Charlock's Secret

by Leah Moyes

  “Oh, very well.”

  Grumbling again, I tossed papers angrily in different piles to create a path. “Hopefully, I can fit in a tour or two or maybe cancel them considering the other tasks his sire might need.”

  “What did you say, Miss?”

  “Oh, I . . .” My body wriggled through the piles as I turned to face her. “I’m only whining. I’m sorry, did you still need something?”

  She ignored my question. “Are you referring to Mr. Gilford, Miss?”

  “No—” I lied. Her eyebrows curved inward. “Well, yes.”

  “What did he say?”

  “Maybe not so much what, as how.”

  “I see.” Gretchen smiled slyly.

  “No, I don’t think you understand. The way he talks to me, his tone is suggestive, like he’s better than me.”

  “Oh, that’s ordinary. He treats everyone that way.”

  “It’s not right.”

  “It’s merely his way.”

  “Well, I won’t tolerate it.”

  Her expression revealed fear. “Oh, Miss, I wouldn’t—”

  “Wouldn’t what?”

  “Um, I wouldn’t quarrel with him. We’re kind of fond of you here.”

  “Kind of fond of me?” I emphasized this minor detail.

  She giggled and blushed, “Of course we’re fond of you—well, half of the staff is, but the point is, Mr. Gilford . . . he wouldn’t hesitate to sack you on the spot. He did that once.”

  “Once?”

  “Yes, we used to have three gardeners. One, a foreigner who wasn’t keen on the way Mr. Gilford spoke to him. Like what you’re saying, you know his normal nature. Well, Davis told him straight up one day, and Mr. Gilford escorted him off the property in two minutes flat.”

  “Hmmm.” I wiggled my way out of the space, and Gretchen moved aside to let me pass. I contemplated whether quitting or getting fired would be better. They both tempted me at this moment.

  I stepped into the open library. Gretchen continued, “he’s not always rude, Miss, but I guess we’re used to it. Don’t leave, I’d hate to see you go. You’ve worked hard to get to know the history of the manor.”

  I let her words sink in. The old me would’ve never tolerated this. Why am I now? I weighed my options. Do I really need this job? What brought me here, anyway. . . the love of history or the love of hiding?

  Katy Perry’s whimsical voice suddenly pierced my pity party from down the hall. “Excuse me Gretchen, I need to get this phone call.” I rushed back to the office, where Kelly’s ringtone, “California Gurls”, crooned from my cell phone. She was from the beach town of Carlsbad. I pushed the button, aching to hear her voice. “Kelly!”

  “Hey girl, how’s the Brits?” She attempted to imitate her best English accent.

  “Oh, I don’t know . . .” I sighed, discouraged. “Remind me of why I accepted this job again?”

  “Um, I really don’t know why,” she chuckled. Then blurted out, “I’m only kidding. I’m glad you took it.”

  This was true. It was Kelly’s encouragement that finally got me out the door.

  “Kat, I believe you're exactly where you should be right now. You need this.”

  “I need this like I need a pain in my a—”

  “Miss Shelton?”

  “Kelly, hold on.”

  “Yes, Hennessey.”

  “Mr. Gilford would like for you to arrange a private dinner party the Thursday night after he arrives. He sent me the details and asked that I give you a copy.” He handed me a notecard.

  “Why didn’t he tell me on the phone?” I forced a smile. “Never mind, I’ll have it done, thanks.”

  I craned my neck to make sure Hennessey no longer lingered within earshot and gave Kelly a complete rundown. I even sent her a picture of the files in the storage room as evidence. I half expected her to sympathize, but I knew Kelly too well.

  “Well, Kat. You’re in England, and if you wanted, you could be on the next flight to Arizona or New York or wherever, but then what?” She paused. I remained silent as she continued, “what would you do then?”

  “I don’t know . . .” I relinquished with a groan.

  “Mope around an apartment all day? Hang around Tempe? Think about all the places you don’t go to anymore? Dwell on memories?”

  My nose stung as I fought the tears that wanted to push through. “I don’t know.”

