The Hidden Evil

by R. L. Stine

  Maggie’s heart gave a hard thump. Did Andrew believe his mother’s spirit was in the tower room? Did he believe she knew everything that went on at Tanglewood as Garret did?

  She would need to speak to him about this. The belief wasn’t healthy for either boy.

  By the time she had carried Andrew downstairs, he was sound asleep. She tucked him into his bed and kissed his forehead. As she did so, he stirred uneasily and opened his eyes. “You promise you will not tell?” he asked sleepily.

  “I promise. I will not tell. But the next time you feel sad like this, you must come to me. I promise I will cheer you up.” Closing his eyes again, the little boy smiled and squeezed her hand.

  Maggie kissed his forehead one last time, then returned to her room.

  Poor Andrew, Maggie thought as she returned the robe to the closet. And poor Garret. They need so much. More than I can give them, I fear. I wish their father would return.

  She slid back into bed. She would sleep better tonight than she had in—

  Her bare foot touched something wet . . . and warm.

  She jumped up and threw back the covers.

  “No! Oh, no!” she cried.

  Fresh dark blood soaked the sheets.

  Charcoal’s blood. The big gray cat’s throat had been slit. Maggie could see the shiny strands of muscle and a flash of white bone. The cat’s unblinking yellow eyes stared up at her. Flat, dead eyes.

  A sharp coppery smell hit Maggie’s nostrils. She could taste it on the back of her tongue. Blood. The smell and taste of blood.

  Maggie closed her eyes and covered her mouth. Several moments passed before she could force herself to gaze at the poor murdered creature. When she did, she noticed a piece of paper tied around the cat’s throat with a bit of string.

  Maggie gingerly picked up the blood-spattered note and opened it.

  “Curiosity killed the cat, Miss Thomas,” read the note in a small, childish hand.

  Chapter

  16

  Maggie gently wrapped Charcoal’s small body in the sheet.

  Oh, Garret, she thought. I knew you wanted me to leave. But I never believed you were capable of this.

  Maggie didn’t know what to do. She did not think it was safe to allow Garret to stay at Tanglewood. Not with his younger brother there. But she could not make the decision to move him to an institution.

  Oh, she felt so alone here. Cook would never help her decide what to do. And George Squires barely mumbled a word to anyone.

  Then you will have to take charge, won’t you? Maggie asked herself. She dressed quickly and carried Charcoal’s body out to the garden.

  She wanted to bury Charcoal right away. She did not want Andrew to see him. The little boy loved the cat. After she had buried it, she would decide what to do next.

  Maggie found a spade in the gardening shed. She brought it to a flower bed near the house. Kneeling in the cold ground, she began digging a grave for Charcoal.

  “Maggie,” a woman called softly.

  Who was it? Cook? The maid?

  Maggie glanced around the dark lawn. She saw no one.

  The events of the night were more than enough to set your imagination racing, she thought. She peered around the dark grounds again. Then continued to dig.

  Finally, she thought the hole appeared big enough. She gingerly placed the bloody bundle inside. Then she began to fill the dirt back in.

  “Maggie ....”

  Maggie’s head jerked up.

  She felt sure of it now. Someone called her name.

  She scrambled to her feet and turned around slowly. Searching. Searching. Searching.

  “Who is there?” Maggie demanded. Her dry throat made her voice soft and weak.

  “Show yourself!” Maggie cried.

  Then she raised her eyes up—up to one of the tower rooms.

  Maggie’s heartbeat thudded in her temples. She swayed on her feet.

  “Please, no,” she whispered.

  A woman stood in the window, staring down at her. A woman Maggie recognized immediately.

  The long, light blond hair. The thin, beautiful face.

  It cannot be, Maggie thought.

  But it was. It was Mrs. Malbourne.

  Chapter

  17

  Mrs. Malbourne threw the window open. She stared down from the tower—stared right at Maggie. Her long, light blond hair blew around her thin face. Her eyes glowed green.

  “Danger . . .” Mrs. Malbourne moaned.

