After they had finished their drinks and retired to their rooms, Eleanor's words were still ringing in Ichabod's ears.
"What's wrong my love?" Katrina asked, glancing over her shoulder at him in the dark.
"Oh, I'm sorry my darling, this business with the ghostly footsteps is troubling me greatly," he replied.
"You need to relax," Katrina told him, sitting back.
"I'm sorry," he apologised again.
"Would you like me to put on the French accent," she asked, "Or one of zee costumes?"
"No, no my sweet, I'll be fine in a moment," he replied
"Perhaps it would be better in a different position?"
"No, you were fine where you were," he replied, losing patience slightly.
"Very well," she said, letting out a sigh and sinking back onto her knees, in front of him.
"What could be making the noise above the Robinson's room?" Ichabod wondered aloud, "And if it's emp– Katrina!"
"Sorry, I thought that if I took you by surprise—"
"Let's just go to sleep," Ichabod said crossily, settling back on the mattress.
He lay awake worrying about the ghostly footsteps, finally falling asleep a little before dawn. He slept in late, and when he finally woke, Katrina had already gone downstairs for breakfast.
He was very disappointed to find her side of the bed empty, for the inhibition he had suffered the night before were long gone, and he was yearning for a loving hand.
Gathering up his washing-things, he headed out of the room and along the corridor towards the communion bathroom.
As he past one of the bedrooms, he couldn't help but over here raised voices coming from within. One of the voices he recognized as Rebecca Green's.
"Why can't we just send for a coach?" Rebecca was shouting.
"We can't afford it," a man, whom Ichabod took to be her husband, shouted back.
Not wanting to eavesdrop, Ichabod hurried on his way.