  “Look, you know I love you, and I’d say or do anything for you, but right now, I think you need to figure it out for yourself. There’s a reason you’re there. . . maybe it’s because you need to be the pebble in this man-child’s shoe.” She laughed, “or maybe it’s making a difference doing the very things I know you’re capable of. I know you can go to work and create extraordinary anything. I’ve seen it, and you’ve seen it. You need to believe it again.”

  I wiped my nose. I didn’t want her to hear me sniffling.

  “Now put your arms around yourself and squeeze tight. That hug is from me. You can do it, Kat. Chin up. Love ya, girl. Talk to you soon.” And she hung up.

  Once again, I weighed the obvious. I didn’t want to go back to Arizona too soon. Jeff’s memory leaked everywhere, and while I missed New York immensely, I wasn’t ready to be with my family either. They tiptoed around me; they went from treating me like the tough kid I was, to a cream puff. No, I can’t go home, but can I make this work?

  Glancing around the office I focused on a small post-it. It was attached to the wall next to the filing cabinet. I’d seen it several times when cleaning, but it never hit me until now.

  I have been bent and broken,

  but I hope into a better shape

  -Charles Dickens

  Hope—hope is what I needed to believe in. The very courage I needed to move forward, even if only half the staff is fond of me. I smiled at Gretchen’s words, though she meant no harm.

  I tapped my finger against my chin and made a mental list. If I combined the tours already booked, to one every other day, and take the library off the tour to use the large desks near the storage room, it might work.

  Mr. Gilford will show up for a few days, make his demands, receive the paperwork, and then be on his merry way not to appear again for another four months. Then I’ll have the house to myself once again.

  Beginning that afternoon, I sorted through one box at a time and separated all the receipts, orders, contracts, and any other relevant forms by the actual year. The way it should have been found in the first place.

  The project became a fitting distraction from the weekend wedding, but it also took away my recent passion. On days, the weather cooperated, I walked the gardens and more often found myself past the walls and along the River Thames. I had yet to venture to the nearby woods, but they called to me. Under the crisp scent of cedar and pine, an element of mysteriousness hid in its shadows. For now, until the psychotic researching task was complete, a mere step outside to smell something fresh was my only recourse.

  I moved both the scanner and the copier from the office to the library to make access easier, though blindness quickly became an occupational hazard. My neglect to put the lid down in my rush subjected my eyes to the excruciating flashes. I also stapled my pointy finger a half a dozen times that blood no longer pumped there.

  The last of the RSVP’s from Mr. Chill’s dinner party arrived today. Names that belonged in fairy tales . . . Sir Jonathan Higginson, Lady Delphine Yorgenson, and Lord Charles Yorke. And according to Mr. Gilford’s explicit instructions, the only staff to be of service in the parlor or dining room upon commencement were Hennessey and Lara. For this, I was grateful. The less I see him or witness his childish snobbery, the better off we both were.

  “Kat, love, you’re not eating.” Helen rarely left the kitchen, yet here she stood before me in the library with both hands resting on her bountiful hips.

  “I’m sorry, Helen. With Mr. Gilford arriving tomorrow, I have little time.”

  “This is barking mad, do
ll!” I peeked up to see her face scanning the room where every inch contained some sort of pile.

  “Yes, crazy is definitely where I’m headed.” I smiled weakly.

  “Knackered too!”

  “I slept a few hours this week,” I argued.

  “This week?” She shook her head.

  “I’m bringing you a cuppa with biscuits and will stand here until you polish it off!”

  “I’m fine.” Although when I said it, I knew she would anyway. In fact, she disappeared down the hall by the time I responded.”

  Once she returned, I warmly accepted her gift. She was, after all, part of the half that liked me. I owed her that much.

  “Eat up and get a kip. All will be well by morning.” She waited until I lifted the cup to my lips before she walked away. The scent of fresh chamomile enticed me to drink, and the warmth of the liquid soothed the dryness in my throat. I eagerly gulped it all down and got back to work.

  When time dwindled down to hours, there was still no reassurance the outcome would be to the satisfaction of Mr. Chill. The overwhelming task depleted my energy and confidence, but I needed to prove not only to him but to myself, I could do it.

