by J. M. Stengl
My luggage was all there, with my carry-on neatly stacked on top of the roller bag. Had Manny brought it up while I was dancing at the party?
I unpacked my trunks, stowed my clothing in a large wardrobe with mirror doors, then visited the bathroom before heading back to Lady Beneventi’s suite. A lamp glowed in the sitting room and another in Lady Beneventi’s room. The old lady was snoring heavily, and the dog sat waiting for me. He growled, but the pompom on the end of his tail quivered. I found a knitted shawl hanging on a chair and used it to pick him up, turning out the lights on my way out.
Now I had to take him downstairs. The house was still, and most of the lights were out. I walked down that long hall past several closed doors. Beyond the sitting area, the opposite hallway was dark. Refusing to glance toward the gallery, I descended the stairs, my eyes wide and staring. The warm body in my arms was some comfort . . .
But I kept thinking about that party. The musicians and servers who never spoke. The dancers who’d latched onto me as if craving my company. Even the music had sounded strangely distant. The old people had seemed normal enough, but I couldn’t help wondering how they had all gotten home with no fuss at all.
In hindsight, nothing about that party seemed normal.
Maybe I was just overtired.
When I entered the service hall, I saw a welcoming light on in the kitchen and hurried to find a living person. But when I got there, it was empty. The dishwasher steamed and clicked on its drying cycle. I couldn’t find a switch for an exterior light, so I took the dog out onto a starlit lawn. Everything was peaceful . . . except me. I kept turning around, certain something or someone was sneaking up behind me. Who? Agostino the duke? The girl in the white boots? I knew I was being ridiculous, but my brain wouldn’t stop.
As soon as the dog was ready, I shut him into his kennel and returned to the kitchen. But at the hall door I stopped short, unable to switch off the overhead lights. A vision of Calvin flashed before my eyes—his rather fixed stare, his wavering features, his cool, dry hands.
Suddenly, everything about that party seemed not just peculiar but . . . wrong.
I flipped on all the light switches and sat on the floor with my back against the wall, breathing hard.
A door opened, and padding feet approached. “What are you doing?” It was the young maid in a pink bathrobe, her hair wet and slicked back.
I just looked at her. No plausible explanation came to mind.
Her annoyed expression shifted to amusement. “Oh. I get it. Come on. I’ll walk you up to your room.” She held out a hand and hauled me to my feet. I was far too frightened to speak, let alone spurn any help I could get, and I pretty much clung to her arm the whole way.
When we approached the stairs, I remembered the music drifting down. At the top of the steps, I shuddered, recalling the dancers just inside those closed doors . . .
She gave me a wry smile. “You’ll get used to it. Freaked me out the first time the people showed up. But they’re harmless, and the weird things always vanish at sundown. You’ve got nothing to worry about at night.”
The question “What are they?” hovered on my lips but didn’t emerge. I wasn’t sure I really wanted to know.
The maid stopped at my chamber door, and I reached inside to flip the old-fashioned switch. An overhead light banished the shadows, and there were my familiar things scattered around the room. “Thank you,” I managed to say.
She shrugged. “No problem. Lady B has to have a companion, but nobody here thinks you’ll stick it out.”
On that cheery note she closed the door, and I was on my own.
I opened my eyes to the trill of my phone alarm only to behold my frazzled self in a rumpled bed. Oh, joy! That ceiling mirror had to go. But how? It was far out of my reach and quite huge. Something to worry about another day.
Never in my life had I left my suite of rooms without makeup, let alone in my bathrobe, toting my toiletries in my repurposed carry-on bag. But in this ancient house—a haunted ancient house, may I add—I had no suite of rooms. No choices.
I dashed across the hall to the bathroom, flicked on the light, and paused in the doorway. It was far worse than I’d realized last night—a barren wasteland of white tile and ancient porcelain monstrosities. There was a claw-footed tub but no shower!
What had I ever done to deserve this purgatory?
The door did have a lock, but no bolt. Instead of a fan, a transom window above the door opened into the hall. Too high for anyone to spy through, yet still a bit disturbing.
