by CeeCee James
“What?” Miss Janice stood, causing a magazine to topple from her lap to the floor.
“Yes. Uh, It’s Mr. Mark. He’s deceased.” I whispered the last word.
The effect on Miss Janice was astounding. First she stiffened like a statue, her eyes searching my face as if trying to discern what terrible prank had been played on her. Then she crumpled to the ground, half landing on the couch like a tower of blocks being pushed over.
“Miss Janice?” I gasped.
She didn’t move. Not two people in one day! I rushed to the door and screamed for help.
Chapter Three
The police arrived with all their usual pomp and glory, sirens and lights. Eventually, everyone in the house had been diligently interviewed. Since I hardly knew the man, there hadn’t been much for me to add other than our brief morning meeting.
The officer questioning me hadn’t appeared interested that Mark brought a china cup with him, but he did press if I knew whether or not the chauffeur suffered from depression. I thought the question quite odd.
Later however, through the housekeepers’ grapevine, I learned there’d been no brake marks leading up to the car driving off the embankment. The news was upsetting, and I could only hope he’d been distracted instead of trying to hurt himself.
The officer’s final inquiry had to do if there were any recent strangers at the house. To be honest, I hardly felt as though I belonged myself and certainly wouldn’t recognize anyone else who was new.
After the police left and Miss Janice attended to, Marguerite found me. Her normally starchy personality had softened noticeably. “I heard they put it upon you to give the news. That must have been quite difficult. Thank you.”
“I feel terrible she fainted,” I murmured.
“After the shock of her husband’s passing, her constitution isn’t strong.”
I thought quite the opposite. Miss Janice’s constitution appeared plenty strong enough in my experience. Still this was a good opportunity to learn new information. “What happened to Mr. Thornberry?”
“He passed away.”
Obviously. “Had he been sick?”
Marguerite nodded. “Yes, he had.” However the questions seemed to trigger her professionalism because her energy returned to its normal briskness. “Come along, now. Let’s get ready for the evening.”
On my way to the utility closet I spotted Butler. The poor man appeared quite shaken. Obviously, I didn’t know him well, and our introduction had definitely occurred on the wrong foot. But I couldn’t help the compassionate jolt which spurred me to walk over.
“I’m so sorry, Butler.” Up close I saw his coloring was ashen. I reached for his arm. “Are you okay? Do you need to sit for a moment?”
His eyes held a faraway glint. “I saw a ghost.”
“A ghost?”
Hearing his question echoed back seemed to jostle him from his reverie. He shook his head and weakly smiled. “It’s nothing. Never mind.”
“This has been such a shock.”
“Yes, well, that’s life. Carry on.” With that, he turned abruptly from me and strode down the hall.
He hadn’t fooled me. His gray skin betrayed his denial.
I filled the cleaning basket and headed down to the parlor. Marguerite was already in there, along with Mary, and together, we lowered blinds, plucked dying blooms from the multiple flower bouquets, and fluffed what felt like a million cushions. After sending a karate chop to the middle of each pillow, Marguerite lit the fireplace in the living room. Then with a satisfied nod, she left Mary and me to prepare the dining room.
Mary found a cart loaded with table settings, including a new centerpiece the size of two stock pots, and pushed it into the dining room. She hoisted the shriveling bouquet from the table with a grunt and replaced it with the new arrangement.
“Lovely,” I admired.
“She doesn’t skimp on her flowers.” Mary handed me a set of white gloves. “First we have to polish everything. Miss Janice has a keen eye for any smudges.”
I lifted a heavy fork from the cedar chest and swiped it with the lint-free cloth.
A worry line formed between Mary’s brows. “So, tomorrow is the big dinner. No word that it will be canceled, though I can’t imagine why not, given today’s events.”
“Do you know who’s coming?”
“There will be the neighbors, of course. Along with the who’s who of town. I believe even the state senator is supposed to attend. I’m sure they’re already gossiping like a bunch of hens. They’ll be here looking for blood, mark my words.”
