by R. L. Stine
“Here, girl,” she crooned. “Sweets for the sweet.” She laughed as the horse snuffled her palm.
Maggie leaned her forehead against the horse’s nose and stroked the animal’s long neck. “The boys don’t want me riding you,” Maggie said. “I wonder if they think I’m trying to take their mother’s place?”
Am I? Maggie thought suddenly. She lifted her head.
She certainly hadn’t been. Until she saw Mr. Malbourne. She immediately felt drawn to him. To the intensity in his blue eyes.
And when he touched her . . . Maggie could hardly describe the sensations that flooded through her. They were nothing like her experiences with boys back in New York.
But then Mr. Malbourne was nothing like the boys back in New York either. Maggie felt so much safer now that he had returned to Tanglewood. He told me he would fix things, and he will, Maggie thought.
The two carriage horses began to stamp their feet in their stalls. Then Andrew’s pony gave a high whinny.
A shudder rippled through Fancy. Her eyes rolled back until Maggie could see the whites.
“What’s wrong, girl?” she cried. She stared around the stable. Nothing appeared out of place.
Then Maggie smelled the smoke.
Heard the crackle of burning straw.
Fire!
Fancy reared up. Her large front hooves pawing the air. The horse screamed in terror.
Let the horses out! Maggie ordered herself. That’s the first thing to do. She unlatched Fancy’s stall. The horse thundered past her—almost throwing Maggie to the ground.
Maggie’s eyes began to burn as the smoke spread. Growing thicker, darker. She released the boys’ ponies and moved on to the carriage horses.
Before she could set them free, she began to choke. Hard, painful coughs racked her body. She bent forward from the waist, trying to pull in slow, steady breaths.
Then she straightened up and opened the stall door. Only three more to go. Maggie forced herself to keep moving.
Done! She fought her way to the stable door. Pushing past the terrified horses. She could feel their hot breath. Hear their screams.
She yanked on the door. It would not open.
One of the carriage horses reared over her. Its huge hooves over her head.
Maggie jerked away. She stumbled. And fell to the ground.
She stared up at the fear-crazed horses. They are going to trample me!
Chapter
19
Maggie curled up into a ball. She could see the horses’ powerful hooves stomping the ground all around her.
A shower of sparks flew down from the stable roof. The horses threw themselves at the locked door. Squealing and biting one another.
A hoof came down on her shoulder. On her thigh. Maggie wrapped her arms over her head.
The smell of burning straw and wood grew stronger and stronger. White dots exploded in front of her eyes. Soon the flames would reach her.
Bang! Bang!
The stable doors flew open.
The ground trembled under Maggie as the horses galloped by. Two strong hands lifted her up up into the air. And someone carried her out of the stables.
Mr. Malbourne. He set her down gently. “Maggie, are you all right?”
“Yes, yes, I think so.” Her voice sounded thick and scratchy. George Squires ran past them with buckets of water.
“Go inside the house,” Mr. Malbourne ordered her.
“I’ll help you,” Maggie cried.
“No! Inside, Maggie! I beg you! Now!”
Maggie obeyed. She waited alone in the mansion’s large entry hall. Finally Mr. Malbourne returned. Soot marked his cheeks. “The fire is out,” he told her. “But the stables are destroyed.”
He sank down on a long wooden bench, and Maggie sat beside him. “Are you sure you are all right?” he asked.
Maggie clasped her hands in her lap and stared at them for a moment. Trying to decide what to say to him. She felt black and blue. And her lungs ached from the smoke.
“I am unharmed,” she told him. Then she gazed over at Mr. Malbourne. “But I am frightened. So frightened. Someone tried to kill me. Someone barred the stable door from the outside. It must have been Garret. He—”
“No!” Mr. Malbourne leaped to his feet. “No! There is an explanation for everything that has happened. But it does not involve my sons. It cannot. They are little boys.”
Mr. Malbourne glared down at her. He suddenly seemed to realize he had been shouting. He sat down again. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I seem to find myself apologizing to you frequently,” he added with a tired smile.
“I-I don’t know what you expect from me, Mr. Malbourne,” Maggie said. “I want to continue to care for the children, but ....”
“You must give me some time,” Mr. Malbourne told her. “I must leave Tanglewood tonight.”
Maggie drew in a sharp little gasp. She hoped Mr. Malbourne did not notice.
“I will be back tomorrow evening. Give me until then, and we will begin to straighten everything out,” Mr. Malbourne promised. “Even if we must all leave Tanglewood.”
Can I do it? Maggie wondered. Can I face another night at Tanglewood, especially now that I know how violent Garret can be?
“I will ask Cook to have Mary sleep in your room with you,” Mr. Malbourne said. “You will be fine. I promise.”
♦ ♦ ♦
“Well, good-bye, Miss Thomas,” Mr. Malbourne said that night. Then he hesitated. He glanced over at his carriage. George Squires sat in the driver’s seat, staring straight ahead.
Mr. Malbourne moved closer to Maggie, his gaze moving from her eyes to her lips.
Is he going to kiss me? she thought. And she realized she wanted him to.
Don’t be silly, she ordered herself. You are his children’s governess.