When I turned on the tub’s spigot, there was a terrible groan just before blood-red liquid burst from the pipes. I let out a startled shriek before I realized it was rust. The pipes sounded like someone was taking a hammer to them, and red water belched from the tap with wrenching gurgles as if it were choking to death.
Would it be so bad if I quit this job now and my dad went to prison? I could find some rich man to marry—maybe a movie star—and keep my honorary title.
Yeah, right. It would be so bad. I had to stick this out. My niece and nephew had better be grateful.
The water did eventually run clear, and I bathed quickly. Even so, it was lukewarm by the time I finished rinsing my hair using my drinking cup. At least the towels were thick and soft; I wrapped my hair in one. Not until I scanned the walls for an outlet—there wasn’t one—and started ranting about life in the Dark Ages did I notice the real problem. My voice dried up in my throat. I slowly laid down my blow dryer and ran both hands over the tiled wall where the door had been just a few minutes earlier.
The wall was blank.
Panic boiled in my belly, and I staggered backward until the backs of my knees hit the tub and I nearly fell in.
The door was gone. Only the transom window remained above the place where the door should be.
This time I didn’t hold back: I screamed so loud in that tiny bathroom, I might have deafened myself—and I pretty much went ballistic, bouncing off the walls, the tub, the toilet. I jumped and jumped but couldn’t reach the window. The only thing in the room I could move to stand on was towels. That effort went nowhere.
I pounded my fists on the flat wall and shouted, “Help! Somebody help me!” If only I’d brought my cell phone! But I didn’t know any number to call even if I’d held it in my hand. What would I do? Take a selfie of myself trapped in the bathroom and post it with a plea for rescue because my vacation villa had swallowed me alive?
With my luck, Max would come running to the rescue.
Pacing the floor, I fretted and fumed. I would go mad from claustrophobia. I would freeze to death—no kidding, it was September, but the tile floor was like ice. I used the towels as throw rugs. This house, it hated me. Were the walls closer together than they’d been an hour ago?
When a maid finally did come upstairs, she was distinctly unhelpful.
“Hello?” I called. “Help! I’m trapped in the washroom.”
“Gillian?”
“Yes! While I was in the bath, the door vanished.”
“I see that.” The voice sounded both worried and amused. “Are you all right?”
“I have water and facilities handy,” I snapped, heavy on the sarcasm, “but I’m going crazy. How would you like to be trapped in a white-tiled box? What is going on?”
“Maybe one of the men can get you out. Where is Lady Beneventi?”
“Your guess is as good as mine. I’ve been in here since six.”
“Oh! I’ll go check on her if you’ll wait a minute.”
“Have I got a choice?” I grumbled, but she was gone. Lady Beneventi had Maria with her—she would be fine. I had nothing but my little white summer bathrobe!
A few minutes later I heard someone run past in the other direction. Then more people returned, all talking at once. I called and knocked on the wall, but a female voice said only, “Help is on the way!”
“Oh, now that’s reassuring,” I shouted back.
I pulled the
towel off my head, finger-combed my still-damp hair, and waited. My nightmare about being seen without makeup while wearing only my little white bathrobe? About to come true.
I was studying my colorless face in the mirror when I heard heavy footsteps, clanks, and deep voices. Something thumped against the wall. More rattles, squeaks, and thumps, and a hand knocked on the transom window. “Hey, uh, are you decent?” It was a man.
I jumped to my feet and tightened my robe’s belt. “Decent as I can be. Are you going to try to pull me out?”
A face appeared. A seriously cute face with a flashing smile. “Hello there. I’m Luigi.”
I folded my arms and glowered. “Pleased to meet you.”
He grinned. “Hey gorgeous, we talked about taking the window out or breaking through the wall, but the consensus is that it wouldn’t do any good.”
“What? Why not?” I snapped. “You’ve got to do something! Look at this place.” I indicated my surroundings, then clamped my arms back around my robe.
He looked regretful. “Most likely you won’t be able to leave the bathroom until sundown no matter what we do. That’s the way these things work.”