I set down the utensil, solemnly. “Were you and Mark close?”
Mary shook her head, a few curls escaping the ponytail she’d made an effort to tame her hair with. “Mark wasn’t really close to anyone but Mr. Thornberry. It’s terrible what happened.” She murmured under her breath. “But I can’t say I’m surprised.”
“Really? He wasn’t well liked then?”
“Just the other day I overheard Miss Janice mention to Marguerite she might be replacing him. However, she had this weird loyalty to him due to her husband. I didn’t like him. He was nothing but a nasty gossip to me.” Mary’s voice lowered. “Do you know Lucy?”
I nodded, thinking she was the girl who worked in the laundry.
“Her cousin was one of the cops here today. He told Lucy there were no car keys found in the car!” She eyed me to see if I understood the implications, and then deciding not to take any chances, she spelled it out. “Apparently someone took them.”
“Someone was there? You think that means he was murdered?” I raised my eyebrows.
“No brake marks. No keys….” She shrugged casually as if to say take from it what you want. “There’s something else. He also told Lucy there was a bright lipstick kiss on Mark’s cheek and a bruise on his neck.”
“What? That’s crazy!”
Her gaze swept behind her, secretive. Seeing no one, she whispered, “Do you like to read?”
The abrupt subject change made my head spin. “Yes, I guess so. Doesn’t everybody?”
She snorted and shook out the cloth. “Not everybody. Anyway, we’re going to be talking about Mark tonight. Marguerite said you’re invited if you’re interested.”
The surprises kept coming. “To what, exactly?”
Mary ignored the question. “How do you feel about the classics? Jane Eyre?”
“I—I’ve never read it.”
Mary smiled. “You can fake it. That’s what I do sometimes.” She folded the polishing cloth and put it away. “I’ll come by to get you later. Not a word to anyone.” She started to push the cart away. Frowning, she joggled the wheel when it jammed. “We’re done here. You could go check with Cook to see if she needs help until we’re needed for dinner service.”
With that, Mary left me to my own devices. I found a bathroom to wash my hands. The mirror reflected my face like a ghost, my drab brown hair pulled quickly in a bun. One slightly crooked front tooth. Mom always told me it gave me character. I embraced it, never wanting braces. As an adult, maybe now I wished she’d insisted, but I wasn’t about to dive into that can of worms.
I pinched my cheeks in an attempt to add color. I’d never been so pale in my life, but the months of caring for Mom had taken their toll. Sighing, I straightened the hand towel and returned to the hallway.
The manor was the size of a museum. My footfalls echoed as I walked past a line of paintings, all stern faces of previous owners. None of them seemed pleased that I was there.
The expansive floor reflected the light of the sconces, leaving soft moons on the hardwood. I wasn’t in a hurry to find the kitchen. I followed the hallway to the left, past the dining room, past the formal living room, the music room, and more.
And came to my first roadblock. At the intersection of yet another hallway stood a heavy mahogany door, richly polished and beveled in trim. A great carved lion’s head roared from the center, its lips curled and eyes full o
f venom.
I stood there for a moment, knowing it certainly did not lead to the kitchen or to any other place I was allowed to be, yet the ferocious lion’s face called to me. The wrinkles in the feline’s nose as it snarled; the eye teeth that appeared like daggers fascinated me in their life-like quality. I reached to touch one and shivered at the sharp point.
It couldn’t hurt to take a look inside, could it? After all, I did work here. Lived here. It seemed only common sense that I should know the location of every room.
That decided, I cautiously opened the door. The hinges creaked, and I froze, convinced someone must have heard it. The noise practically announced intruder and the very stiffness suggested it had been a very long time since it had last been opened.
There was no raised alarm, so I slid through the narrow gap rather than open the door any further.
Velvety blackness met me. The floor to ceiling curtains remained closed, the darkness wrapping the room’s secrets. As quietly as possible, I eased the door shut.
