighed. “No, that couldn’t be it.” She thought about it some more. “Maybe someone from the village?”
A ghost of a smile touched Willoughby’s weathered cheeks. “Just what are you after, girl?” she said.
Biting the tip of her index fingernail, she gave a slight smile. “Well,” she said with a half laugh, “it’s sort of silly.” Especially when she hadn’t told the sisters that she’d dangled from their seawall steps. “But I’ve … seen a man. Sort of.”
Just then, the other three Ballasters joined them.
“A man?” asked Agatha. “What man?”
“Maybe if you can describe him?” asked Maven.
Millicent and Willoughby both nodded enthusiastically.
Emma met the expectant gazes of the older ladies. “Well, okay.” She cleared her throat. “He’s actually pretty cute, with big blue eyes, dark brown hair with sort of long bangs that hang to here.” She did a sawing motion at the level between her jaw and cheekbone. “A square jaw and really, err”—she coughed—“he’s very big. And handsome.” She wasn’t about to tell the Ballasters that the man she’d run into had really juicy lips. She found herself intrigued that she hadn’t even noticed what the guy was wearing. She’d been too scared—and too busy staring into those eyes.
All four sisters had slight smirks on their faces.
“What?” asked Emma, smiling. “What’s so funny?”
Willoughby, who, Emma now understood, spoke for the foursome as a group, smiled broadly. “Well, you see, we’ve had guests in the past claim to see that very same young man.” Her eyes sparkled. “Quite the dish.”
Emma grinned at the flirt in Willoughby’s eyes. “Does he live around here?”
Millicent giggled.
“I would say yes, he’s a resident of the area,” said Willoughby, nodding.
Emma considered. The sisters were being strangely vague about him. “What’s his name?”
A hesitant look flashed across Willoughby’s face. “Err, well … right. We can’t exactly say.” She smiled. “Sorry.”
“Why can’t you say?” asked Emma.
Willoughby leaned forward, and whispered in a quiet voice, “You see, he walks amongst the living, but isn’t one himself, I fear. And we’re not allowed to tell you his name.”
Emma blinked. “Excuse me?” Certainly she wasn’t hearing Willoughby correctly. “Did you say—”
“I’m afraid I did, dear,” said Willoughby, without even hearing all of Emma’s question. “And no, I cannot tell you his name.” She smiled. “But I will tell you that in the days of old, folks referred to the castle owners by the name of the castle itself.”
Emma gawked, dumbfounded. Speechless, even. Then, she grinned. “Oh, come on. You’re making all that up.”
Agatha shook her head. “Nay, ’tis absolutely true. Often, in the old days, one referred to another by which castle they owned.”
“Try it, lass,” said Willoughby, with a wink. “Try calling out the name and see what happens.”
With that, all four Ballasters bustled out of the dining room.
Emma just stared after them. Sweet, but very, very odd.
Stirring her food around on her plate, she dug in, mumbling to herself. “Basically, they’re telling me that cute guy I’ve seen more than once is … is a …
ghost?”
She snorted, nearly inhaling a large chunk of
Emma cocked her head. “I have a question, and I hope it doesn’t sound too odd,” she said.
Willoughby’s eyes lit up. “Anything, love. What’s troubling you this fine morn?”
Emma smiled. She loved the Ballasters’ lilting Welsh accents. “Well,” she began, rubbing her chin, “I was wondering, do you have any neighbors?”
Now Willoughby cocked her head. “Neighbors?”
Emma nodded.
“Why, yes, we do, although they’re several kilometers away,” Willoughby said. “Lovely old couple. Just celebrated their sixtieth anniversary a month back.”
Emma sighed. “No, that couldn’t be it.” She thought about it some more. “Maybe someone from the village?”
A ghost of a smile touched Willoughby’s weathered cheeks. “Just what are you after, girl?” she said.
Biting the tip of her index fingernail, she gave a slight smile. “Well,” she said with a half laugh, “it’s sort of silly.” Especially when she hadn’t told the sisters that she’d dangled from their seawall steps. “But I’ve … seen a man. Sort of.”
Just then, the other three Ballasters joined them.
“A man?” asked Agatha. “What man?”
“Maybe if you can describe him?” asked Maven.
Millicent and Willoughby both nodded enthusiastically.
Emma met the expectant gazes of the older ladies. “Well, okay.” She cleared her throat. “He’s actually pretty cute, with big blue eyes, dark brown hair with sort of long bangs that hang to here.” She did a sawing motion at the level between her jaw and cheekbone. “A square jaw and really, err”—she coughed—“he’s very big. And handsome.” She wasn’t about to tell the Ballasters that the man she’d run into had really juicy lips. She found herself intrigued that she hadn’t even noticed what the guy was wearing. She’d been too scared—and too busy staring into those eyes.
All four sisters had slight smirks on their faces.
“What?” asked Emma, smiling. “What’s so funny?”
Willoughby, who, Emma now understood, spoke for the foursome as a group, smiled broadly. “Well, you see, we’ve had guests in the past claim to see that very same young man.” Her eyes sparkled. “Quite the dish.”
Emma grinned at the flirt in Willoughby’s eyes. “Does he live around here?”
Millicent giggled.
“I would say yes, he’s a resident of the area,” said Willoughby, nodding.
Emma considered. The sisters were being strangely vague about him. “What’s his name?”
A hesitant look flashed across Willoughby’s face. “Err, well … right. We can’t exactly say.” She smiled. “Sorry.”
“Why can’t you say?” asked Emma.
Willoughby leaned forward, and whispered in a quiet voice, “You see, he walks amongst the living, but isn’t one himself, I fear. And we’re not allowed to tell you his name.”
Emma blinked. “Excuse me?” Certainly she wasn’t hearing Willoughby correctly. “Did you say—”
“I’m afraid I did, dear,” said Willoughby, without even hearing all of Emma’s question. “And no, I cannot tell you his name.” She smiled. “But I will tell you that in the days of old, folks referred to the castle owners by the name of the castle itself.”
Emma gawked, dumbfounded. Speechless, even. Then, she grinned. “Oh, come on. You’re making all that up.”
Agatha shook her head. “Nay, ’tis absolutely true. Often, in the old days, one referred to another by which castle they owned.”
“Try it, lass,” said Willoughby, with a wink. “Try calling out the name and see what happens.”
With that, all four Ballasters bustled out of the dining room.
Emma just stared after them. Sweet, but very, very odd.
Stirring her food around on her plate, she dug in, mumbling to herself. “Basically, they’re telling me that cute guy I’ve seen more than once is … is a …
ghost?”
She snorted, nearly inhaling a large chunk of
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