I nearly blew my stack. “That’s incredible! You’re saying I have to spend the whole day here in this run-down museum piece of a bathroom?”
He looked apologetic. “Most likely, but here.” There was a slithering sound, and the end of a rope dropped down the wall. “Climb up. If you can get even one finger out of the room, we’ll do what it takes to get you all the way out.”
I grabbed hold of the soft rope, which had knots tied in it at intervals. “You want me to climb this?”
“If you can, sure. If not, we’ll haul you up. My brother Luca is here too, although I could do it by myself.” He gave me another beaming smile.
“I’ll try.” The sill wasn’t more than three or four feet over my head. My hopes rose. “But not with an audience.”
“Right. We’ll be holding the other end.” His face vanished, and a moment later he called, “Ready!”
I gripped that rope with fingers and toes and used the knots to pull myself up to the window frame. What a relief to see out into the hall, something other than white paint and tile! But when I tried to shift one hand from the rope to the sill, it felt as if the window was closed even though it was open. I tried again, only to bash my knuckles on what looked like thin air. I beat on the barrier with my fist until my hand throbbed.
“No good, I guess,” one of the guys called.
A female voice muttered something like “I told you so.”
I couldn’t speak. I nearly fell while climbing down. Once back on the tiles and towels, I began to pace the length of my prison. Was I going crazy? No, I already was crazy—and all of them too! Sundown, they kept saying. All the weird things ended at sundown.
What was with this cursed house?
After more discussion in the hall, I heard the ladder creak, and another face appeared in the opening. “Sorry you can’t get out. We figured that might happen. I’m Luca, by the way. We brought you some stuff. Here—catch!” He dropped two cloth sacks, one after another, into my hands. “Our mother suggested a cushion to sit on and some reading material.” He peered in at my carpeting of towels. “Want a blanket?
“Yes, please.”
Soon I was situated with a folding chair, a blanket, two current magazines, two of Lady Beneventi’s ancient paperback novels, and food and drink enough for several people.
The first brother appeared one more time to say, “You’ll be out of here at sundown, of course.”
“What do you mean ‘of course’? Why sundown? What’s going on here? Does this haunted mansion regularly trap and eat people?”
He grimaced. “As far as I know, this is a first. If you need anything else, shout. One of the girls will be in Lady B’s suite with the door open.” He paused, then rested his forearms on the sill and his chin on his arms. “Staff members have a pool party every Saturday in summer. Consider yourself invited; I’d be happy to escort you.” His face brightened. “Say, if you’d like company in there while you’re locked away . . . I could ask for time off this afternoon.”
“In your dreams.” I projected the temperature of bathroom tile. “Thanks for the help, but not a chance.”
His brows rose high. “Anything for your ladyship,” he said with an edge of laughter in his voice, then climbed down the ladder.
As if I would attend any social event with the hired help, let alone agree to be trapped in a bathroom for hours with a strange man—cute or not!
I suppose it was a restful day. I took more than one nap, skimmed the magazines, and made good headway on a very silly book. I also ate more than half the food in the sack.
All was quiet in the hall, so when the door reappeared at sundown, I fluffed my hair—just in case—then picked up my toiletries bag, opened the door, and stepped out of my prison.
“Gillian!”
No! I spun around, clutching my bundle to my chest. The two brothers, who had been sitting with their backs against the wall, clambered to their feet. “Figured we’d welcome you back to the outside world at sundown,” the handsome one informed me with a big grin. “Francesca is putting Lady B to bed. Why don’t you come on downstairs—I mean, after you’re dressed—and eat dinner with the rest of us tonight?”
Words failed me. I let out one outraged squawk and ran for the refuge of my room. It was no luxury suite, but at least it wasn’t tiled.
The next morning, I rose prepared for . . . well, just about anything. What could be worse than being trapped in a tiny bathroom all day? Upon some consideration, I dressed in a knee-length cotton sundress with a flowy skirt and added matching yellow sandals with straps and laces. After Lady B’s fury about my short skirt, I didn’t dare attempt shorts, but hopefully she would approve this dress. I tamed my wavy hair into a thick bun on the back of my head, scrutinized my minimal makeup, and nodded approval.
