Would Kat think I was a complete idiot if I went over and stood next to her? Especially after I’d hesitated this long? What would a socially healthy kid do at a moment like this?
“They hold weddings in this museum?” I asked slowly, trying to buy myself time. “Talk about wacked out ways to begin a new life together.”
“The Wedding Party is what they call Margaret Kensington’s greatest masterpieces,” Aunt Victoria explained. “Mr. Evans just delivered them.”
The dolls were the ones getting married? Talk about bizarre.
I crossed the office, choosing to stand next to Matt who was right beside Kat. I hoped this move would seem friendly without making me look desperate. I leaned against the desk, resting my weary body against it. All I wanted was to sit down for a moment, but Aunt Victoria occupied the only chair in the room.
Gabrielle came barreling into the room like a hunting dog on the scent. The small office was starting to get crowded.
“I’ve got them, you can open the cases,” Gabrielle said, waving a handful of white cotton gloves over her head. With all of us in front of the desk, her way forward was blocked. She craned her neck this way and that, trying to get a better look as Aunt Victoria worked the combination lock on the first case. After a moment of watching Gabrielle struggle to see, Matt calmly stepped aside, allowing her to take his prime spot up front between me and Kat. She pushed past him without looking, then froze, as she noticed Kat standing beside her.
“You left the gift shop unattended?” Gabrielle asked, raising one eyebrow.
“I locked up the till,” Kat said, rolling her eyes.
“And the keys?”
Kat’s eyelids lowered dangerously. With mocking deliberation, Kat lifted her left hand to show off a small set of silver keys hanging on the end of a green keychain. She shook them rudely in Gabrielle’s face.
That seemed to be enough for Gabrielle. Showing much more grace than I would have managed, she coolly turned her attention back to the dolls.
“I’ve got the combination for this one.” Gabrielle said, reaching for the second case. I caught Matt smiling as he watched her fumble with each number on the lock. Her fingers twitched as if she wanted rip the lock apart with her bare hands in order to get at the dolls within.
Matt likes her, I thought to myself in amazement. He liked Gabrielle—and she didn’t even know he existed. Talk about all kinds of harsh.
Aunt Victoria got her case open first, but Gabrielle was not far behind. Inside the two cases lay several large dolls, the tallest being about two feet tall. They were all dressed in high society Victorian clothing, like some character line-up from a gothic murder mystery.
The usually high-spirited Kat gazed down at the dolls in reverence. “Every doll Margaret created was based on a real person,” she said to me. “Family, friends, neighbors—even the lawyer who prosecuted her son during his inquest was vilified and immortalized forever by her.”
Kind of like voodoo dolls. That was a slightly disturbing thought.
“That’s Mr. and Mrs. Worthin, father and mother of the bride.” Aunt Victoria quietly pointed at two of the larger dolls.
Margaret Kensington obviously believed in being brutally honest when creating portraits. I could only hope the balding and stooped Mr. Worthin wasn’t actually that homely in real life. His wife, on the other hand, was quite a good-looking woman with a pile of blond hair twisted up in a bun on top of her head. Her tiny hat was a gaudy bower, overflowing with flowers and feathers. The proud, haughty angle of her chin and the cold, calculating look in her glass eyes made me wonder if the woman might have been a little on the witchy side.
“Gossip said that Mrs. Worthin married her husband for money,” Matt said as he peeked over my shoulder.
I looked at the elderly Mr. Worthin and then his much younger wife. That was one rumor I could well believe.
“And this is the sister of the bride, the Worthin’s younger daughter, Elisabeth.” Matt pointed to the fresh faced, young bridesmaid dressed in pink. Her rosy cheeks were covered in hundreds of pinpoint freckles. I couldn’t even imagine how Margaret made them that tiny. The dolls were so detailed that every hair was rooted straight into their heads. Probably one strand at a time. With tweezers.
As I stared down at them, I realized Margaret’s creations were worse than voodoo dolls. They were so lifelike. It was as if she’d caught a small portion of each subject’s soul and placed it into their miniature look-alike—trapping it there forever.