  Maggie felt a wave of cold surge up from her feet. Leaving her frozen, unable to move. If it reaches my heart, I’ll die, Maggie thought. My heart will freeze, and I will die.

  The green glow of Mrs. Malbourne’s eyes mesmerized Maggie. Look away! she ordered herself. You must look away!

  The ice in her body moved higher. Past her knees, past her thighs. Her stomach cramped as the wave of cold hit it.

  Still Maggie could not tear her eyes away from Mrs. Malbourne’s.

  “Danger . . .” the other woman moaned, her face twisted in anguish. “Go . . .”

  Maggie broke her eyes away from Mrs. Malbourne’s gaze. She ran, her legs stinging and burning. She tripped as she passed the tall hedges of the topiary maze, but pushed herself to her feet and kept on.

  Where should she go? Nowhere at Tanglewood was safe. But there was no way to leave the huge estate. Not tonight.

  I’ll be safer inside, she decided. At least I can lock myself in my room!

  Hurry! she cried to herself. Hurry!

  She darted inside and slammed the door. She raced down the dark hallway—and two strong hands grabbed her from behind.

  “No! Help!” she shrieked. “Let me go!”

  Maggie twisted and kicked, but the big hands would not release her.

  “Who are you?” a man’s angry voice demanded. “What are you doing here?” He spun Maggie around to face him.

  Shaking all over, Maggie stared up at her captor.

  He towered above her, a scowl on his face. One streak of white slashed through his dark hair.

  Maggie instantly recognized this tall man. Mr. Malbourne.

  “I said, who are you?” he demanded.

  “I-I-I am your new governess, sir.”

  “My governess?” Mr. Malbourne stared at her as if she were insane. Then he said, “Come this way.”

  He led her down the hall, threw open the doors to the library, and marched her inside. “You are shivering,” he said curtly. “I will start a fire.”

  She huddled by the doors as he picked up the silver tinderbox and bellows. As he worked, Maggie gazed at her hands. And her arms. Covered with dirt. He must think he has hired a madwoman, she thought. I will be fired on the spot.

  “Come here,” Mr. Malbourne ordered her. “You will not warm yourself standing over there.”

  Maggie forced herself to cross the room. Her legs trembled, and she felt unsure of the cause. Her experience in the garden? Or the way Mr. Malbourne studied her now? She found herself blushing furiously.

  Calm yourself, Maggie, she thought.

  “I take it then that you are Miss Thomas,” he said, glancing back at the fire.

  “When last I checked, yes.”

  He turned quickly, giving her only the barest hint of a smile.

  And yet, that faint smile did more to warm her than the hissing flames of the new fire.

  “Miss Thomas, I must apologize for startling you in that rude fashion.”

  She stood only feet from him now. She found herself staring at the cleft in Mr. Malbourne’s chin. She had to force her gaze back up to his eyes.

  “Oh, not at all,” she began. “It was all my fault for—”

  “But what the devil were you doing outside in the middle of the night?” he interrupted.

  Maggie opened her mouth to answer, but no words came out. She couldn’t tell him that his new employee had allowed his sons to convince her their dead mother lived in the tower.

  My imagination comple
tely ran away with me out there in the dark, she thought. Of course I did not see Mrs. Malbourne’s ghost.

  “I was burying a cat, sir,” Maggie finally managed to answer.

  Mr. Malbourne frowned. “Burying a cat? What cat?”

  “Charcoal, I believe the children call him.” I am speaking too fast, Maggie thought.

  “Oh, yes, yes. Charcoal. He died? I am sorry. But rather an odd time for a cat funeral, is it not?”

  Maggie decided it was not the time to tell him the circumstances of the cat’s death. She needed to have a long conversation with him about both his sons. But not here. Not in the middle of the night.

  “It is, sir,” Maggie agreed. “But I did not want the children to see its dead body and become upset. After what they have been through—”

  Mr. Malbourne winced. “Quite right.”

  Oh, why did I say that? Maggie wondered. Why remind him of his wife’s passing, his terrible loss?

  Mr. Malbourne wandered aimlessly about the room. He pulled a book off the shelf, pushed it back in. Then he flung himself into a chair. Rubbed his face with both hands.