Something was wrong with this place. I could feel it. Nothing obvious stood out, other than an odd hollow quality, like a squash ferociously scraped of its seeds. I swallowed and stared about, then took another step.
The scraped out skin feeling wasn’t exaggerated. As soon as my eyes adjusted I could see most of the furniture had been removed, and what remained now covered with sheets. Not white ones.
Black like shrouds.
The rug had been rolled and leaned against the wainscoting. The center sagged from its weight. At the other end, a great fireplace held nothing but ashes. I shivered as a sudden cold draft blew from the chimney like it was attached to a catacomb.
Great bookshelves lined every spare wall space. They stretched from floor to ceiling, corner to corner. An elegant rail with an attached ladder ran along the top.
My stomach dropped. Every single shelf was empty.
The beautiful craftsmanship made the stripped status nearly unbearable. I walked over to examine them, even running my fingers along their smooth surface. My fingertips came away coated in dust.
I wiped my hand clean and walked toward the fireplace. The hearth was so massive I could have easily sat inside and had a meal. A wrought iron tool set stood to the side of the olive marble mantle, each piece topped with a lion’s head.
Something glittered white in the thick of the ashes. I lifted a poker from the stand and stirred the remnants. The white object spun and buried itself deeper in the ash. Squatting, I tried to fish it out. I leaned forward, stretching my fingers.
The air whistled down the chimney again. And then I heard something behind me.
I whirled around.
The sheet-wrapped furniture stared back at me, bleak and quiet.
There it was again. Shuffling. This time from my left.
The tiny hairs on my arms prickled. I stood up, my hand clenching tighter on the poker.
And heard a soft meow.
“Kitty?” I called quietly. I returned the tool and then moved to look behind a large covered piece. I lifted the sheet and discovered a desk but no cat.
Where was he? I was sure I’d heard him. “Here, kitty, kitty, kitty,” I coaxed.
“What are you doing in here?” a sharp voice demanded.
Chapter Four
I whirled around fast, the blood draining from my head in a dizzy rush.
Miss Janice stood in the doorway. Her lips formed two sharp lines, nearly nonexistent in their firmness. She demanded again, “I asked, what are you doing in here?”
“I’m so sorry!” In my search for the cat, I hadn’t heard her enter.
The woman glared as she slowly walked in, her square heels clacking against the polished floorboards. “Have you not been told that no one is allowed in here?”
“I’m sorry. I… I heard a cat.”
“There are no cats here. I detest cats.”
I tried to apologize, but my tongue felt glued to the roof of my mouth. It didn’t matter. The woman stabbed me with a steely glare. “Get out. If I see you in here again, you’re fired.”
My worst fear realized, I ran from the room. I could barely see as I rushed into the kitchen. Tears burned my eyes.
The heart of the house bubbled with liveliness now that everyone pitched in to finish the evening meal. Pans banged and people whirled in busy circles, whisking, stirring, and slicing meat. Nobody paid me any attention.
I hid in the far corner. I didn’t want to talk to anyone, just lick my wounds after Miss Janice’s tongue lashing.
“Laura Lee, is that you? What are you doing over there?” asked Marguerite, sweat dotting her forehead.
I took a deep breath. I really didn’t want to confess what had just happened. Honestly, I hadn’t thought wandering into a room would carry such dire ramifications, but to have people know that I had been almost fired? My mother would be mortified.
“Girl, what is wrong with you?” Concern filled the housekeeper’s voice as she hurried over. At her question, three of the cooks glanced in my direction.
I shook my head and squeezed my eyes shut.
“Now you tell me right this instant. Has someone hurt you?”
This was ridiculous. “I made a mistake.”
Marguerite lurched back as her eyes tightened with horror. “Tell me it’s not the good china?”
“No.”
“Not the Ming vase?”
I gave another quick shake.
The housekeeper relaxed. “Well then, tell me. It can’t be all that bad.” Her forehead raised in wrinkles again, and she whispered. “It wasn’t the Egyptian sheets, was it? The iron is so wonky.”
“No.” I whispered. “I… I went into the library.”