“Respectful and accommodating” was my motto of the day.
I could do this. What could go wrong? I refused to contemplate another room eating me or spectral figures standing around my bed when I woke one morning . . . oops. Too late. Now that mind-worm was stuck . . .
The maid had outlined the old lady’s morning routine for me the night before; it seemed straightforward enough. Maria took care of Lady Beneventi’s personal needs; my role covered her social needs.
“Good morning, Lady Beneventi,” I greeted her as she emerged from her room and walked to a little table just inside the balcony doors.
No response. She sat down and sulked.
I opened the balcony doors to admit fresh morning air, brought the laden breakfast tray from the dumbwaiter, poured the coffee, and went over the day’s social schedule with her while eating a marvelous breakfast. Maria poured her own coffee and settled with a newspaper in a corner of the room.
Considering our sweeping view of Vetrician countryside, the amazing food, fresh morning air, and bright blue skies, I should have felt blissfully happy. Unfortunately, Lady Beneventi kept up a running commentary.
“Those shoes are the most ridiculous I’ve ever seen,” she stated as soon as I sat down. “And you wear far too much eyeliner. Cleopatra could get away with it, but on a pale redhead it’s garish. And why don’t you get a stylish cut instead of messing with all that frizzy red hair?”
Mind you, my hair is wavy, not curly, and never, ever frizzy. Well . . . okay, rarely.
When I didn’t respond, she snapped, “You look like one of those fashion-doll toys,” she growled. “Smiling and fake.”
“Better than frowning and ugly,” I muttered. Maria’s head popped upright, and she gave me a warning glare and shake of her head. Fine. I could hold my tongue, even if it choked me.
After breakfast, while the old lady sat back to enjoy her coffee and the view, I studied the social calendar in greater detail, marking the daily, weekly, and monthly activities. This particular day was empty of outside
events, but in general the old lady kept a busy social schedule.
“I want to walk in the gardens before the day heats up,” she announced abruptly. “Get my wheelchair ready.” She pointed at the shiny device in one corner.
Remembering Lady B’s dancing at the cocktail party, I asked, “Do you really need a wheelchair? You seem quite strong to me.”
Her head snapped around, and cold blue eyes impaled me. “Don’t question my choices, young woman! Go get my dog—you should have brought him up earlier—and when I’ve finished my coffee, we’ll go.”
I obeyed. What else could I do? But a thousand retorts ran through my mind even as I ran downstairs. When I returned with the dog, Maria had disappeared and Lady Beneventi was already in her wheelchair, so I plopped the creature in her lap, and we were off on our first adventure.
We took the elevator down. I bumped into the doorway twice while trying to maneuver the unwieldy chair and took a tongue-lashing for my blunders. “If I live through this outing,” she snapped, “we’ll need to take my chair to a body shop to remove all the dents and scrapes you’re putting on it, you clumsy girl.”
My tongue ached from being bitten so much. Oh, how I wanted to tell this woman off, and then some! Thinking of my family was inadequate deterrence—they were living their ordinary privileged lives while I slaved for a wicked old tyrant.
From the entry hall, we took the hallway past the kitchen to a side door. The veranda and garden had ramps for a wheelchair, and the garden paths were gently sloped, which helped a great deal. “Why don’t you get an electric wheelchair?” I asked as we strolled along. “It would give you more independence.”
“I’m not lacking in independence,” she retorted. “I dislike those whining things. If you’re not strong enough to push one little old woman around, you’d best find another position.”
Stifling a sigh, I pushed. And pushed. We must have traveled every path on the extensive property that day—so much for walking before the day got too hot. Despite sunscreen, plenty of water, and my floppy white straw hat, I was overheated by the time Lady Beneventi directed me into a garden featuring a pond with a stone frog spitting water, and a tree-shaded bench beside a marble statue of a young man playing a pipe. She ordered me to stop, then climbed out of her chair, let her dog off his leash, and walked over to sit on the end of the bench closest to the statue. She looked fresh and comfortable despite the heat, sitting there, swigging from her water bottle.