The Secrets of Winterhouse

by Ben Guterson

  Then Mrs. Vesper put her cup down, wiped her lips slowly, and set her hands in her lap to fix Elizabeth with a resolved expression.

  “And what about church?” she said. “Did you go to church with your aunt and uncle?”

  It was a completely unexpected question. Elizabeth had been preparing herself to talk about Winterhouse and then, she hoped, turn the conversation to Mrs. Vesper’s interest in the secret passageways. She hadn’t considered she might be asked what church she went to.

  “Church? Not really. I mean, on Christmas and Easter, yes, but not much otherwise.”

  Elana sat up. “We don’t go, either.”

  “It’s good to believe in something,” Mrs. Vesper said. “But our beliefs are, let’s say, not the ones you might find in a church.”

  “What do you mean by ‘our beliefs’?” Elizabeth said. The way Mrs. Vesper had said these words sounded very peculiar.

  “Well, dear,” Mrs. Vesper said, “most of what they teach in church is about getting along with everyone, no matter who they are. Even if they aren’t worthy, or even if they are, say, poor or weak. It seems unusual, doesn’t it? That we should try to get along with people who are beneath us? You might say it’s a waste of our time, a waste of our efforts.”

  Elizabeth had never heard anyone talk like this, and although there was maybe a tiny bit of logic in what Mrs. Vesper was saying, it didn’t feel like it added up to the right conclusion.

  “How does all that fit in with what you believe?” Elizabeth said. She was intrigued.

  “We feel that if someone is fortunate to have any degree of, say, power,” Mrs. Vesper said, “then he or she ought not to diminish it by sharing it with people who aren’t deserving. In fact, that person should try to accumulate as much power as possible. That’s the only way to keep everything moving forward in this world—by growing stronger, becoming stronger.”

  Elana was looking to her grandmother with something like apprehension.

  Elizabeth, as unfamiliar as she was with this sort of conversation and these ideas, felt a thrill as she listened to the old woman talk. There was something alluring about her words.

  “Why are you telling me all this?” Elizabeth said. “And what do you mean by ‘we’?”

  Mrs. Vesper looked to Elana. It was clear they had discussed something beforehand, and this was the moment when Elana would take over.

  “It’s our whole family, really,” Elana said softly. “All my cousins and aunts and uncles, and, well, everyone. Where we live, everyone feels the way we do. And that’s why I was saying, you know, I feel like it would be so nice if you and I were closer, like sisters, even.” She turned to her grandmother. “Oh, I’m not saying it right at all!”

  Elizabeth was confused by Elana’s words, but something about Mrs. Vesper—the look in her eyes or the sound of her voice—kept her from becoming unnerved by Elana’s weird speech. Elizabeth felt calm and receptive.

  “What my granddaughter is trying to say,” Mrs. Vesper said, “is that Winterhouse feels like a special place to us, the kind of place where a person might find herself in possession of something that had some power, something that would be even magical, you might say. It seems like an enchanted place, with many possibilities.” She laughed, in acknowledgment that she was maybe veering into subjects that sounded bizarre. “Who knows? And because you live there, my hope is that you would feel close enough to us to share that. Do you understand?”

  Elizabeth felt once again that the individual words she was hearing were clear, but that they didn’t add up to anything coherent. She couldn’t make sense of it.

  “Like you were part of our family,” Elana said. “You know, how people share things?”

  “I guess,” Elizabeth said. She felt heavy; her thoughts had slowed.

  Mrs. Vesper’s eyes bored into her; her voice was soothing. “In our family, no one would lie to you or scold you or anything. And you would have Elana as a friend, not just a lot of workers and old people.”

  Her words intertwined with thoughts already swirling in Elizabeth’s mind, about Norbridge lying to her regarding Gracella’s death, about Jackson most likely doing the same, about Leona being upset with her for making simple mistakes in the library, about how when Freddy was gone, there would be night after night of no one to talk to or joke around with. In a week or two, she would be alone at Winterhouse with people decades older than her who didn’t really understand her and seemed, quite often, not to take her seriously.

