The Secrets of Winterhouse

by Ben Guterson

  “Dear,” Leona said. She said nothing more, simply looked pleadingly at Elizabeth and patted the empty spot on the seat beside her. Elizabeth moved to her and sat, and then Norbridge sat, too, on the sofa opposite.

  “I don’t know how she does it,” Elizabeth said, “but Gracella uses people to keep herself alive, like you told me once, Norbridge. Last year we thought she was dead, but she wasn’t really. I think she stole the life out of Marcus Hiems to keep herself alive, and Selena almost died, too, but not quite. She just got really old. And now she’s back—she’s Mrs. Vesper—and some other people in that family are with her, and they’re all trying to trick us and hunt around and get into the passageways! There’s something in there they want!” Elizabeth was getting more frantic as she spoke, the horror of it all coming together for her as she explained everything and felt the throbbing in her head and the ache in her body. “We have to do something!”

  “I am doing something,” Norbridge said. “I’ve had my eyes on the Powters since they arrived. Same thing with Mrs. Vesper. I don’t tell you all these things, because I don’t want you to worry, but I’ve been anxious the last two weeks, just as you have.”

  Elizabeth rubbed her forehead, feeling the pain in her head expanding. “What time is it anyway? How long was I asleep?”

  “It’s ten o’clock,” Leona said.

  “Ten o’clock?” Elizabeth said. “But I left Winterhouse at eight thirty!”

  “At night,” Leona said. “You’ve been sleeping all day.”

  “Oh, no,” Elizabeth said miserably, dropping her head into her hands before looking up at Norbridge. “We have to do something! Norbridge, you know someone stole her body. She’s trying to get back here and do something. They’re all trying to help her out, and—”

  “Elizabeth, please,” Norbridge said. “Slow down.”

  “But you’re not listening!” Elizabeth said. “We have to do something!”

  “I am listening,” Norbridge said. “You just need to slow down. You had quite a fall.”

  “But you never really listen to me!” she said, crying now. “Every time there’s something going on, you don’t believe me!” Even as she said the words, she knew they weren’t entirely true—but there was enough truth in them that she felt justified in saying them. “I know you’re looking out for everything, and I know you probably don’t want to scare me sometimes—but I’m not a little kid! You can tell me what’s going on!”

  “Leona and I are just as concerned as you are,” Norbridge said. “Truly.”

  “He’s right, dear,” Leona said. “We had on awful scare this morning after Jackson and Sampson told us what happened.”

  “Can you walk me through the morning?” Norbridge said. “I’ve spoken with Freddy, so I know you saw Elana and Rodney leaving Winterhouse, but what happened after that?”

  Elizabeth recounted the morning quickly. “They made a drawing on the floor, too. It’s the same thing Mrs. Vesper has on her bracelet. I heard Rodney say it was something to make sure Gracella came directly to Winterhouse and not the cabin.”

  “Jackson said you mentioned that right before you blacked out,” Norbridge said. “I went out there myself to take a look.”

  “That’s good,” Elizabeth said. She rubbed her temples with both hands; her head ached badly. She let out a low groan of pain, realizing how much she was hurting.

  “You have a bit of a bruise,” Norbridge said, setting his palm on the right side of his own head to indicate where Elizabeth had struck the floor. “Knocked yourself out pretty good.”

  Elizabeth closed her eyes. “There was something else. Right before I blacked out, I heard a voice.”

  “A voice?” Leona said. “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know,” Elizabeth said. “It sounded like it was in the cabin, but it was in my head, too. It said, ‘It is yours.’ Twice.”

  “‘It is yours’?” Norbridge said. “What does that mean?”

  Elizabeth shook her head. “I don’t know. But … I swear—it was Gracella’s voice.”

  Leona put a hand on Elizabeth’s shoulder and gave her a consoling rub. “Maybe it was just the fright of being out there and having such an awful encounter with those two others.”

