House of Secrets

by Chris Columbus

“Leave me alone!” the woman screamed, dabbing her fingertips in the trickle of blood on her head. “He tried to kill me!”

  “Calm down,” said Will, stepping forward cautiously. He covered the woman in his bomber jacket and pressed a handkerchief against her head to staunch the blood flow. Cordelia watched, fascinated; she thought she recognized the woman’s red hair and olive-green eyes.

  “Who are you?” she asked.

  The woman didn’t answer.

  “Brendan!” Will ordered. “Give me my Webley, you thief!”

  Scared and ashamed, Brendan handed the gun to Will.

  “I specifically told you not to touch my gun,” said the pilot. “Why would you do something so ridiculously irresponsible?!”

  “I just . . . I wanted to be safe,” Brendan said.

  “Safe?” asked an incredulous Will. “By stealing my gun you put yourself and the rest of us in danger!”

  “I was on an important mission. I wanted a man’s weapon.”

  “A gun doesn’t make you a man. You can’t steal manhood. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Will,” said Brendan, mortified.

  “Very well.” Will holstered the gun. “Now, miss,” he said to the woman, “my name is Draper. Wing Commander Will Draper. Royal Flying Corps, Squadron Seventy. These are my traveling companions Brendan, Cordelia, and Eleanor. Who might you be?”

  Cordelia scowled, remembering: That was the same way Will introduced himself to me in the forest.

  “First you had better control that little lunatic!” the redhead said, defiantly blowing a hair away from her face. “If he had decent aim, he would’ve killed me. Plus I don’t like the way he’s looking at me.”

  “Hey, Pippi Longstocking, I’m not looking at you. I have no interest in redheads with freckles on their—”

  “That’s quite enough!” Will said.

  Brendan clammed up. “Miss,” Will continued, “I completely understand your discomfort and embarrassment. Plus you’ve been injured. Cordelia, can you fetch the young lady some clothes?”

  “Fetch?” Cordelia asked. “I’m not a dog. And I know her name. It’s Penelope Hope.”

  The woman gave Cordelia a shocked look. “You know my name?”

  “I read it in a book by Denver Kristoff,” Cordelia said. “You’re Penelope Hope, a nurse living in Frimley during World War One.”

  “No . . . ,” Penelope said, utterly bewildered. “I don’t even know what a Frimley is. My name is Penelope Hope, yes, but I’m a maid. Here. At Kristoff House. And I would really like some clothes.”

  “We’ll get you something,” Cordelia said, climbing down from the attic with Eleanor. She thought about how twisted this situation had become: in the book The Fighting Ace, Penelope Hope was the woman Will Draper fell in love with.

  Back in the attic, Will and Brendan kept their distance from Penelope. She stared out the window at the shingled waves, wrapped in Will’s bomber jacket. The sun was up and shimmering.

  “Are we floating on the sea? How is that possible?”

  “First, please tell us where you come from,” said Will.

  “The closet,” said Brendan.

  “What?” asked Will.

  “Last night she was the skeleton from the closet. This morning she was . . . her.”

  “You’re confusing me,” Penelope said. “I was a skeleton?”

  “Please, allow me.” Will eased Brendan aside. “Penelope, do you know what year it is?”

  “1913.”

  “Afraid not. According to my companions it’s 2013.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “Have you ever seen one of these?” Will reached into his pocket and handed Penelope something that took Brendan by surprise.

  “My PSP! Where’d you get that?”

  “You steal my gun; I steal your games. Miss Hope? Any idea?”

  “Not a clue,” Penelope said, turning the device around.

  “Allow me to demonstrate.”

  Will turned it on. Penelope’s mouth hung open. “It’s like a photograph . . . in color?! And it’s moving?!? How?!”

  For the next ten minutes Brendan and Will filled Penelope in on their adventures—and Brendan related a century of world history. It was a long, involved conversation with lots of smiles and jokes, and by the end of it, Brendan had forgiven Penelope for waking up scared and kicking him. Then the Walker sisters returned, bringing a dress for Penelope: purple and green, with a crocheted collar and hulking shoulder pads. They all left the attic so she could change.

