"Celia," I hissed at her, but she either didn't hear me or chose to ignore me.

"It's all right," Mr. Beaufort said, amused. "May I enter? I won't harm either of you. I simply need to talk to you and I'm sure you'll be more comfortable out of this breeze."

"Of course." How could one refuse such a considerate suggestion? Or such beautiful eyes that twinkled with a hidden smile. I told Celia what he wanted. She hesitated then nodded, as if her permission mattered. If a ghost wanted to come into our house, he could.

He allowed me to enter behind Celia then followed—walking, as ghosts don't float like most people think they do. They get about by walking, just like the living. Oh and sometimes they disappear then reappear in another location, which can be disconcerting.

Bella our maid met us at the door and took our coats and Celia's bag. "Tea, Miss?" she asked.

Celia nodded. "For two thank you." She didn't mention the addition of Mr. Beaufort. Bella was easily frightened and we didn't want to lose another maid. The last three had left our employment after witnessing one of our in-house séances. It was difficult enough to find good help with what little we could afford to pay but it was made even harder thanks to our line of work. Gentlewomen of leisure may find our séances a diversion, but I've found the servants and poor to be far more superstitious.

Bella hung up hats and coats and had retreated down the hall to the stairs. I indicated the first room to our right. "If you wouldn't mind waiting in the drawing room," I said to Mr. Beaufort. "I need to speak to my sister for a moment."

The ghost bowed and did as I requested. "Celia," I said turning on her when he was no longer visible, "please don't ask him any questions about his death or haunting...or any morbid things."

"Why? We have a right to know more about the people we invite into our home, dead or alive."

"But it's so terribly..." Embarrassing. "...impolite."

"Nonsense. Now, why do you think he's here? To hire us perhaps?"

"I suppose so." I couldn't think of any other explanation.

"Good. Hopefully the other party can afford our fees." She tilted her chin up and plastered a calm smile on her face. "Come along," she said, "let's not keep him waiting."

Jacob Beaufort was studying the two framed daguerreotypes on our mantelpiece when we entered the drawing room. A small frown darkened his brow. "A handsome pair. Your parents?"

"Our mother," I said, "and Celia's father."

"Ah," he said as if that satisfied his curiosity. I could only guess what had piqued his interest. Most likely it was my skin tone, so dusky next to Celia's paleness, and the fact I looked nothing at all like either of the people in the pictures he held.