22nd March, 1894 — Noble’s Workshop, Bartonburg
“I’m sorry!” Jemima exclaimed, as she ducked in through the workshop door at the bottom of the garden – because she hadn’t meant to spring her presence on Ford’s brother in the middle of the day whilst he was working, not at all. (She had never meant to spring her presence on any of his family to begin with, but – that was hard to avoid entirely, being left in a house with them every day of the week.) Jemima lowered her voice a little, uncertain. “There’s just a ghost in the garden, and I –” she trailed off anxiously.
She hadn’t wanted him to see her in the garden in case it meant she ended up roped into an awkward conversation with him, was the truth. This one had been at the wedding, so he must know Ford. But she was not even altogether at ease with Ford’s family yet, let alone his... ghost friends. So. Hiding was not very mature, but it seemed like the slightly less painful option. In an honest plea, she added: “Do you mind if I stay here for a minute?”
Jemima hadn’t seen the interior of the workshop where Ford’s brother – Noble – worked for more than a brief look in, anyway. So he didn’t even have to talk to her, really; she could just loiter quietly in the corner and look around and cross her fingers that the ghost drifted away out of the Greengrass garden again. She wouldn’t be a nuisance.
She hadn’t wanted him to see her in the garden in case it meant she ended up roped into an awkward conversation with him, was the truth. This one had been at the wedding, so he must know Ford. But she was not even altogether at ease with Ford’s family yet, let alone his... ghost friends. So. Hiding was not very mature, but it seemed like the slightly less painful option. In an honest plea, she added: “Do you mind if I stay here for a minute?”
Jemima hadn’t seen the interior of the workshop where Ford’s brother – Noble – worked for more than a brief look in, anyway. So he didn’t even have to talk to her, really; she could just loiter quietly in the corner and look around and cross her fingers that the ghost drifted away out of the Greengrass garden again. She wouldn’t be a nuisance.
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