  “Everything started to go red, too,” Elizabeth said. “You know what that means. I’m sure Gracella is behind all of this. I know it. I heard her voice. She’s here somehow!” Elizabeth leaned back heavily on the love seat; her head was throbbing so badly she felt it might burst. “Is this what a migraine feels like?”

  “It’s what it feels like to try to get over a blow to the head,” Leona said.

  “Water, aspirin, rest, and some ice for the swelling,” Norbridge said. “That’s what you need. I’m going to have you stay here for a night or two so we can keep an eye on you. That way we can help you out when you need it.”

  Elizabeth didn’t move. She sat with her head resting on the back of the love seat. “I know what you’re doing. You want to keep me away from Elana and Rodney and all of them.”

  “What I want to do is allow you to recuperate,” Norbridge said.

  She looked at him. “But you also don’t want me to run into any of those people, right?”

  “I don’t think that will be a problem,” Leona said.

  “What do you mean?” Elizabeth said.

  “She means they’re all gone,” Norbridge said. “Left. Departed. Checked out.”

  “They left Winterhouse?” Elizabeth said. “The Powters? Elana? Mrs. Vesper?”

  “That’s exactly what I mean,” Norbridge said. “Before lunch today. Every last one of them. They cleared out of Winterhouse, and with any luck we won’t see them again. I’m telling you, I believe everything you say, and I want to protect this old hotel just as much as you do.”

  * * *

  Elizabeth felt awful when she woke the next morning; the pain in her head had worsened, and she was barely able to read or eat or do anything without feeling that her head was about to throb right off her neck if she moved it at all. She kept thinking about the departure of the Powters and Elana and Mrs. Vesper—or, as she now thought of the latter, Selena Hiems. It didn’t seem possible those five had simply abandoned their scheme, had simply given up in defeat and left Winterhouse. It was much more likely they’d merely retreated briefly because they understood everyone at Winterhouse would now be watching them—or, more likely, Norbridge would have told them to check out of the hotel—and there would be no chance to put their plot into action, whatever it was. But Elizabeth was positive what was happening was merely a hiatus and not a surrender; somehow, at some time, Gracella Winters and the others would resume their attack.

  Elizabeth napped during the middle of the day. When she awoke, she was finally able to read a bit; but she felt worse as the evening passed, and it wasn’t until the next morning that she felt halfway back to normal. When Norbridge saw she was doing better—and after Freddy came by for a visit and she explained all that had happened—she was alone for the afternoon and found herself sitting on the sofa, glancing out the window at the snow-covered mountains above the lake. All the while, she was distracted by the half-open door to Norbridge’s bedroom, which she’d been in by herself on only one occasion. That had been New Year’s Eve the year before, when she’d been drawn by the massive painting that hung on the wall there depicting Norbridge, his wife, Maria, and Winifred herself when she was three or four years older than Elizabeth.

  She sat reading, then glancing out the window, then looking around the room, then thinking about snacking on an apple, then trying to read some more—all the while trying to quiet an insistent thought that had sat waiting for her from the moment she had awakened in Norbridge’s extra bedroom: One last door was somewhere in this apartment. She set her book down and decided she would walk off the steps of the final numbers from the Winterhouse seal to see just where, exactly, they led her. If she recalled correctly, once inside Norbridge’s front door, she would need t
o take a few more steps inside, then three more either left or right, then eight, then four, then three. As she measured these paces, she was unsurprised to find they led directly to the door of Norbridge’s bedroom, which she pushed open to peer inside.

  The room was dimly lit, one wall lined with two bookcases and a large bureau. The painting—huge, almost as high as the ceiling and over four feet wide—dominated one side of the opposite wall. Elizabeth entered the room silently, the way she might have had Norbridge himself been dozing in the large bed. She counted off the remaining steps and found herself standing before the painting she recalled from the year before: Lake Luna, the mountains beyond, Norbridge in a trim black suit. Maria wore a delicate white dress, and her warm green eyes and lustrous black hair made her look beautiful and elegant. Between Norbridge and Maria stood Winifred, Elizabeth’s mother, wearing a violet dress, purple ribbons strung in her hair; her gentle smile mirrored Maria’s. The two of them appeared to share some secret or were glad to be standing outside on a beautiful day before Winterhouse. Elizabeth put her hand to the pendant around her own neck as she stared at the painted version of it on her mother: A gold chain lay delicately around Winnie’s neck, and dangling from it was the familiar indigo circle of marble rimmed in silver, the word “Faith” etched into it.