  Then he jerked up his head as if he had just remembered her presence. “Miss Thomas—allow me to apologize for having been away since you arrived. I suppose you have been here long enough to see that Tanglewood ....”

  Mr. Malbourne’s deep voice reminded Maggie of an organ’s low notes. Hypnotic.

  He broke off and ran his fingers through his thick hair. “I had no right to bring you into such a home, a pretty young woman such as yourself.”

  Pretty?

  The word gave Maggie a shivery thrill.

  At one time in her life, not a day went by without some young man calling Maggie pretty—or giving her a much more elaborate compliment.

  But so much had happened since then. So, so much.

  “I was—am—very glad for the job,” she stammered.

  “You will pardon me for saying so, but I do not think I have ever seen hair that shade,” Mr. Malbourne continued in his low voice. “It is the color of flames.”

  “Is it?” She laughed and laughed, having trouble stopping. I sound like a mad fool, she told herself.

  But Mr. Malbourne laughed along with her. “Now that is a welcome sound. Laughter at Tanglewood,” he said, shaking his head. “Well, well. But you must think me very strange. We meet in the middle of the night and suddenly I am talking about your hair.”

  “Not at all!”

  A low, pitiful wail filled the room.

  Mr. Malbourne stiffened.

  Poor Andrew, Maggie thought. He must be up by the tower room again, crying and crying. She remembered her promise not to tell his father that she discovered him there.

  “The wind howling through the tower window makes a horrible sound, doesn’t it?” she said instead. “I will go up and close it before I return to bed.”

  Mr. Malbourne grabbed her by the arms, his fingers digging into her soft skin. He glared down at her, his blue eyes icy. “Never go up there.” He gave her a quick shake. “Never, do you hear me?”

  Chapter

  18

  Mr. Malbourne released her. “Good night, Miss Thomas,” he said gruffly. “We will speak further in the morning.”

  Maggie turned without a word and rushed up the stairs to her room. She locked the door behind her and leaned against it, her heart beating fast.

  Why did Mr. Malbourne forbid her to go to the tower room? Why did he turn so cold and angry?

  Perhaps the room where his wife died is a place he wants to keep private, she thought. Andrew said that his father had forbidden him to go to the tower—and he had begged Maggie not to tell on him.

  But Maggie didn’t feel convinced. There are so many secrets in this house, she thought. How can I remain here without knowing the truth about Tanglewood?

  Maggie sighed. She crossed over to the washstand and poured some water into the basin. She cleaned as much of the dirt off her hands and face and feet as she could. Then she changed into a fresh nightgown and put fresh sheets on her bed.

  The thought of sleeping where Charcoal’s poor, bloody body lay so recently made her stomach turn. Don’t be squeamish, Maggie ordered herself. She stared down at the bed for a long moment, then climbed in and tried to will herself to sleep.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  The next morning, Maggie arranged her hair in one style after another. You are delaying going downstairs, she scolded herself.

  How would Mr. Malbourne treat her after their strange encounter last night? Would he be harsh and cold? Or give her compliments? Maggie’s stomach fluttered. She felt nervous about seeing her employer again.

  Well, arriving late to breakfast won’t solve anything, she thought. She smoothed the long skirts of her dark-blue gown and headed to the dining room.

  “Ah, there you are,” Cook called as she walked through the doorway. “Mr. Malbourne is back. He asked that the children be served breakfast in the nursery, so that you two could talk about their progress privately.”

  “Thank you,” Maggie answered. She sat down, feeling more nervous than before. A few minutes later, Mr. Malbourne entered the room. He took his seat at the head of the polished table. Cook and Mary served them eggs, sausages, and hot biscuits. Then they retreated to the kitchen.

  “Miss Thomas, I must apologize to you,” Mr. Malbourne said abruptly the moment they left the room. “I reacted much too strongly when you suggested going up to the tower. It is just that . . . the stairs are old and crumbly.” He glanced down at the table. “I would not want you to get hurt.”

  “I understand,” Maggie told him. What he said made sense. But somehow she didn’t think he told her the whole truth. Was there another reason he didn’t want her in the tower?