“Shouldn’t there be a bride and groom in a wedding party?” I asked, glancing over all the dolls in confusion.
“There were bride and groom dolls once. Unfortunately, they went missing sometime during Margaret’s lifetime,” Aunt Victoria said.
“I read about them in a magazine once.” Twisting a strand of her blue hair around one forefinger, Kat looked up under her eyelashes at Matt. “The dolls disappeared under mysterious circumstances, didn’t they?”
It was exactly the right thing to say. Matt lit right up. “Margaret’s cousin, Roberta, kept a detailed journal,” he said. “She suspected that Margaret burned both dolls not long after Xavier’s death.”
Before I could ask why anyone would want to burn a perfectly good pair of dolls, Gabrielle pointed to a plump little woman dressed in rich, red velvet. “That’s her,” she whispered. “Margaret Kensington, herself. The only self-portrait she ever made.”
Margaret. She was one I needed to learn more about if I was going to solve the mysteries that enshrouded Kensington House. I reached out toward the doll without thinking. Gabrielle intercepted my hand with a pair of white cotton gloves. “You’ll have to wear these if you want to handle them,” Gabrielle said. “The oils on your hands could damage them.”
Behind the young curator’s back, Kat caught my eye. Up popped her hand, fingers flapping as if it had an invisible sock puppet yakking silently away at the end of it. Matt shook his head warningly at Kat. To my amazement, Kat instantly dropped the act and gave him a sheepish smile.
Gabrielle might be on Kat’s “naughty” list, but Matt seemed to be listed under “nice”. Very nice.
Hesitantly, I glanced down at Margaret’s doll, then at Aunt Victoria behind the desk. She pulled on a pair of gloves herself and nodded for me to go ahead. I put on the gloves and gently worked the Margaret doll free from her custom fitted foam. My hands shook ever so slightly with nervousness as I weighed her in my hands. The doll was surprisingly heavy—like a living creature.
Margaret made her own doll with as much honesty as she had the others. There were laugh lines sculpted into her pleasant, smiling face. Tiny silvery threads were mixed into her masses of dark hair, which were pulled up into an impressive pompadour topped with a decorative feathered comb. The doll’s eyes were gently curled into two mirthful half-moons, as if she had just heard a good joke. Margaret Kensington looked warm and friendly—not the kind of person you would expect to end her days in an asylum.
For a moment, I stared intently down at the doll in my hand. “Margaret was the mother of the groom?” I said, realization slowly dawning on me. “But that would mean—”
“It was Xavier Kensington’s wedding,” Kat finished for me. “Creepy, eh?”
“Xavier was married?” I asked in disbelief. “I thought he was nineteen when he died.”
“They got married early in those days,” Kat pointed out. “Rosalyn Worthin, the bride, was only eighteen—my age.
“Xavier never actually made it to the altar, though,” Matt said. “It wasn’t long after these dolls were finished that Emily’s body was found in the lake.”
I looked into the jovial face of Margaret’s doll, feeling suddenly hollow inside. “Xavier’s fiancé broke off their engagement after Emily was murdered, didn’t she?” I said in a quiet voice.
“Tried to anyway,” Kat said, her voice dripping with sinister significance. “But Xavier wouldn’t let her.”
“What do you mean, he wouldn’t
let her?” I asked looking at the faces around me. “How could he possibly stop her?”
Kat laughed dryly. “By murdering her. That boy went cray-cray on his little cousin and the girl he loved most in the world,” Kat said with an evil grin. “Wicked messed up, huh?”
This story just got better and better.
“Actually, no one is certain how the fire in the Worthin house was started.” Matt clarified. “It could have been an accident.”
“Xavier and Rosalyn were the only two in the parlor when it caught on fire,” Kat said, resting her hands on her hips. “They’re also the only ones who didn’t make it out alive. You don’t find that just a little bit suspicious?”
“I find it a whole lot suspicious,” Matt admitted. “But accidental fires did happen quite a lot in those days, because of all the oil lamps and candles they used.”
