“I was once in the same situation as them. It was freeing to be removed from it.” And why he’d said those words, Gray had no idea. Clearly these Nightingales were having an odd effect on him.
She patted his arm again. “I know. My husband told me.”
“I will leave and return in the morning,” he added, coming to his senses. He felt the need to put some space between himself and this family, especially Ellen. Gray didn’t sit down to take tea with other peoples’ families he didn’t know. Any families, if he were being honest. He never did things impulsively either, so why was he still in this house?
“No, you will not. From what I understand, you are as yet unmarried and therefore have no one waiting for you at home, so you will take tea with us. We always have enough food,” Ivy Nightingale added.
He could pull free and leave anyway, but instead, he allowed her to usher him into a room that was dominated by a table and chairs. Large windows looked out to the rear of the property, and the fading early evening light showed him plenty of trees and grass, plus a glass house.
“We eat at the table or there is a horrid mess,” she said.
“He is aware of my visions,” he heard Ellen say.
“I know that. Uncle Bram told us. But that does not mean he trusts us, as we are unsure if we trust him.”
“I had an aunt who had them.” Gray found himself speaking again about something he never discussed. After all, they were talking about him loud enough for him to hear. If they had wanted privacy, they should have sought it.
“Ah, it all makes sense now,” Alexander Nightingale said. “Do you have elderly relatives who have passed?”
Gray nodded.
“And was there an aunt who loved the brightest shade of orange?” he added, making the hair on the back of Gray’s neck stand.
“Yes.”
“Well, that explains the reason I am seeing the color when you are near. Tell me, Detective Fletcher, do you love treacle?” Alex asked.
He nodded again because he couldn’t speak. His throat was dry. He used to eat bread and treacle as a child when he snuck into the kitchens.
“I thought so.”
“How did you—”
“Enough for now,” Ivy Nightingale said.
“This is Matilda and Theodore, the youngest members of our family,” Bramstone said. “You have already met Frederica.”
Gray acknowledged the children, still thinking about what Alexander said. His Aunt Tilda had loved orange. The brighter the shade, the happier she was. Why had he said that? Why had he mentioned treacle?
“Greet the detective, please,” Ivy said.
The children reluctantly got out of their chairs and bowed or curtseyed, and Gray returned the gestures.
The younger Nightingales were a mix of their elder siblings’ features and would become more like them with age, he was sure.
“Sit.” A hand nudged him into a seat between Frederica and Matilda. “You will be doing us a favor. If they are separated, they can’t argue,” Ivy Nightingale added before she walked around the table to sit next to her husband, and she leaned in to kiss his cheek and then her daughter’s.
Across from him, Leo and Ellen were still arguing, but their voices had lowered. Alex was next to Ellen, adding a comment when he felt it was required.
“They’re always like that, with Alex chirping in,” Frederica said. “We place bets to see who will win the argument.”
“Pardon?” Gray looked down at her.
“Leo and Ellen never used to be fiery natured, and few see it when they are, so clearly they are comfortable around you,” Teddy said. “But we place bets when they start. It can be either of them. Sometimes Alex too.”
“I protest,” Alex drawled. “You brats are hardly the best tempered of all of us.”
“True,” Matilda said. “But the fieriest Nightingale has to be Leo.”