  “You must keep the boys away from it as well.”

  “Of course,” Maggie said. “But there is something I must tell you about the tower,” she continued. “Both Garret and Andrew feel that . . . feel that the spirit of their mother is in that room.”

  “That’s nonsense!” Mr. Malbourne exclaimed. “I thought I hired a sensible governess. Not an easily frightened little mouse!”

  “I do not believe the boys! And I am not afraid!” Maggie shot back, her temper rising. “But I thought you should know. Andrew cries every night and still talks to her. Garret thinks she can see and hear everything.”

  Maggie locked gazes with Mr. Malbourne. “I do not believe in ghosts, sir,” she said firmly. “But terrible things are happening at Tanglewood. Things we must discuss.”

  “If you wish to go—” Mr. Malbourne began.

  Cook entered with another serving tray. Then quickly turned and fled.

  “I do not,” Maggie snapped. “But I need you to explain to me why you have had three governesses in less than a year. Your son Garret tells me he killed them all. I cannot believe that—although I’m afraid he did kill Charcoal. He slashed the poor animal’s throat and left it in my bed.”

  “Garret would never do that. Never!” Mr. Malbourne declared.

  Maggie could hear her voice growing higher and higher. But she couldn’t stop. “Well, someone did. Blood stained the sheets. Wet, red blood. It smeared on my fingers. On my feet. On my nightgown.” She began to tremble. “And there was a note. A note that said ‘curiosity killed the cat.’”

  Mr. Malbourne jumped up. He strode around the table and sat down in the chair next to Maggie’s. His expression softened. “That is enough to terrify anyone.”

  The kindness in his voice startled Maggie. She stared into his blue eyes, and felt some of the fear drain from her body.

  “I’m very sorry, sir,” she said. “I did not expect to lose control of myself that way. But it has been very difficult trying to cope with—”

  Mr. Malbourne did not allow her to finish. “Of course it has,” he murmured. “But we will find a way to fix it all.”

  Relief washed through Maggie. Then she had the strong feeling of being watched. She turned her head
—and found Garret and Andrew staring at her. Her face burned at being discovered sitting so close to their father.

  “It is a beautiful day, boys,” Mr. Malbourne exclaimed. He did not sound at all embarrassed, Maggie noted. “I think the three of us and Miss Thomas should take a ride. Perhaps Cook will pack us a picnic.”

  “But Miss Thomas does not have a horse,” Andrew reminded him.

  “She can ride Fancy,” Mr. Malbourne answered.

  “But Fancy is Mother’s horse,” Andrew said softly, his eyes on the ground.

  Mr. Malbourne reached out and raised Andrew’s chin, forcing the boy to meet his eyes. “Your mother wouldn’t mind,” he said gently.

  “Yes, she would!” Garret exploded. “She would see. And she would hate it. You know that, Father!”

  “Enough, Garret,” Mr. Malbourne said firmly. “Your mother is dead. Who rides her horse is no longer important to her.”

  Maggie studied the face of each little boy. They don’t believe him, she thought. They do not believe him.

  Mr. Malbourne shrugged. “You don’t have to ride with us,” he told Garret and Andrew. “But Miss Thomas and I are going.”

  Neither boy said a word. “Very well.” He turned to Maggie. “I have some correspondence to attend to. Will you meet me in the stables at eleven?”

  Maggie nodded. “I think I will take a few sugar cubes out to Fancy and introduce myself,” she said, trying to make her voice bright and cheerful. “Would you boys like to come?”

  Garret turned and ran from the room. Andrew tore after him.

  “I will see you at the stables,” Mr. Malbourne said shortly. He strode from the room after the boys.

  Maggie sighed. Another reason for Garret to want me away from Tanglewood, she thought. Even Andrew clearly disapproves.

  She scooped a few sugar cubes out of the sugar bowl and strolled out to the stable. She lifted the heavy wooden bar that opened the stable door and slipped inside the dark building.

  The horses nickered and whinnied as she approached. She pulled in a deep breath as she made her way to the stall with Fancy’s name on it. She loved the smell of the straw.