  Torn with a lack of sleep and overwhelming emotion, part of me stressed he’d fire me for incompetence. The other part hoped he would, and I could put this irrational pressure behind me. Regardless, I was determined to not let him regret he hired me and worked late into the night.

  Last Friday, Mr. Chill’s assistant faxed me his arrival time for 1:00 in the afternoon with a departure time for Friday. However, a small asterisk to the side, warned me he occasionally changed his times without her prior knowledge. This meant he could arrive earlier, later, or on a different day altogether. My hope was if he stayed true to his itinerary, he’d only be here three days. I can play nice for three days.

  Rubbing my tired eyes, I peeked at my phone. 4:12 a.m. With some gratification that the heaps dwindled slowly into stacks of organized filing boxes with only one box to go, I dragged my limp body from the floor. My right foot had inadvertently fallen asleep underneath my weight. Awkwardly numb, I shook it to deliver fresh energy to the limb but continued forward as I staggered towards the closet. Just as I reached the doorway, the painful sensation of sharp needles assaulted my leg.

  I jumped clumsily in agony. However, instead of falling forward into the closet, my tumble fell the opposite direction and against the door leading to the cellar. A door, that wasn’t quite shut tight.

  With nothing to catch my fall, I smacked the concrete stairs with my backside, while my legs shot right over my head. Plummeting rapidly down, I bore each excruciating thump profoundly. As I reached the end, my sight narrowed, and complete blackness enveloped me.

  Chapter Nine

  “Miss?”

  My tongue ran across my dry lips, unable to speak.

  “Miss, are you well?”

  Ouch. Every part of my body ached. My hands reached for my throbbing head. A slight flicker of light cast eerie shadows around the unfamiliar room.

  “Miss?” The voice repeated.

  “Uhhh . . .” My brain felt as though it swelled by the second. “What happened?”

  “I believe you fell . . . quite deftly might I suggest.”

  My fingers went from my forehead to my eyes and rubbed vigorously. I didn’t recognize the voice, or I was too delirious to comprehend which staff member it was. I leaned upright, but my hurried attempt left my head piercing in pain. My hand detected something wet on my left temple and down my cheek.

  “You’re bleeding.” The stranger’s voice remained calm. “Please . . . set, while I retrieve a linen.”

  Set? Linen? I shook my head. “Really, just get me a paper towel and a band aid, and I’m good. I’ve been through much worse with two older brothers.”

  “Indeed?”

  The man’s tone conveyed gentleness as he pressed the cloth against my head. Despite the relief it offered, I turned, attempting to make out his face in the dim light.

  “Two brothers, alas,” he chuckled. “I have the notable fortune of two sisters.”

  Alas? Who talks like that? “Are you new here?” I grumbled. My thoughts whirled in a tangled mass as I pushed hard to identify his voice. “Are you associated with the wedding planner?”

  “Wedding planner?” the stranger quipped. “Whatever do you intend?”

  Intend? I growled. “Okay, I’m sorry—” My frustration with his games reached its limit. “I’m done here.” I bent my knees to balance myself upward, only I misjudged my lack of strength and weakly fell backward. The man’s hands quickly caught me before I hit the ground a second time. His arms carefully cradled me. A rich spicy scent distracted me. “I—I need to . . .” I stuttered, trying to recall what I meant to say.

  He protested to my urgency. “Please Miss, you’re limpsy. Rest a moment.”

  My eyes narrowed. His jaw angled to where I could only see his lips, and the lower part of his perfectly chiseled cheekbones. He has to be new. I would’ve noticed someone this attractive!

  “From where do you derive?” He inquired.

  “Derive?” Resting in the stranger’s arms, my desire to move remained slow.

  “I’m unable to place your dialect.” He questioned. “Are you a Geordie?”

  “Geordie?”

  “From Newcastle upon Tyne.”

  “Okay, wait, what are you saying?” My irritation grew. Why the twenty questions? I should be the one asking you.

  “Liverpool, maybe? How did you arrive?” His inquiries continued.

  I strained to remember. Where am I? Oh yeah.