  “Does this have something to do with the story about the secret passageways?” Elizabeth said. Her words felt thick; she had the sensation that someone other than her was speaking.

  “Perhaps,” Mrs. Vesper said. “It may all be connected. We are just hoping we might remain close, become as close as possible, and then if there is any chance that we—”

  “Miss Somers,” someone said, and Elizabeth’s head cleared instantly. It was like feeling a cold breeze or having loud music turned off so that your thoughts can straighten. She shook her head the way she might have if she had just awakened and wanted not to fall back asleep.

  Standing beside the table and dressed in the same suit and tie he’d worn on the only other occasion they’d met was Mr. Egil P. Fowles, the headmaster of the school Elizabeth would be attending once the new year began.

  “Professor Fowles,” Elizabeth said with surprise. She felt as disoriented as if she was back in Drere and the headmaster had happened to walk into her aunt and uncle’s house.

  “I thought that was you,” he said, and before Elizabeth could introduce Mrs. Vesper or Elana, Mr. Fowles was reaching a hand out to each of them and introducing himself. Mrs. Vesper looked upset at being interrupted, and Elana appeared unsure how to proceed, whether to be polite or sullen or something else entirely.

  “Well,” Mr. Fowles said, once the introductions had been made, “I didn’t mean to interrupt your visit. Just wanted to say hello.” He paused and leaned forward to look more closely at Mrs. Vesper. “Madam,” he said, “that bracelet of yours.”

  Mrs. Vesper lifted her arm slightly and looked to her wrist at the thin, silver bracelet visible above her long black sleeve. On it was a symbol that looked like this:

  “A little bauble I picked up recently,” Mrs. Vesper said, and then she lowered her arm and covered the bracelet. She looked at Mr. Fowles with pressed lips.

  “Do you know what it stands for?” Mr. Fowles said.

  Mrs. Vesper shook her head dismissively. “Egyptian, I believe. A bit of decoration.”

  “I have some expertise in the area of hieroglyphics, and that, madam, is indeed an ancient Egyptian symbol.” Mr. Fowles leaned forward again. “It is a scarab. Or, as we would call it, a beetle. It was the symbol for eternity, for the transformation of the body and soul.”

  Elana shifted her anxious eyes to her grandmother.

  “And with that,” Mr. Fowles said, “I must be off.” He dipped his head in Elizabeth’s direction. “I will look forward to seeing you when school resumes, if not sooner. And it has been a pleasure to meet you both,” he said to the other two before he turned and left.

  Mrs. Vesper said nothing. She merely sat looking flustered for a moment before smiling oddly at Elizabeth. “Very nice man,” she said without enthusiasm.

  “He’s the head of the school where I’ll be going,” Elizabeth said. She felt uncomfortable suddenly. “And he’s good friends with Mr. Falls, who runs Winterhouse.”

  “Before he came,” Elana said, glancing furtively at her grandmother and then back to Elizabeth, “I think we were talking about how nice it would be for us to share everything.”

  But the mood—the spell—of a few minutes before had evaporated; Elizabeth felt she wanted to get away from Elana, her grandmother, the café, everything. She’d heard enough. “I don’t know. I’ll have to think it over.” She looked to the doorway. “Maybe I should get going.”

  “We’ve hardly been here long,” Mrs. Vesper said, a note of d
esperation in her voice. “Besides, I just keep thinking about how lonely you will be at Winterhouse once we’re gone. I think of that poor girl who rode the bus here all by herself late at night, who—”

  “What do you mean?” Elizabeth said. “I came in the middle of the day.”

  Elana jumped in. “I thought you said last year—”

  “I never said anything about last year.” Elizabeth stared at Mrs. Vesper and studied her face carefully. “How did you know I came last year at night on the bus?”

  “I’m certain you mentioned it at some point,” Mrs. Vesper said.

  Elizabeth stood. “I better get going.”

  “Our car and driver won’t be here for another hour,” Mrs. Vesper said coldly.

  “I can get home on my own.”

  “Elizabeth,” Elana said with a pleading tone in her voice—it wasn’t clear if Elana was wanting her to stay or encouraging her to leave.

