The phrase struck an echo in Fess's memory banks—several of them, in fact.
"But, boss milord!" Fess protested. "How am I going to do that?"
"Order one from Terra, of course." Ruthven waved away the problem.
"Order one, milord sir? A family ghost?"
"There is a catalog, I presume."
"But you can't buy a thing that doesn't exist!"
"Of course ghosts exist. Every noble family on Terra has one." Ruthven gestured carelessly with sausage fingers. "An ancestral ghost for my castle, Fess. At least one. Don't ask me for particulars, though. I know nothing about them."
That, at least, was true. Sometimes Fess could have sworn that Ruthven had gone to great pains to know nothing—and when he did accidentally pick up some information, he did the best he could to forget it. His way of making sure he had a clean mind, no doubt.
But the ghost of one of Ruthven's ancestors? Would he want one, really? Fess was tempted, and if he could have brought back Lona's ghost, he would have. He would have loved to see her haul Ruthven over the coals fifty times, for what he had done to her palace—and when she had finished, she would have bullied what was left of him into restoring some vestige of order to his household. Or maybe the ghost of Dar, who would have taken one look around, bellowed in outrage, taken Ruthven apart, then remembered his vocation as a teacher and put the aging playboy back together and tried to explain the basics of good taste to him.
Or, best of all, the ghost of Tod Tambourin—alias Whitey the Wino.
Now, wait. The ghost of Whitey… That had possibilities…
A shriek split the night, and the Countess Freiliport came barreling out of the bedroom. Fess heaved a 16-Farad sigh, stretched alloyed arms (the more conducive to the mood because Ruthven had given him a new, and very skeletal, body) to catch her, and began soothing. "There, now, Milady, it's gone. Nothing to be afraid of, no spooks out here, only your good old faithful Fess the butler, here to make sure the nasty thing can't get at you…"
"Oh! It is you!" The Countess collapsed against Fess's ribcage, sobbing. The sobs choked off as she saw the ribs and went rigid.
He had to head off the scream. "That's just my new body, Milady. The Viscount thought it would go better with the decor. It's really still good old Fess inside here. Was he as bad as all that?"
"Who? The ghost? Oh!" The Countess went limp. "He was horrible! First only those spectral footsteps, coming closer and closer, and no answer when I called out 'Who's there?'—no answer at all, mind you, until that horrid moan broke out right by my ear, and that glowing cloud appeared, towering over the foot of my bed!"
"Only a glowing cloud?"
"No, no! Only at first. It gathered in on itself slowly, till it had assumed the form of a perfectly horrid old man, skinny as a rail, moaning so dolefully that my heart went out to him—until he saw me!"
"Saw you? What then?"
"Why, he… he winked at me! And began to come toward me, reaching out and grinning that lascivious leer… Oh! I was never so frightened in my life!"
That, Fess could believe. The hologram of Whitey had been assembled from clips of him in the role of a vampire in a 3DT epic he had directed, and in which he had also starred.
"I am so sorry you have had such a fright, Milady. If you wish, I shall summon your chauffeur…"
"Oh, my heavens, no!" The Countess turned to blow into her handkerchief, then tucked it back into her bosom with a sniffle, straightening and turning back toward the room. "It was wonderful. I wouldn't have missed this night for the world." She stepped firmly toward the bedroom, then faltered and looked back over her shoulder. "I don't suppose he might come back—the ghost, I mean?"
"I'm afraid not, Milady," Fess sympathized. "Only one visitation per guest per night, you know."
"Ah. Well, I was afraid of such a thing." The Countess sighed and went back toward the bedroom. "I really must discuss the issue with your master, Fess. So paltry of him, to limit his hauntings in that fashion."
The door closed behind her, and Fess resigned himself to refereeing another bout in the morning. It was a compliment, really, but Ruthven just could not abide anything remotely resembling criticism. He was sure to bristle, and was likely to anger the Countess, jeopardizing a family friendship that went back a century and a half.
"If thou wert human, Fess, thou wouldst have been tempted to refrain from interfering. Ruthven would have had no more than he deserved!"
"True, children—but I am a robot, and was capable of pouring unlimited oil on the waters."
"E'en so, thou shouldst not have." Geoffrey folded his arms and lifted his chin. "He had not commanded thee to intervene, had he?"
"No, children, but when Lona died, she asked me to look after her descendants for her."
Geoffrey heaved a sigh, deflating, but Cordelia had a merry glint in her eye.
"I am sorry that you have received a somewhat unflattering portrait of your ancestors from me," Fess said gently.
"Unflattering, indeed! In Father's book of the family history, Ruthven appears a noble and generous character, renowned for his building and beautifying. Why is there no mention of his failings in that chapter?"
"Why, because Ruthven wrote it. And he did increase the glory of his family, in a way."
"In some way, mayhap." Magnus grinned wickedly. "But by this time, had not the other folk of Maxima gained summat of a sense aesthetic?"
"They had, Magnus," Fess sighed. "All applied for patents of nobility, and all received them—and most felt obliged to find some civic duty to do, as well as to gain some cultural refinement."
Magnus was puzzled. "Dost mean all who dwelt on Maxima were noble?"
"According to themselves, yes—and almost all of them are now worthy of the term."
"Yet even in Ruthven's time, they did know a monstrosity when they saw one?"
"I fear they did," Fess sighed, "and yes, they did look with contempt on Ruthven's 'masterpiece.' The ghost of Whitey redeemed him in their eyes, though."
"For that it brought to their minds the illustrious founder of our House?"
"No, because it was such great fun. Word of the apparition spread, of course, and within a fortnight, everyone wished to be invited to stay the night at Castle d'Armand."
"And therefore did need to treat gently with Ruthven and his wife."
"Quite so, Cordelia, at least to their faces."
"And each guest wished to stay in the 'haunted' room, I warrant," Magnus said, grinning again.
"Yes, and there was considerable fussing when they found someone else was already there, fussing which descended upon the head of the majordomo."
"Thyself, of course."
"Correct, Gregory. Yet since it assured Ruthven that most of them would come back for another weekend, it worked to the benefit of himself and Matilda."
"And thou didst need to stand watch o'er the bedroom door o' nights?"
"I fear so. Everyone who stayed there wished to be frightened, so of course they all were, and it fell to me to calm them."
"And to intervene 'twixt them and Ruthven in the morning?"
"Generally, yes."
"But that could not last." Cordelia protested. "Soon or late, everyone on Maxima must needs have stayed in the haunted chamber."
"Aye," Geoffrey agreed. "There are not so many people on but one asteroid, after all."
"True, quite true—and I was never so relieved as when the Viscount tired of the hologram, and I could deactivate it."
"Did not their children wish it to stay?"
"No; they quite resented it, for their schoolmates had teased them about it unmercifully…"
"Jealousy, no doubt," Geoffrey muttered.
"Thou shouldst know, brother."
"… AND about the mansion," Fess concluded, overriding Geoffrey's response. "When they grew, they made sure to gain a thorough grasp of all the arts, including the study of aesthetics, and were much less concerned with social pretensions."