Greg might have seen the house screaming formal manners, but all Theo could hear in these walls was the sound of screaming, ghosts from pain inflicted a long time ago but still lingering, and some of them his own.
He nodded as Greg spoke but didn't reply until he entered the drawing room, lingering by the doorway and indicating that Greg should take a seat with a gesture of his hand. The room - surprisingly - was empty; there was a fireplace set into one wall with a couple of armchairs set to face it, the dust that had collected around the feet of the heavy chairs where even the house elves had been unable to clean it showed that they hadn't been moved for some time. There was a long sofa set with it's back to the door, which was strange if you took the paranoia of the family into account if you didn't notice the large mirrors, one on each wall set so that no matter where you sat you'd always be able to see if someone was approaching from behind.
There was another sofa facing the first and a low oval coffee table between them, bare of any object. The far wall held bookcases stacked with books and a large, old looking rug that had avoided being bare of thread but which had faded in an even manner. It copied the fabric of all the chairs, faded as well from must have once been a warm brown to a tired looking tan. There was a trolley with cakes and a decanter of water, one of what looked to be whisky on the side, along with a bucket of ice and two glass tumblers. "Would you like a drink?" Theo asked before he answered any questions.
A giant portrait frame hung above the fireplace, though the canvas was blank of any person and scored in the middle with a sooty black mark. The large and long but narrow windows, six in all, looked out over a background like the moors of Wuthering Heights, grey and bleak.