  “I think you’re both up to something,” Elizabeth said.

  Mrs. Vesper narrowed her eyes at Elizabeth. “Sit down,” she said grimly. “Now.”

  “I’m not your granddaughter, and I don’t have to listen to you. I’m leaving.”

  “Sit down!” Mrs. Vesper said, almost snarling the words.

  “I’m leaving,” Elizabeth said. “And I’m going to talk to Norbridge.”

  “Sit!” Mrs. Vesper said, and she reached and grabbed Elizabeth’s arm.

  Instantly, before she even considered what she was doing, the feeling arose inside Elizabeth, and she glared at Mrs. Vesper. The teapot on the table began to rattle on its plate, clattering away as if the water inside had begun boiling furiously; and then it lurched off the plate, crashed to one side, and poured its remaining water across the table and onto the floor.

  “What in the world!” Mrs. Vesper cried, standing abruptly as her chair fell back. But Elizabeth was already racing out the door, into the dark streets of Havenworth and away from Mrs. Vesper and Elana. When she returned to Winterhouse, she would talk to Norbridge and tell him everything—except how much pleasure she’d taken in using her power.

  CHAPTER 26

  THE SEAL UNRAVELED REVEAL

  “Kiona had a really rough day,” Sampson said from behind the clerk’s desk in the lobby.

  Elizabeth had barely been able to contain her racing thoughts as the shuttle bus had carried her back to Winterhouse; and now, having dashed into the lobby and explained to Sampson that she needed to find Norbridge immediately, he was telling her Norbridge and Leona had accompanied Kiona to the hospital in Havenworth and wouldn’t be back until late that night.

  “They want to make sure she’s all right,” Sampson said somberly. “Honestly, they were pretty worried about her. I think everyone is.”

  Elizabeth’s concerns about what Mrs. Vesper might be up to and why Gracella wasn’t really buried in the Havenworth cemetery receded for the moment.

  “I guess I’ll talk to him in the morning, then,” Elizabeth said.

  Sampson shrugged. “I wish I could be of more help.”

  Elizabeth thought of something. “Do you know if Jackson’s around?”

  “I’m pretty sure he’s in Grace Hall. They’re setting up for the lecture tonight.”

  And after she thanked him and raced off, Grace Hall was exactly where she found Jackson as he was supervising an arrangement of tables on the stage for the evening’s lecture.

  “Miss Somers!” Jackson said as she raced down the long aisle and rushed up the stairs to him. “What brings you here?”

  “Jackson,” she said, breathing hard, “I wanted to ask you about something.”

  He raised his eyebrows and waited.

  “I went to the cemetery in Havenworth today.”

  Jackson looked at her with his large, friendly eyes. He adjusted the brass nameplate on his coat, made sure his pillbox hat was straight, and cleared his throat. “You found the cemetery in town?” he said, and Elizabeth nodded. Jackson rubbed his chin. “I have a feeling I know where this is going. I also know that Mr. Norbridge Falls himself advised you not to visit there.”

  “I’m going to tell him, too. Maybe I shouldn’t have gone, but I did. I think you probably already know what I found there—or, I guess I should say, what I didn’t find there.”

  “I see,” Jackson said. He nodded slowly, taking in this new information. “Yes, I see.” He held up a hand. “Before you go any further, allow me to clarify two things. First, you should discuss all of this with your grandfather. He is absolutely the one with whom you should be having this discussion. The second is that Gracella Winters indisputably perished on that night nearly a year ago in our library. Which is to say: She died. The coroner examined her, we all witnessed the body—cold, with no pulse, nothing at all. And so I can tell you with one hundred percent certainty that your grandfather’s sister died. There is no question about that.”

  “Then why isn’t she buried in the cemetery like Norbridge said?”

  “This is a very disturbing part of the story, Miss Somers. I think you should take it up with your grandfather.”

  “Please, Jackson! Sooner or later I’ll find out, and I just want to know what happened.”

