“All right. Yes, I believe they saw something, and I think—no, I know—whatever they saw scared them, badly. What’s interesting, though, is all four witnesses describe totally different incidents.”

“So? They didn’t really see anything and invented a story, whether knowingly or not.”

Sam nodded. “It’s possible. But in my experience, people in situations like that quickly gather around a central narrative. They want to have seen the same thing everybody else did. These workmen are sticking to their stories. When I questioned them yesterday they even argued with each other about it. And they’re not the only ones who can’t agree,” he said, warming to his topic. “I’ve had five different stories already from people who used to live in the house, and every one of them claims to know how the ghost became ghostly. Had a letter last night from the son of a former groom there, says the ghost was the wife of a local merchant. She fell in love with another man and one day they decided to run away together. They planned to meet in the woods behind Liefdehuis, but her husband followed her and—”

“I can fill in the blanks,” Henry said. “They aren’t pretty, these stories of yours.”

Sally May returned with the tea tray. They waited while she bustled about, dropping things, bending slowly to pick them up, Henry watching appreciatively, Sam tapping his fingers in impatience. Finally, after what seemed like hours, she left.

“All right,” Henry said, taking a sip of his tea. Sam eyed it—he couldn’t help noticing Henry had been given the only unbroken cup in the house. His own had a chip approximately the size of India in it. “You think what? There’s a family of ghosts living in the house? The family that haunts together stays together?”

“Wouldn’t that be something,” Sam said, this enchanting notion driving both teacup grievances and deeper pangs temporarily from his mind. Could a ghost have a family structure?

Henry rolled his eyes. “Fine. I can see you’re not going to be lured back to the city just yet. I’ll make the necessary postponements. And I’m going to see about hiring a second maid, because I absolutely refuse to stay in this pigsty.”

Sam grinned and leaned back, happy Henry would be staying, just as a thought burst into his mind and pushed everything else to the side. “Kaolin,” he said. “I should try kaolin in between the carbon.” He pushed off the chair and rummaged for his notebook. “Glad you’re back, Henry,” he said as he hurried back into the house, already wondering whether he had something suitable to use lying around or if he’d have to order it.

“Glad to be back,” he heard Henry say as the back door closed between them.

CHAPTER EIGHT