  “I was working late in the library,” I recalled. The heat from my forehead filled my palm. The more I tried to think, the more nauseous I felt. “I thought I opened the closet door but must’ve somehow fallen through a basement door.” My hand blocked my mouth, willing my desire to not barf in front of the handsome stranger.

  “Oh,” he exclaimed excitedly, “yes, that makes sense. You must be the new governess.”

  “Governess?” My mind raced as I squinted through the darkness that conveniently shielded his eyes. My head injury must be more critical than I thought. I’m hallucinating!

  “What do they call you?” His voice remained smooth.

  “Who call me?” I wrinkled my lip in response.

  “Do you have a name?”

  “Kat.” Wait a minute. I’m getting uncomfortable—sort of—his grip did not feel all that bad, but . . .

  “Did you say Cat?” he questioned, with obvious surprise. “Like . . . the animal?”

  Frustrated, I hissed, “yes, like the animal!” I maneuvered a release. First to my knees, then I rested on the bottom step. “Thanks for your help, but I have to get back to work and why is it so freaking dark in here?”

  “My apologies,” he whispered.

  Once the man seemed confident that I could sit on my own, he reached for a light. A three-tiered candelabra filled his grip. As he moved the flame closer to our position, his face became much clearer. His pale blue eyes sparkled to his incessant grin. My eyebrows furrowed. I have seen that face before. Where have I seen him?

  Suddenly, there was not enough oxygen in the room.

  The defined jaw line, dark wavy hair, and striking blue eyes stared back at me from the family portrait on the mezzanine in the entry hall.

  It was young Merritt Gilford. Then everything went black.

  Chapter Ten

  Wrapped in a feather down like none other, I shifted, stretched, and yawned. The softness against my body made movement effortless despite the headache that remained. What a crazy dream I had! Recalling my last memory, my eyes opened wide. The enormously bright room I slept in was not my bedroom.

  Confused, I shot upright, though the swift movement increased the pressure on my throbbing head. My hands reached to soothe the pain and found a bandage on the top left side of my skull. With further exploration, something clumpy caked to my hair. “Ow!” I
cried aloud as I attempted to separate my coated hair. Pulling a piece off one strand, I examined it only to recognize it as dry blood. Again, my fingers went to the wound. The whole left side of my forehead felt oily.

  Instantly, a young woman appeared at the doorway. Looking as though she stepped out of a Jane Austen novel, she clapped her hands together and shrieked far too loudly for my condition. “I’m still dreaming,” I cried, rubbing my eyes in a desperate struggle to orient myself.

  “Oh,” The girl squealed. “What reassurance you are well! We were most fretful!” She bounced playfully as she landed at the foot of my bed, her teal-colored dress fanned across the bedspread. With each giggle, her perfectly coiled blond curls at the back of her neck sprang naturally.

  I gasped aloud. My dream suddenly felt less and less imagined—or I had not awakened yet. I pinched my arm. Ouch! That felt real.

  “Oh, wow,” I mumbled. Closing my eyes, I pulled the quilt gradually towards my chin. “Are you . . . .uh . . . um,”

  “Elizabeth,” she exclaimed cheerfully, “but my friends call me Lizzy, and I can already assure you we will be wonderful friends.” Her broad smile reached beyond her lips and brought a sparkle to her light blue eyes. I couldn't help but grin in response and then realized I had nothing to smile about. The blanket made its way over my head.

  Laughing, she tugged it down. “Now, my brother can occasionally be useful, such as your circumstance the other night. However, he can be foolish I fear, such as your name.”

  Other night? My eyes grew wide. “My name?” I whispered.

  “Well, yes, the nutter thinks your name is Cat. What a card.”

  “Oh,” my mind spun from the memory, “yes, um, my name.” I readjusted the covers as I tried to buy more time. Her head tilted to the side like a little puppy.

  “I wasn’t quite m—myself.” I stuttered. “I didn't get the whole word out, it’s Kat—Katharine. Yes, Katharine.” I extended my hand awkwardly to shake hers. Even as I watched my hand, my head wobbled, confounded. What am I doing? Elizabeth giggled again and grasped both my hands in hers and kissed me on the cheek.