Mr. Malbourne shook his head. “Good-bye,” he said again. Then he stepped quickly into the carriage. The wheels turned as George Squires drove away.
Maggie watched the carriage until it was out of sight, swallowed up by the darkness.
And she had that feeling again. That feeling of being watched.
“Maggie . . . danger . . .” she heard someone whisper.
She turned and gazed up at the tower.
The window stood dark and empty.
Of course it is empty, Maggie told herself. The only danger at Tanglewood is Garret. I will convince his father that he needs special care.
She decided to postpone going inside with a stroll through the gardens. The bright moonlight made it easy to see. She circled around the house, and spotted the old well.
Maggie remembered Andrew’s strange reaction to it—that first day, when he gave her the grand tour. And she had never studied it.
She hurried closer. When she and Andrew played outside, he never led her near this spot. Why? They covered every other patch of the grounds. Another secret, she thought.
She reached the well. A heavy stone lid sat on top. Maggie had to struggle hard to push the cover aside.
She stared down into the dark water. Down to the bottom.
What was that?
Something shiny sparkled in a crack in the well’s stone wall.
Maggie leaned forward, reaching deep into the well, deep into the water.
The water so cold it felt as if it were slicing her skin.
A little farther and I’ll have it, she thought. She lowered her head into the well and stretched out her fingertips. She needed to see what it was.
Grunting with effort, she closed her eyes. Then she felt something hard. Maggie made a fist around the object. Got it!
She struggled to pull herself up. Shoving against the rough walls of the well.
Two small hands slammed down on her back. Giving her a hard shove.
She was falling!
Falling headfirst into the well!
Chapter
20
The dark glassy surface rushed up to meet her.
Splash!
Her head hit the cold, slimy water. It rushed up her nose and filled her mouth.
Her long skirts snagged on the rough stones of the well, preventing her from falling all the way in. Her legs flailed about in the air above her. But she couldn’t pull her head above water.
She could not breathe.
Maggie’s heart thundered. It sounded so loud, pounding and pounding in her head. Her lungs ached.
She scratched the sides of the well, trying to push herself backward and out. One of her fingernails snagged in a crack and ripped off.
Maggie kicked and struggled until her head broke free of the water. She sucked in a deep breath, coughing and choking. Her knees hit the edge of the well, and her toes touched the dirt. She used her legs to haul herself back out of the well.
Gasping for air, she turned around wildly. Trying to see who pushed her.
No one there.
Maybe I slipped, she thought. But she couldn’t convince herself of that. She could still feel the hands on her back, shoving her. The little hands of a child. Garret.
Maggie began to wring the water out of her hair—and realized she held something clutched in her right hand.
The shiny object! What she reached into the well for in the first place!
Slowly, she opened her fingers.
It was a ring.
A ring that matched the one Andrew wore. Only a different set of initials had been engraved in this red garnet stone.
G.M.
“Garret!” she whispered.
Andrew is terrified of this spot. And now I find Garret’s ring in the well. What happened out here? Did Garret try to push Andrew in the well—the way he did me?
Time to talk to Garret, Maggie decided. She gathered her skirts in both hands and ran around the house to the front door. She rushed up the main staircase—and found Andrew sitting at the top.
“Andrew!” Maggie cried. “I thought you were asleep hours ago!”
“I had a bad dream,” Andrew confessed. “I looked for you—but you were gone.”
“I’m sorry. I took a walk in the gardens,” Maggie told him.
“How did you get all wet?” he asked.
“I . . . I fell in the well. Isn’t that silly?” Maggie asked. She hoped Andrew could not tell how upset she felt.
The color drained from Andrew’s face. “You fell in? How could you fall in? It doesn’t make sense.”
“It’s easy to explain, really,” Maggie reassured him. “I decided to take a peek in the well and I noticed something shiny inside. I reached for it—and leaned too far down. I fell halfway in, but pulled myself right out again.
“And I found this,” she added. She showed him the ring, curious to see if he would have any reaction.
Andrew’s eyes widened with fear.
“What’s wrong, Andrew?” Maggie pressed. “It’s just Garret’s ring.”
Andrew gave a low moan.
Maggie felt her stomach cramp. But she needed to find out the truth.
“Something happened at the well, didn’t it?” Maggie asked. “You can tell me.”
“That’s where he killed her. That’s where Garret killed our mother!” Andrew cried.
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21
“What? Oh, Andrew! What happened?” Maggie cried.
“He was very angry with Mother,” Andrew said, wiping his little nose with the back of his hand. “He felt she favored me.”
Andrew’s blue eyes brimmed with tears. He slowly nodded, and several tears spilled down his round cheeks. “You see?” he said. “It is my fault.”
“No, Andrew, it is not.” Maggie thought of Henrietta. Of Henrietta’s hatred of Maggie.
“Andrew, listen to me. This is very important. You must never blame yourself for your brother’s jealousy,” Maggie said evenly. “Jealousy is a terrible sickness. It is an ugly side of Garret, but it is not your fault. Now please tell me what happened.”
“I have already said too much.”
“Tell me, Andrew.”