  I’ve followed the numbers on the seal, and the door should be right here, she thought.

  As she stood examining the painting, taking in the pleasing sight of her mother and her grandparents from years before, she realized something was odd. There wasn’t anything strange about the painting itself, but, still, there was something she found disconcerting, even if she couldn’t figure out just what it was. She took two steps back and studied the painting again. She leaned to the left; she leaned to the right. Nothing stood out, but she found herself staring hard at the picture. A painting like this should be in a different place in this room, she thought. It’s so close to the corner.

  Elizabeth moved to the painting and gently, so that it didn’t fall, angled it a few inches away from the wall to peek behind. There, in clear outline, was the rim of a doorway. She lowered the painting back into place and stood trembling.

  The last door, she thought. She closed her eyes, rubbed her temples again, and then glanced through Norbridge’s open door to make sure she was truly all alone. She put her hand on the frame of the painting and pulled it from the wall just slightly, but farther than she had before. At the top of the door, as she had expected, was a plaque, and on it were these words:

  FALL

  THE HOLDER, HEEDING SILENT VOICE

  ALONE MUST MAKE THE FATEFUL CHOICE

  Elizabeth studied the words, connected them with the words on the other plaques. And then she put her hand on the small door handle and gave it a twist. It turned easily. She pushed the handle just enough that the door creaked and began to move outward into the tunnel. Quickly, Elizabeth pulled the door closed. She glanced around and then recalled seeing a flashlight in the kitchen. She ran and grabbed it, returned, opened the door again, and shined the light to see within. Before her was a narrow passageway with clean white walls and a high ceiling—she’d imagined something cramped and gloomy, and so she was pleasantly surprised. The air was slightly musty. She shined the light into the distance and saw the corridor leading away into darkness.

  Elizabeth switched off the flashlight, closed the door, lowered the painting, and stood before it with her mind racing. And then she went and took her notebook up from the table where she’d left it, returned to Norbridge’s room, and jotted down the words on the plaque, adding them to the lines from the other plaques in the order she was certain they belonged:

  The charm seems such a common thing

  In form as simple as a ring

  Its might is all but hidden till

  It sees itself in glass you fill

  Then alters to an object strong

  Its power used for right or wrong

  The holder, heeding silent voice

  Alone must make the fateful choice

  Riley Granger, she thought, why did you have to make everything so hard to figure out? But as she stood puzzling over the lines she’d written, another part of her thought that as long as she was the only one who knew about this door and what was on its plaque, and as long as Norbridge could make certain the Powters and Elana and Selena didn’t somehow find their way back into the hotel, the secret of Winterhouse was hers and hers alone.

  I’m the only one who can get into the secret passageway, she thought.

  A knock sounded on the apartment door, and Elizabeth jumped as though she’d heard an explosion.

  CHAPTER 30

  FEARS—AND AN ENTRY SAFER

  “Coming!” Elizabeth called.

  She left Norbridge’s bedroom, set the flashlight back where she’d found it on a shelf in the kitchen, and went to see who had knocked.

  “Special delivery of Flurschen for Elizabeth Somers!” came an odd voice from the other side of the door—though the voice wasn’t so odd she couldn’t figure out to whom it belonged.

  “Freddy!” she said with a laugh as she opened the door to see her friend standing before her in his best clothes: a white dress shirt and crisply ironed brown corduroy pants.

  He held a small package out to her. “I really did bring some candy for you. I don’t know if you can go to the party tonight, so I wanted to stop by to see you. You feeling any better?”