Kat shrugged. “Either way, they both ended up dead,” she said, leaning over Gabrielle’s shoulder to get a better look at Margaret’s doll.
I gently held it out to Aunt Victoria, who took it in her hands and examined its tiny sculpted face.
“She’s smiling.” Aunt Victoria said. “Margaret sculpted this doll before the hard times. Life was still good.” Aunt Victoria nodded in the direction of the father-of-the-groom doll still lying in the case. “Margaret’s husband died when Xavier was a baby. But Margaret wanted her husband to be a part of the wedding in spirit, so she made this doll of him.”
I looked down at the handsome gentleman with dark hair and the hint of a smile beneath his perfectly groomed mustache. He looked much younger than the Margaret doll. Probably the same age he was when he died. It was sweet, and yet heartbreaking.
I peered down into the open case and noted two young groomsmen, a mischievous looking ring bearer—and a dog. A brown and white Springer Spaniel to be exact.
“A dog in a wedding party?” I asked in surprise.
“The flower girl refused to be without Jinx, even at the wedding,” Aunt Victoria said with a small grin.
Jinx had real fur and a velvet pink tongue lolling from his mouth. My eyes moved from the dog to the tiny flower girl lying beside him. I took one look at those big, blue eyes and pretty, blond curls and my heartbeat quickened. This doll was the only little girl in the wedding party. She looked about nine-years-old.
“That’s Emily Kensington, isn’t it?” I said, already knowing the answer. Matt nodded silently. Emily’s doll was rosy-cheeked and innocent looking—just as she must have been right before she died.
Her death started everything. Xavier’s inquest, Rosalyn’s possible murder, and eventually Margaret’s insanity.
It was also after Emily’s murder that all the hauntings began.
Chapter Twelve
That night Aunt Victoria had pizza delivered for dinner. We were both interrupted mid-bite when Gabrielle dashed madly into the office—platform heels and all. The smell of warm pepperoni and cheesy goodness wafted tantalizingly about the silent room as Aunt Victoria and I stared up at Gabrielle who braced herself against the front of desk in order to catch her breath.
Ghost! was my first thought.
“Motor coach tour!” Gabrielle burst out, still gasping for air.
Come-again-say-what-now?
Gabrielle must have seen the utter bafflement on my face because she hurried to explain. “Sometimes we get motor coach buses that drop off a group of people for a tour. Only it’s an RV full of guests this time, not a bus.”
“At this time of the night?” Aunt Victoria glanced mildly up at the antique cuckoo clock hanging on the wall. “We’ve been officially closed for almost an hour.”
“They were supposed to be here this afternoon,” Gabrielle said, jerking her head in agitation. “When they didn’t show, I assumed they’d changed their minds. They said their vehicle broke down. They called ahead to let us know they’d be late, but whoever took the message forgot to inform me.” Judging by the angry scowl on her face, that “someone” was probably Matt.
Giving my head an imperceptible shake, I took another bite of my pizza. And here I thought it was something serious.
“Where is this group now?” Aunt Victoria asked.
“I told them to look around the exhibits while I arranged for a guide to give them a tour. But I can’t find Matt anywhere, Sarah had to go home early to meet her daughter at the airport, and I’ve got somewhere I’ve got to be in half an hour.”
“I guess that leaves me to do the honors,” Aunt Victoria said, pulling herself out of her chair and calmly getting to her feet. “I’d be delighted to show off my beautiful collection. Go tell them everything’s arranged, and I’ll be out to speak with them in a moment.”
Gabrielle nodded, her breathing now considerably calmer. Aunt Victoria patted her on the shoulder. “You go on ahead. I’ll close everything up myself when I finish the tour.”
Gabrielle turned to leave, but my aunt had one more thing on her mind. “And if you happened to see Matt before you go, I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t mention this oversight to him. He does so much for this place. I think we can forgive his one little mistake.”
Gabrielle glanced back at us over her retreating shoulder. “If only it was one mistake.”