“I should not have told you anything,” Andrew rushed on. “Please, Miss Thomas. Promise me that whatever happens, you will not tell Father. You see, Father believed Garret when he said it was just an accident at the well. He would not be able to stand it if he discovered the truth.”
“An accident?”
“Yes, you see—” Andrew’s voice grew hushed. “Garret told Mother he dropped his ring in the well. Then, when she went to fish it out, he—”
Andrew hung his head. He could not go on.
“He pushed her in?” Maggie said for him.
Andrew did not answer. He did not have to. Maggie turned toward the window.
Tonight, at the well, she felt two little hands shove her . . . just as Mrs. Malbourne must have when she died.
“After she fell,” Maggie asked, “after Garret pushed her into the well, what happened to your poor mother’s body?”
“Father and Mr. Squires got her out of the well. She was—not dead yet.” Andrew sobbed. “The—the doctor came. She was very sick. They brought her up to the tower room. She died up there.”
A question occurred to her. “How do you know all this, Andrew? About Garret and your mother? Did you—did you see him do it?”
Andrew shook his head no.
“Then how?”
Andrew did not reply.
“How, Andrew?”
“Please, Miss Thomas. I do not want to say. You won’t believe me.”
“Andrew.”
The boy remained quiet a long time. He stared down at his hands in his lap. When he spoke, it was as if he were talking to his hands and not to her.
“My mother told me that he drowned her. Remember, I explained that I go up to the tower and talk to her sometimes. My—my mother’s spirit is locked inside that room, Miss Thomas. She cries every night. I only pretended it was me.”
“You’re right, Andrew, I don’t believe that,” Maggie answered gently. “Perhaps your mother does know what you do—but as an angel in heaven,” she added.
“No!” Andrew insisted. “She is locked in the tower room, and she wants to get out: She wants revenge on Garret. She wants to hurt him.”
“You know what I think?” Maggie said. “I think when your father gets back we should all go up to that room and see for ourselves what is in there.”
Andrew jumped up. “If we ever unlock that door, Mother will find Garret and kill him. That’s why Father keeps it locked. He will not tell anyone where he keeps the key.”
“Your father thinks the stairs are dangerous,” Maggie explained, trying to soothe him. “That is probably why he keeps the room locked—to keep anyone from going up there. We will ask him tomorrow. But now let’s get you back to bed.”
Andrew grabbed her hand. “Miss Thomas?”
“Yes?”
“I am scared.”
“Of Garret?”
Andrew nodded. “He gets so angry at me. Sometimes I am afraid he will kill me, too.”
“I know. Do not fear. I will protect you.” Maggie walked him back to his bedroom. “When I shut the door, I want you to lock it behind me. Do not open it again unless I tell you. I will come for you in the morning. Tomorrow I will never leave your side. Do not worry. Now get some rest.”
After she shut the door to his room, and after she heard Andrew turn the key in the lock, Maggie leaned back against the door. She felt drained of all energy and emotion.
But the worst is finally over, she told herself.
She had gotten to the truth, the awful truth, at last.
Garret murdered his own mother. Mr. Malbourne would need to be convinced of that, no matter what it took. He owed it to Andrew. Andrew would never feel safe in a home shared with Garret.
Maggie pushed herself away from Andrew’s door. One last night, she told herself as she slowly walked down the hallway to her own room. And then it will all be over.
She opened the door—and gasped.
A woman lay on her bed.
Her throat slashed open.
Garret stood over her. A bloody knife in his hand.
Chapter
22
Maggie screamed.
Garret turned to face her.
Blood spattered his nightshirt and his little hands and face.
The woman on the bed uttered a long, gurgling breath. Then she was silent.
“You killed Mary!” Maggie cried. “Oh, why, Garret?”
“I didn’t know she was here. I came to see you.” Garret still clutched the knife in his little hand.
Oh, no! Garret mistook Mary for me. She has the same red hair. And she was sleeping in my room.
Garret is going to kill me now, Maggie thought. Maggie turned and bolted from the room.
“Wait!” Garret yelled.
Maggie could hear him pounding after her. She raced down the hall. Her heart pumping so hard it hurt. She glanced behind her, and didn’t see Garret.
She opened the door of the room closest to her and slammed it shut without going in. She continued zigzagging through the house, making noise, trying to confuse Garret.
Then she stopped, and remained very still. She didn’t hear a sound.
Moving as softly and silently as she could, she made her way to Mr. Malbourne’s bedroom. It had a lock. She would hide there.
Andrew was safely locked in his room. She hoped Cook had the sense to lock herself in as well.
When Mr. Malbourne returned the next day, he would be able to stop Garret from hurting any of them.
Maggie pushed open the door. It gave a loud creak.
Was Garret waiting inside for her, the knife raised? Did he know she would come here? Had he guessed?
She had to check before she locked the door behind her. Maggie groped her way into the dark room. Slowly her eyes adjusted to the darkness.
The room stood empty. Maggie let out her breath in relief. She turned back to lock the door.
And Garret stood in the doorway. The knife still in his hand. The metal blade glinted in a shaft of silver moonlight. The blood glistening.
