When they had given their orders and taken a seat, conversation turned swiftly from Mr White to everyone's plans for the following day.
"We were hoping to find an interesting nature trail of some kind," Katrina said.
"It depends on whether you're planning to go on horse or foot," Frank said, mulling over the request.
"It doesn't really mat—" Katrina began, but then catching Ichabod's stern eye she quickly said; "Foot! Not horseback; we'll be travelling by foot."
Ichabod let out a relieved sigh.
"Keys Cross is a nice route," Frank said. "Lots of flowers and wildlife along that way – what do you think dear?"
He turned to his wife, but she didn't seem to be following the conversation at all. Her eyes were hazy and her mind was miles away.
"What?" She said finally, as if waking from a trance.
"Keys Cross; a good walk," her husband repeated.
"Oh, yes, yes," she agreed.
Frank turned his attention back on Ichabod.
"So Katrina told us that you're on some kind of business here; what exactly is it you're doing?" he asked, lighting his pipe. "I'm sure what ever it is, it makes for interesting conversation."
"Yes, I suppose it does," Ichabod replied, "The main reason I've come here is—"
"Your drinks," Ted said, appearing at the table with a tray in his hands.
"I've been waiting all day for this," Frank said, taking a long drain of his ale, "Best in the country if you ask me."
As the clock ticked on, Ichabod noticed Eleanor Robinson, who had seemed distracted all evening, was becoming more and more anxious. Soon he felt compelled to comment on it.
"Are you quite already Mrs Robinson?"
"Yes," she replied, a little too quickly.
"Are you sure," Katrina asked, concern in her voice.
For a moment it seemed as if Eleanor was wrestling with something; trying to decide whether to confide in them or not.
She said finally; "I become a little nervous around bedtime."
"Ellie not this," Frank said.
It was clearly something he had heard a number of times before.
"Oh please," Ichabod said, "We're all ears."
"Perhaps, what ever it is, we can help you in some way," Katrina added softly.
Again Eleanor seemed to be suffering some inner turmoil, her eyes darting between her husband and her hands, which picked nervously at her skirt.
Frank let out a sigh that seemed to be a signal of acceptance. As if he were telling his wife that if she was going to tell, she should just get it over with.
Eleanor leant across the table, the candle light dancing on her features, "Do you believe in ghosts Mr Crane?" she asked.
Ichabod sat bolt-up, straight.
"Ghosts?" He laughed nervously.
He felt Katrina squeeze his hand, and managed to compose himself.
"There are many strange things in this world," he concluded, his face serious, his tone sober.
"She's convinced herself that the hotel's haunted," Frank said, knocking back more ale.
"I hear noises at night," Eleanor explained, "Coming from above our bedroom."
"What kind of noises?" Katrina whispered.
"They're almost like footsteps, I suppose," Eleanor replied, "But there's a strange scraping sound as well; step, scrap, step, scrap."
"Here we go," Frank muttered, pouring the last of the ale down his gullet, and reaching for the jug for a refill.
"Like chains rattling and scrapping across the floor," Eleanor continued, "Ghostly footsteps they are, and no mistaking."
"I've never heard anything," Frank said.
"That's because you're always drunk and out like a light!" Eleanor snapped.
"I resent that," Frank replied, swaying drunkenly in his seat.
"Perhaps there are rats in the attic, they make more noise than you'd imagine," Ichabod suggested.
"That's what I thought," Eleanor replied. "So I set Mr White up there to check, but there wasn't a thing there. Not a living thing."