  “That’s the nasty dress Grandma gave you for Christmas!” Brendan told Cordelia. “Why couldn’t you get her something prettier?”

  “Brendan’s got a crush on the new girl!” teased Eleanor.

  Brendan was ready to defend himself, but he got help from Will: “So? Penelope’s intelligent, well-spoken—especially for a maid—and quite beautiful. Your brother could do a lot worse.”

  Brendan gave Will a horrified look.

  “You two,” said Cordelia, “don’t get enchanted by this woman. There’s a character in Denver Kristoff’s book The Fighting Ace named Penelope Hope, and I’ll bet this maid was the inspiration for her. Unless you want to have a crush on the same girl as Kristoff . . . ”

  “I don’t have a crush on anybody!” Brendan said.

  “And I’m a free man; I can do as I please,” said Will.

  Cordelia looked crestfallen. Will sighed, put a hand on her shoulder, and tried to be as understanding as possible, searching for the proper words.

  “Cordelia,” he said, “I’m too old for you.”

  “Too old?” Cordelia was suddenly livid. Will’s words had exactly the opposite effect than he had intended. “You’re only seventeen! Two years older than me! You lied about how old you were to join the army.”

  Will sighed. “In the future, I’m going to keep away from girls who’ve read books about me.”

  “Wait, Will’s a kid, like us?” asked Eleanor. “Cool. Now it won’t be so creepy if we get back and he goes to the prom with Deal—”

  “I’m dressed!” Penelope called from the attic.

  They all went up, with the tension between Cordelia and Will very much unresolved.

  Penelope Hope looked graceful even in the awful dress. As she sat in the window and told her story, Will darted his eyes around the room so he wouldn’t stare at her. Brendan stared. Eleanor thought she was pretty. Cordelia thought she was okay.

  Penelope began. “I started working at Kristoff House as a laundry maid, above stairs, two years ago—er, I mean, in 1911. Of course, when I took the job, I knew that Mr. Kristoff was an odd one. Even when he stopped by to shake my hand during the interview, there was something dark behind his eyes. I assumed he was thinking about his stories. After I was hired, I learned that he didn’t eat or sleep when he was working on one.”

  “With your limited education,” Cordelia said, “it might be difficult to understand the work habits of a genius.”

  “I don’t mean that he worked hard,” said Penelope, annoyed at Cordelia’s dig. “I mean that he literally did not sleep or eat.” Her voice got quiet. “Things got much darker when Kristoff became obsessed with something he called his ‘greatest work.’”

  “His greatest work?” asked Cordelia. “What was it?”

  “At first I assumed he was writing another novel,” said Penelope. “But he was no longer working in his study. He started in the attic for several months, and then moved somewhere more private to work, someplace hidden. He would disappear for days. And when he returned, his eyes were deep red, bloodshot. There was always a mad grin on his face. At this point, he started to develop an affection for me. It was all rather disturbing, but I played along because I was frightened of him. I would talk with him, listen to his problems, worries. Sometimes he just rambled incoherently. Once, when I asked about his ‘great work,’ he became quite furious. Slapped me. Told me it wasn’t meant for simple-minded people like me. The great bo
ok was meant for someone with extreme intelligence and power, someone very gifted. Someone like him.”

  “He slapped you?” said Eleanor. “That’s horrible!”

  “Not the worst thing that’s happened to me,” said Penelope, staring at the waves.

  “Well, I can assure you it won’t be happening anymore,” said Will. “You’re with us now, and I’ll make sure you’re protected.”

  “Thank you,” Penelope said, moving on. “I tried to put Kristoff and his great book out of my mind. But nearly a year later, I discovered the hidden side of Kristoff House.”

  “You found the secret hallway?” Brendan asked.

  “Hallway, as in one? There isn’t just one!” Penelope laughed. “This is a house of secrets. I don’t think even Kristoff knows them all.”

  “How did you discover them?” asked Will.

  “I was dusting the library and bumped into a wall lamp. I reached up and attempted to adjust it. But when I moved it—”

  “A door slid open,” said Brendan.

  “How did you know?” asked Penelope.

  “Scooby-Doo,” said Will.

  “Who?”