Gasps rose around the room, revealing a profusion of sneaky eavesdroppers. Even Marguerite appeared horrified. “And why would you do that? Don’t you know the rules?”
I shook my head. “I can assure you, though, that Miss Janice has informed me. When she caught me in there.”
The gasps morphed into wavering declarations of, “No!”
“Is this true?” Marguerite’s eyes locked onto mine.
“She told me to get out. That if I were found in there again I would be fired.” I wiped my cheek of the betraying tear. “I’m sorry. I’d only meant to have a quick peek. But then to see all the books gone… the shock kept me too long.”
The other women cast a few pitying glances.
“Tch, tch,” Marguerite murmured and softly patted my arm. “It’s okay, love. I daresay there isn’t one among us who hasn’t taken a peek into that great room. Though none of us were ever caught before. Had a little more sense than to do it when she was around, I suppose.”
Marguerite sighed and patted my shoulder again, this time firmer. “No use crying over spilled milk. You’ve seen it and no harm’s done. Come on. Wash your face, and let’s have a cup of tea.”
“Tea! Marguerite! We’re right in the middle of making dinner,” Cook scolded.
“Well, keep on working, I’m not stopping you,” Marguerite shot back. She fussed with me until she’d herded me over to the round table and then bustled into the main part of the kitchen, where she dodged and wiggled around the other workers until she had two cups and a tea kettle in hand. Humming in the way a preoccupied mother comforts a fussy child, she poured the cups full, added a large scoop of sugar, and then pushed it over to me.
“Drink that, love. You’ll feel better. It’s never fun to be threatened, especially by the owner. I guarantee you, though, that woman’s bite is just as bad as the bark.”
“What did the room look like?” asked a girl who cut corn from the cob.
“Julie, you pay attention to what’s before you and don’t worry,” Cook reprimanded, her hands full with carrying a steaming pot to the sink.
Marguerite frowned. “She can ask whatever she likes.”
“Mar, I’ll kindly remind you to stay charge of your own girls and leave me to mine.”
“W
hat’s that? We have freedom of speech here. As long as they work, they can talk.” Marguerite held firm, the cup halfway to her mouth.
Cook looked as if to respond, and I wondered who had the highest rank in the household.
Marguerite settled back into the chair like a fat hen wiggling in her nest. “Go ahead and answer, Laura Lee.”
“Well,” my words were measured. “It was an enormous room. With the tallest walls of shelves that I’ve ever seen. And ladders. Great wooden ladders attached to swooping metal rails. It was amazing. Except….”
“Except what?” Julie asked.
“No books.” Marguerite answered for me. “Not even one. Isn’t that right, Laura Lee?”
“Yes. That’s right. All the shelves were perfectly bare.” I gulped my tea hurriedly, the sight had been so disturbing.
Several of the other women bobbed their heads in agreement. Even Cook tutted her tongue. “It’s a shame. Such a shame.”
“What happened to them?” I asked.
“Miss Janice burned them.” Marguerite answered grimly, and Julie’s mouth dropped. “In her anger at Mr. Thornberry hiding the crown.”
“Well, that was part of the reason,” Mary interjected.
“The… crown?” I asked, unsure.
“Haven’t you heard? It was the story of the hour over here. He splurged his fortune on a crown. Worth sixteen million I think.”
I nodded. “Yes. I actually do remember that. I saw it on the news. They say Princess Diana was connected to it. People were shocked someone so lowbrow, as they said, was the purchaser.”
“Well, truth be told, he shocked this entire town. And the thing is, no one has ever seen it. Not even a peek.” Marguerite glanced down her nose with a look of importance.
“Really?” Surprise jolted me.
Cook chimed in, apparently fine with a bit of gossip now. “It’s true. Even poor Miss Janice never saw it. And it hurt her. She realized then where she fell in the order of Mr. Thornton’s esteem.”
Lucy pummeled her dough. “Or maybe he really was eccentric and felt like he needed to hide the prize from everyone.”