Nan paused in her work to look, too. “They aren’t, are they?” she agreed, walking around the room and looking intently at each of their faces. “These are portraits, I think, of the first of the lairds of Emberon. A fighting lot they were and as straight-laced as the best of the Scotsmen.”
“They look it,” Laura answered. “I, personally, feel as though they disapprove of every single dress I’m taking out of this bag.”
“Let’s see, how should they be made to satisfy those crusty old gentlemen?” She held one up to herself. “It should be tighter in the bodice, have a ruff around the neck, and the skirt,” she looked down at the trim pleats in her own, “oh, that’s all wrong! It should be long and full, just touching the floor. No wonder they disapprove. I am disgusted myself,” she added, looking up at one of the solemn faces and winking.
“Why, Laura Polk,” Rhoda had been watching and listening to the little by-play, “You had better be more respectful to your hosts,” she nodded toward the portraits, “or tonight, at the parade of the ghosts, you will be taught a well-deserved lesson.”
“Parade of the ghosts!” The exclamation was Grace’s.
“Why, of course, I had forgotten completely about that,” Laura looked very serious. “At the stroke of midnight in these ancient castles, all of the skeletons come out of the closets and the dungeons and the secret stairways and the cellars and the attics, walk through the halls, rattle around a bit, clank a few chains and then do some fancy haunting. If they are healthy ghosts, they groan. If they are weaklings, they just whistle round a bit. Oh, there is no end to the excitement in these hoary places.
“Besides the ghosts and skeletons, there are always a few dissatisfied retainers who welcome the first opportunity to polish off the living owners. They hang around,” Laura was entirely oblivious to the fact that she had, for once in her life, startled Nan, “in caves, abandoned buildings, and sometimes behind sliding doors, and appear on the slightest pretext.
“But never fear, my lassies,” her voice came from the depths of her case, as she searched around the bottom for a small gold bracelet, “the line of the lairds of Emberon has died out, the Princess tells me, and so there’s no one here to be polished off. We have nothing to worry about,” she ended as she found the bracelet and clasped it around her wrist, “except ghosts and skeletons.”
“And old Mr. Blake who is waiting downstairs for us, I am sure,” Nan added as she moved toward the doorway.
“He wouldn’t harm a hair of anyone’s head,” Rhoda joined Nan. “Are all the Blakes so nice?”