  “A talking canine who—never mind.”

  Penelope continued, “I went inside and found a passageway with torches and ghastly books. Past a wine cellar and a closet, I found another passage, and another . . . it was endless. Every night, I sneaked back in, discovering new hidden corridors and chambers. The house was so much bigger than it appeared from outside. Then, just a few hours ago—I can’t believe it was a century ago—I ventured so deep that I heard drips of water that sounded as if they echoed from caverns . . . and that’s when I found Kristoff.”

  “What was he doing?” Cordelia asked.

  “He was inside . . . it’s difficult to say. I’d describe it as a cave of delights.”

  “A cave of delights?”

  “A hollowed-out cavern,” continued Penelope, “filled with everything a man could want. Beautiful gems, treasure, women, wine, servants. Kristoff was dancing, singing . . . he looked mad, raving with joy. It was like heaven, or hell. Like something from a dream. But definitely real—”

  “Absolutely fascinating,” Will said. He had given up trying not to look at Penelope. It felt as if he’d known her for a long time. “You’re a wonderful storyteller.”

  “I could listen to her for hours,” agreed Brendan.

  “Then shush and let her finish!” said Cordelia.

  “Thank you,” Penelope said. “In the center of the cavern, on a pedestal as if it were a beautiful statue, was a book.”

  “I bet I know which one,” said Brendan.

  “I assumed that this was the great book Mr. Kristoff was working on, of course. It had no title, just a picture on the cover—”

  “Let me guess: like an eye?” Brendan asked.

  “That’s right!”

  “Look at that. Pop quiz winner, right here.”

  Penelope ignored him. In fact, she aimed her story at Cordelia, who despite her prickliness seemed to be the most serious listener. “When I saw the book, I had this overwhelming urge to touch it. I wanted to immediately open it and see what was inside. It was obvious from the book’s position that it was the key to everything. I stepped out of the shadows toward the book . . . and that’s when Kristoff saw me.”

  “Uh-oh,” said Eleanor.

  “He demanded to know how I’d found his private place. But more importantly, he was concerned about his daughter.”

  “The Wind Witch?” Eleanor asked, confused.

  “No . . . your brother told me about this ‘Wind Witch,’ but as I knew her, Kristoff’s daughter was a sweet girl named Dahlia. Mr. Kristoff adored her. She was the only thing he cared about more than his writing! Even though Kristoff would disappear for days to work, whenever he was with Dahlia, he was the perfect example of a doting father. And when he was with Dahlia, he never had that crazy bloodshot look in his eyes. Or that mad grin.”

  “So what happened?” Brendan asked.

  “Mr. Kristoff became incandescent with rage. He called me horrible names, said that because of my carelessness, Dahlia could have followed me. And this was a place that Dahlia could never see! And a state she could never see him in. I promised Kristoff it wouldn’t happen again. I begged him to believe me . . . and he suddenly became very, very calm and told me not to move, to stay perfectly still. He turned around and went to the book. He stood in front of it for a few moments, writing something. I’ll never know what he wrote, because when he turned around, he was holding a mace, and it was on fire.”

  “A flaming mace?” Brendan said. “Awesome.”

  “Oh no, this mace didn’t inspire any awe in me,” Penelope said. “It was terrifying. Like a weapon for Satan himself. Even though it was made of black metal, it burned as if it were made of wood, and the flames didn’t even make Kristoff flinch. I didn’t understand what I was seeing. And when I looked at Kristoff . . . ” Penelope trailed off as if it hurt to remember.

  “What about him?” Cordelia asked.

  “His face was . . . twisted. He had this hideous grin on one half and this horrible frown on the other, almost as if his mouth were too wide for his face. He said to me, ‘You have angered the Storm King.’ Then he raised the mace over his head and swung it toward me—and I woke up in this attic.”

  “The Storm King?” repeated Eleanor.

  “Yeah, like the Wind Witch,” said Brendan.

