Fortunately, it didn’t take much coercing. Elaine seemed more than happy to cup her coffee tight and pretend she heard nothing, leaving Signa to hurry back upstairs.
Three spirits had taken up occupancy in the drawing room. Two of them sat on furniture untouched by time—a mother and father, by the look of them. The woman was older, with generous curves and a face caked with makeup that Signa could see even on her translucent skin. Her hair had been piled almost comically high atop her head, and Signa found herself wondering how on earth it was keeping its hold.
The spirit beside her was a small, reedy man. He wore spectacles that sat low on the bridge of his aquiline nose, squinting through them as he watched the third spirit, who sat on the bench of a pianoforte, playing a dreary tune with a level of mastery Signa could never hope to reach. Physically, she appeared to be around Signa’s age, with a long, slender neck and a small oval face that pinched as she focused on the piano. As she played, her translucent fingers never disturbed the thick caking of dust. A rat lay beneath the bench, long dead and little more than a skeleton that the spirit’s ankle hovered beside.
The girl’s mother and father watched proudly until the woman’s head twisted to the side at the sound of a floorboard creaking beneath Signa’s feet. She smacked the man Signa could only assume was her husband on the shoulder to get his attention. At once, the piano ceased.
“It’s the girl,” whispered the older woman as she shifted out of her seat to get a better look at Signa. “That’s her, isn’t it?”
“Is it that time already?” asked the man. “Where’s the husband?”
The younger girl spun on the piano bench. In a nasally, high-pitched voice, she answered, “It doesn’t look like she’s got one. There’s no ring on her finger!”
If they wanted to believe that Signa could neither see nor hear them, she’d let them. Without looking any of them in the eye, she drew closer to the piano bench as if inspecting it for the source of the music that’d been playing.
“No husband?” The man scoffed as he circled her, too close for Signa’s comfort. “You mean to tell me she’s to inherit this house alone?”
“Perhaps that’s how they do it now, Father. It would certainly be a nice change.”
“We should have been warned that she was coming.” It was the woman who spoke now, her voice conveying just how greatly Signa’s existence displeased her. “She should have sent staff to prepare the home.”
Her lungs half clogged from the sheer amount of dust in Foxglove, Signa agreed.
“We always knew the day would come.” The man removed his spectacles and puffed a breath upon them before he rubbed the glass and put them back on. Given that there was no air in his lungs, the effort made little difference. “A home like this could only stay empty for so long.”
Behind him, the woman placed her hands on either side of her hair as if to balance it while she strolled closer. “Even after all these years, you still give the Farrows too much credit for their taste. You were twice the architect that man could have ever hoped to be. Have you forgotten they’re the reason we’re stuck here to begin with?”
“Mother’s right,” added the girl. “Perhaps we should remind her of that. This home has been ours far longer than it’s belonged to her.” The girl spat the last word like it was a disease and rushed so close to Signa that it took everything in her not to flinch. “All we’d have to do is slam a few windows and creak a few floorboards, and she’ll go running.”
“We can haunt the mirrors,” added the mother. “Oh, I do love a good mirror haunting. The girl cannot remain here if she has no staff. We’ll have to keep scaring them off.”
“I’m not going anywhere near that maid she brought,” the younger girl hissed. “Not when she looks like that. You’ll have to be the one to haunt her, Mother.”
Signa bit the inside of her cheek, anger rising. It was one thing to toy with her, but to haunt Elaine?
“The only thing you will do is put an end to that music.” Signa marched straight toward the piano and slammed it shut. “Dear God, can you imagine if someone heard you playing without a living soul sitting on the bench? And don’t you dare even think of haunting anyone.”
So stunned were the spirits that for a long moment no one spoke. The mother glanced at her husband, and quietly whispered, “Is she talking to—”
“To you?” Signa settled her hands on her hips. “Of course I am.”