  He sighed, looking to the curtained stage and then back to Elizabeth. “It seems someone gained access to the mortuary where Gracella lay awaiting burial. The coroner was perhaps not as diligent as he might have been. We actually had members of the Winterhouse staff stationed there with him for protection at all times. But in the middle of the night the day before she was to be buried, somehow … We don’t know how it happened. The bellhop on duty at the mortuary fell into a sleep that lasted for hours, and when he woke up, the body was gone.” Jackson looked to the floor.

  “Someone stole her body?” Elizabeth said. She felt instantly chilled.

  “In so many words, yes. Someone stole her body.”

  “It had to be Selena,” Elizabeth said. “I know it! And if Gracella really has all the evil magic we know she has and she came back last year, maybe the same thing’s happening again.”

  “As I said, you should discuss all of it with your grandfather.”

  “I understand. But he might not be back till late tonight?”

  “I’ll let him know right away that you wish to see him.”

  “Thank you, Jackson.” Elizabeth ran her gaze over the entire hall, her eyes lingering on the enormous stage. “It’s frightening, all of it.” She needed to talk to Freddy.

  Jackson nodded gravely. “Mr. Falls,” he said. “That’s who can straighten this out.”

  * * *

  Elizabeth burst into the camera obscura room five minutes later. “Hey!” Freddy called to her. “I thought you might—”

  “Freddy!” Elizabeth said as she raced up the ramp to him. “You’re not gonna believe everything that’s happened today. I went to the cemetery, and I had a really weird conversation with Elana and her grandmother, and you won’t believe what I found out!”

  “Whoa! Slow down. What happened?”

  “Someone stole Gracella’s body! Last year from the morgue. She was never buried.”

  Freddy’s mouth dropped open. “What?” His glasses started to slide down his nose, and he pressed them back up. “You’ve gotta be kidding me!”

  “I wish. And come with me. I think I figured something out.”

  As they headed to the Winterhouse seal, Elizabeth shared everything that had happened, and Freddy took it all in with somber interest. “Who do you think took…” Freddy said when Elizabeth had finished explaining everything. “You know, stole her…”

  “Who do I think stole Gracella’s body?” Elizabeth said. It felt creepy to speak those words. “I’m sure it was Selena Hiems, but I don’t know how she did it.”

  “Maybe other people helped her somehow,” Freddy said.

  “There are definitely other people involved. I just don’t know how many. Mrs. Vesper is for sure on my list of most suspicious people right now, and probably Elana, to
o. And the Powters aren’t far behind. I just don’t understand how it’s all related, or how it connects to what happened last year.”

  “There has to be another object they’re trying to get their hands on,” Freddy said. “That’s the only thing that makes sense.”

  “Someone wants to find the fourth door and get whatever it is that’s hidden in the passageway. And I think Mrs. Vesper thinks I can lead them to it. She’s connected to Gracella; I just know it. The Powters, too. I can’t quite figure out how it all fits together, but I’m going to talk to Norbridge when he comes back. He has to believe me now.”

  The two of them stood before the Winterhouse seal. “Okay,” Elizabeth said. “I think I may have started to figure things out. The clerk at that bookstore noticed something that helped me, and I’ve been playing around with the letters in my head ever since.”

  She pointed to the rectangle before them, with the words “Snow-Rioter” inside. “Look at that,” she said. “The word ‘winter’ is in ‘Snow-Rioter.’”

  Freddy peered at the words and then turned to Elizabeth with a look of pleasant comprehension. “But it leaves ‘s-o-r-o’ still, and that doesn’t add up to anything.”

  Elizabeth indicated the words on the floor again. “But add in ‘Drift,’ and then try it. ‘S-o-r-o-d-r-i-f-t.’”

  Once again, Freddy stared at the seal in deep contemplation. And then an expression of shocked awareness took over his face, and he gaped at Elizabeth. “‘First door,’” he said quietly. “It says ‘first door.’”

  “Yep!” Elizabeth said, nodding. “You got it. ‘First door winter’!”

  “Have you figured out the other ones, too?”

  “Not yet. But let’s try.”

  “It seems like there’s a season, a number, and the word ‘door’ in each one,” Freddy said, his thoughts already spinning the letters around every which way.

  “Let’s figure out the rest,” Elizabeth said.