  “Denver Kristoff and his daughter must have both fallen under the spell of the book,” said Cordelia. “This explains a lot—”

  “Like that scar on your skeleton!” Brendan said to Penelope. She stared at him in confusion, so he went on, “When we found your bones, you had this dent above your eye, like a big chip taken outta your skull, which must’ve been where the mace whacked you—”

  “Stop it! Don’t remind me! Denver Kristoff killed me in cold blood!” shouted a very upset Penelope.

  “There, there. Don’t,” said Will, patting her back.

  “Yeah, look at the bright side,” Brendan said, nervously trying to correct himself. “The attic healed you perfectly. You look fine. I mean, not fine fine. Decent. You know.”

  “Thank you, I suppose,” said Penelope, sniffling.

  “Penelope—” Eleanor started.

  “Hold on, Nell,” said Cordelia. “Penelope, it’s horrible what you went through, but I have another question: did Denver Kristoff ever mention someone named Rutherford Walker?”

  “You mean your ancestor?” asked Penelope. Cordelia looked at her with suspicion. She explained, “Brendan told me his last name, and I assumed there must be a connection. I’m sorry to say it, but Kristoff hates Walker. If Walker ever came near the house, we were supposed to report him to the police. Isn’t he some sort of charlatan physician?”

  “He was our great-great-grandfather,” said Cordelia, “and we really don’t need to hear any more awful things about him.”

  “But what about—” Eleanor started, and this time Will spoke over her. “Dr. Walker was a flimflam man who prescribed all sorts of absurd concoctions and tonics, but we should let bygones be—”

  “Stop talking!” Eleanor yelled suddenly. “All of you keep interrupting me, and I’m trying to say something important! It doesn’t matter if Kristoff hated Walker or Walker hated Kristoff! What matters is finding our parents and going home! Don’t you care about that anymore?”

  Everyone kept quiet as Eleanor took deep breaths.

  “Of course,” said Cordelia, “but we’re trying to solve the mystery—”

  “Your mystery! My mystery is when I’m gonna get to eat Chinese food with Mom and Dad again! Or go to Golden Gate Park! Or see my friends! Maybe I should just go off by myself and find that stupid cave with the book!”

  Eleanor ran toward the hole in the attic floor and jumped down.

  “Nell! Wait!” her siblings called, but by the time they reached the hole, she was running down the hall.
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br />   Cordelia turned to Will. “We’ve got to stop her. She’s not behaving rationally.” She waited for Will to move. “You coming? We should probably stick together.”

  “Uh . . . ” Will looked at Penelope and said quietly, “Do you want to go with the Walkers?”

  Penelope shook her head.

  “I’ll stay here and protect Penelope,” Will announced.

  “What are you two, joined at the hip?” Cordelia asked. “What are you scared of?”

  “Mr. Kristoff may be downstairs,” said Penelope. “If he sees that I’m alive, he may try to kill me again.”

  “Kristoff’s dead!” said Brendan.

  “So was I.”

  “She has a point,” Will said, giving Penelope a quick smile. “This Kristoff git may return for her—and if he does, I’d like to go a few rounds with him, whether he calls himself the Storm King or the king of France. We have unfinished business.”

  “You knew Kristoff?” asked Penelope.

  “Not exactly,” explained Will. “But he knew me. Messed with my head good and proper when I found out I was merely one of his creations. Made me question everything about myself.”

  “What do you mean ‘one of his creations’?” asked Penelope.

  “I was a character in one of Kristoff’s novels,” said Will. “Let me tell you all about it. I was flying a mission over . . . ”

  Cordelia scoffed and hopped down into the upstairs hallway. Brendan followed. As they went to the spiral stairs, calling for Eleanor, Cordelia vented, “I can’t believe him. ‘Protect Penelope,’ my butt. He’s got one thing on his mind. I saw that look in his eyes, the way he’s turning on that British charm—”

  “Don’t worry,” said Brendan. “He also has British teeth.”

  Cordelia laughed and hugged her brother. She truly appreciated him sometimes. Who needs Will anyway?

  They hustled down the stairs and saw Eleanor sitting on the bottom step, crying, with a half-eaten can of corn beside her. Cordelia went to comfort her sister—

  When a huge boom sounded outside the house.

  It was an explosion the Walkers had heard before, somewhere in the movies or on TV. They all looked up. Before they could figure out what it was—