  “A little,” she said. “Come in.” She poured two glasses of cider, and they sat at the dining room table. She was dying to tell him about the final door but decided to wait and surprise him.

  “My head’s definitely better, but I’m still kind of tired,” she said. “Norbridge might let me go to the party for a little while if I’m up to it later.”

  “I think it’s going to be really boring there tonight without you. I hope you can come.”

  “So, still no sign of anyone? Elana? The Powters?”

  “None. They’re gone. The whole thing’s bizarre. And to think that Elana and Rodney are brother and sister. I never would have guessed.”

  “I just wonder how much they’ve figured out about the doors. I’m positive Elana went to that bookstore and bought that book I told you about, but I don’t know how much it might have helped her.” A thought had been growing in Elizabeth’s mind about The Wonderful World of Words! “There were a lot of connections in that book to Winterhouse. ‘Faith’ and seals and ‘sinister’—all of that. I wouldn’t be surprised if Riley Granger had read it.”

  “Yeah, but unless Elana and them unscrambled the anagrams and found the doors, none of it really matters, right?” Freddy drummed his hand on the table and shifted his eyes around the room. “And speaking of finding doors, you must have peeked around in here by now.”

  She lifted her eyebrows.

  “You found it!” Freddy said.

  “In Norbridge’s bedroom,” she said, taking a sip of her cider. “But no one could get in there unless they broke into this apartment, and everyone who might try has left. You have the key to your workshop, right? I’m worried about Selena or the Powters coming back.”

  “The key is safe,” Freddy said, patting his pants pocket. “Did you go inside the—”

  “Greetings, you two!” Norbridge said as he opened the door to his apartment and strode in. “Apple cider and Flurschen! That’s a well-rounded meal!” He stood before them in his black suit jacket and bow tie, his hair neat and his beard bushy. “And you’re looking very dapper, Mr. Knox!”

  “You too, Norbridge,” Freddy said.

  “How are you feeling?” Norbridge said to Elizabeth.

  “Better.”

  Norbridge plucked at his suspenders with both hands and then pulled out a chair to sit with them. “Maybe you’ll feel up to welcoming the new year tonight at the big party!” He reached for a piece of Flurschen from the plate Elizabeth had set on the table. “Mind?” he said, and before she answered, he plucked a candy, popped it
into his mouth, and began to chew. “I never get tired of this stuff,” he said as he smacked away.

  They talked for several minutes, and all the while Elizabeth wondered if maybe she had left the door to Norbridge’s room open a bit wider than before and he might notice. The last thing she wanted to do was make him worry. She also couldn’t wait to tell Freddy she’d actually entered the secret passageway.

  “So is this year’s party really going to be the best one ever?” Freddy said.

  “Since I took over Winterhouse forty-four years ago,” Norbridge said, “each year’s party has improved upon its predecessor by two percent on average, according to my assessment. When you compound those numbers across the decades, that means this year’s party will be two and two-fifths times better than the very first party I arranged back in 1973. So, yes—this year’s party will be the best one ever.”

  “That’s very precise,” Elizabeth said, though she wasn’t sure it was completely scientific.

  “I like it!” Freddy said, beaming. Something occurred to him, though, and he shifted his eyes to the table and fell silent. “Who will put the parties together when…” he began.

  “Do you mean who will take over Winterhouse after I’m gone?” Norbridge said.

  It was exactly what Elizabeth had been thinking—and just what she’d been wanting to discuss with Norbridge ever since their visit to his office and then the comment Kiona had made.

  “I guess that’s what I’m asking,” Freddy said.

  Norbridge leaned back and adjusted his bow tie. “I took over for my father, and he took over for his father. My daughter was going to take over for me.”

  Freddy whipped his head in Elizabeth’s direction and was about to say something, but she put a hand to her forehead and looked down, and Freddy remained silent.

  “Your head, dear?” Norbridge said. “Hurting again?”