After she’d gone, Aunt Victoria laughed softly to herself. “If she would just give that poor boy some slack once in a while, she might find him a lot less forgetful.”
“She scares him,” I observed to the slice of pizza in my hand.
“Among other things.” Aunt Victoria winked mischievously at me. “Do you mind cleaning up in here while I give the tour?”
“Uh—sure.”
I’d been hanging out in Aunt Victoria’s office all evening trying to put off the moment when I’d have to face the dark secrets of this house all alone. After Aunt Victoria left, I sat silently gazing into the empty air before me. I felt completely wasted, but a quick glance at the clock on the wall told me it was much too early for bed.
Ghosts.
Wasn’t that just what I needed to be dealing with on top of everything else? It wasn’t like I had any other place to run to if this house turned out to be haunted. The Margaret Kensington Doll Museum was the only home I had left. Whatever went on under its roof, I had to live with it, creepy or not.
I put the rest of the pizza in the kitchen fridge for Aunt Victoria to eat later, then headed back toward the front of the house. Now that I’d seen Margaret’s dolls, I found myself wandering Kensington House’s shadowy rooms, searching the dark corners with my restless gaze. Knowing about those who had once walked these halls made them feel more real. Like any moment, I’d find a mere memory of Xavier, Margaret, or Emily standing at the end of a corridor, or coming down the stairs. I could almost hear their distant voices echoing through the mansion.
Swisssssssss.
The soft but familiar sound stopped me in my tracks. That wasn’t a voice.
Swisssss-Swassssss.
Whoa! Whatever it was inside the wall had moved a great distance from the Victorian and Edwardian Doll Room where I’d last heard it. In utter stillness, I waited for the noise to come again, my ears ringing with expectant silence.
It crawled back into the wall.
I could almost hear Taylee’s uncertain voice as she spoke those eerie words—confessing how she’d discovered some sort of monster lurking about the innards of the house. Something tickled at the back door of my memory.
Hadn’t Margaret been committed to an asylum for pounding a bunch of holes in Kensington House? Almost as if she was trying to get at something she thought might be hiding in the walls. Something, it would seem, that was still in there over a century later.
It would have to be an awfully small monster to fit in the cramped space between the walls, I told myself firmly. Too small to be all that scary.
Unless it was actually a ghost. But which one? Emily, Margaret or Xavier? Take your stinking pick. This place was lousy with spirits of the dead. I decided to start with the
most likely suspect.
“Xavier Kensington?” I spoke cautiously to the wall. “What’s the deal here? Is there some sort of message in all these hauntings? What are you trying to say?” Holding my breath, I waited, listening in the stillness.
An image of the gorgeous guy I’d danced with in my dreams flashed unexpectedly through my mind, causing me shiver involuntarily. Was it really his spirit in there? Could he hear me talking to him? I tried again.
“Xavier?”
A soft whisper of sound crackled its way across the rosebud spray pattern on the wall in front of me. The noise reminded me of ice cubes tossed unexpectedly into a glass of warm water. Snapping and popping, they crack apart beneath the stress. At first, I could not see what was making the sound. Then a thin layer of frost began to form, expanding over the museum’s old-fashioned wallpaper. The ice crystals spread out into a large egg-shaped oval—a little larger than the size of a human head.
I drew backward in a hurry, watching in horror as three small spots melted their way through the thin, white crust. Two circles near the top and one downward slash near the bottom—like some hideous facsimile of a frowning face. The ice continued to melt at an alarming rate, causing the eyes to widen and the mouth to open itself into a jagged, silent scream. There was a sizzling sound as the frost melted and evaporated before my eyes, wiping out the terrifying face in an instant. I stared down at the now slightly warped and bubbled wallpaper in stunned disbelief.
There really was a ghost hiding in the wall. And it was ticked off.
Chapter Thirteen
I was done playing nice with the dead kids. I’d only spoken to the spirit in the wall in an attempt to be helpful. Scaring me half to death with a screaming ice face was beyond rude—it was just plain twisted!
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