by CeeCee James
“Where did you get this pretty?” I whispered, leaning down. “Was it a present from Mr. Thornberry?” There was a print on the pendant, a cute little cat paw. I flipped it over to see what was on the other side. A smile crept across my mouth when I saw tiny print. “Say… what’s this?”
Larkspur
I leaned back, thoughtful, and resumed stroking the cat’s neck. “Interesting. Very interesting. But, what does it mean? Not your name, surely.”
I glanced at the map again. Louise Driscoll. Twenty-three. Mary had guessed either an artist or an author. So far, I wasn’t having much luck in the artist department. Books could be a possibility, but there was only one place on the estate I could search. In the book club room.
When I’d left the kitchen for the night both Cook and Marguerite were cackling over some bit of gossip over Butler’s daughter. Should I chance it? I felt terrible the last time I did.
I reached for the flashlight I kept in the top bed drawer just for these types of situations and tiptoed out into the hallway. Were the two of them still down there?
Shielding the light with my hand, I crept down a flight of stairs, past the chess bust, and peered over the railing. I couldn’t tell. The kitchen was too far away.
Sighing, I spun around.
Straight into Mary, who let out a muffled squeal.
“What are you doing?” she asked, blasting her own flashlight in my face.
“Mary!” I blinked and threw up my hands.
“Oh, sorry.”
“I was thinking of getting a snack. Just wondering if anyone was still in the kitchen.”
“Marguerite and Cook are in there.” She mimed tipping back a glass. “They’ll be in there for a while. This is their Friday ritual.”
We giggled together like two school girls catching their teacher kissing, and then I left her and headed up the stairs. She continued down. At the top I glanced over the railing and breathed a sigh of relief when she disappeared from view.
Now was the time, if there ever was one. Just a quick peek at the books for the author.
As I scurried along the hallway, feeling like a furtive mouse, I was pleased to find all the other rooms silent. Most likely their occupants were asleep. Halfway to Marguerite’s room a board creaked. I froze. When nothing happened, I continued on, my hand shaking by the time I reached for her doorknob.
“Just have to do it,” I whispered and twisted the knob. “Marguerite, forgive me.” She would if I found the crown.
Marguerite’s room remained just as tidy as when I’d last been in there. A quilt coverlet lay over the end of the bed, and a small fire burned on the hearth. I entered the secret book club room.
It was pitch black in here with no windows to allow even a smidge of moonlight. I clicked on the flashlight.
The room lacked the cozy welcoming feel of night’s past. The chairs were pushed against the wall, and the table empty of all the yummy snacks. I swept the light over the walls. The floor to ceiling bookshelves were impressive. But even they couldn’t contain all the books. The remaining ones piled in tall stacks in every spare inch of space.
A wave of discouragement flooded over me, and I took a deep breath. How on earth could I possibly search through all of these before Marguerite returned?
Just do it, I thought grimly, and flashed the light along the titles to see what arrangement they were stored in.
My fears were somewhat assuaged at seeing they were in alphabetical order. I started down to the D’s.
It was then that I heard a creak. Not a sound caused by me. This one came from the other side of the room, and I could just imagine a foot weighing heavily on a floorboard as someone leaned to watch me. My breath caught in my chest. Slowly, I moved the light in that direction.
No one was there. Had it been behind me? Horror of horrors, had Marguerite returned? I crept over to the door and rested my ear against it to listened.
Silence.
Old house. Old house. I reminded myself, trying hard not to think of the ghost stories. Back to work and hurry.
The darkness was thick and cloying. I flashed the light along the many spines, trying to speed read through them. The books begged to be touched, taken off the shelf, pored over. I almost cried when I saw A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens, obviously one of the first in print.
But I didn’t have time to admire it. There was nearly no time left.
Something heavy thumped behind me. I whirled around, ready to give a whack with the flashlight.
The light wavered over the empty chairs. I swallowed hard, my mouth dry, my memory kindly replaying the moment I’d been so sure the cup in the study had been moved. Gritting my teeth, I focused on the shelves. I still couldn’t find the book. I’d have to search the stacks on the floor wouldn’t I?
A feathery tickle stroked my leg. I squealed and leaped into the air, before swinging the flashing light in a chopping motion.
Hank blinked innocent eyes at me before licking his paw and giving his ear a wash.
I grabbed my chest, my heart galloping away. “Again, Hank! What are you doing in here?”
He paid me no mind. That cat was going to be the death of me. I breathed through my nose, trying to will my heart to mellow out and went back to the bottom shelf on the last case.
Louise Driscoll. There was the book. Actually three.
I wanted to giggle then. Instead, I quickly seized them—with Hank somehow getting in the way—and then tried to fluff out the rest so the empty space wouldn’t be as noticeable. I patted the cat and listened at the door. Hearing no one on the other side, I stole back into Marguerite’s room, eased the club door tight, and then rushed into the hall. As quietly as possible I shut the door.
Heart still pounding, I wiped sweaty palms on my nightgown and spun around.
Straight into Mary again.
This time we both squealed.
“Oh! It’s you!” I clutched my chest and sucked in air like a goldfish.
“You scared the tarnation out of me!” Mary’s reaction mirrored my own, and the doughnut she held in her hand trembled. “What are you doing out here, anyway?”
“I thought I heard something.”
“Me too!” Mary exclaimed. “I’ve been getting awfully creeped out lately. It’s not just the plumbing that’s going wrong. There are rats in the wall, I’m sure of it. The other night, I heard scurrying. Either that, or….” Her eyes grew bigger at her unspoken fear.
Darkness was my friend and hid the heat blooming in my cheeks. I just needed to get back to my room with the books while Mary was still distracted.
“All’s well now. Sleep tight.” I spun on cold toes toward my room.
“Wait just a minute!” Mary called, causing my heart to sink.
Chapter Twenty-One
I slowly turned back, sure that this evening would never end. “What is it?” I asked. I sounded braver than I felt.
“Here. I brought you one.” Mary held out a napkin covered doughnut. “You said you were hungry.”
I accepted it with a flush. “Thank you.”
“Sure thing. See you in the morning.”
She went toward her room, and I hurried to mine.
I dumped the books on the bed. Shaking, and feeling slightly sick with guilt, I curled up on my side next to them. The sweet vanilla scent of the doughnut brushed my face, forgotten in my hand. I drew my legs up and took a self-pitying bite. “It was awful but it’s over. I did it.”
A meow announced Hank had followed me through the walls and now pushed through the cupboard door. He sprang up on the bed with a heavy thud and then head butted my leg.
“Hey, buddy. You going to help me figure out this map?”
I sat up and found the map discarded on the blanket. I smoothed it again with some crinkling and rubbed my forehead.
“The thing is, Hank, I don’t remember any part of the yard looking like this. See here, this hedge? Did they pull it out? And what about the apple tree?”
/> Something wasn’t right. My blood chilled as I realized the garden might not be anywhere on the property.
There was a tap on my door. I quickly ripped the blankets back to cover the books and rose to my feet. “Who is it?”
“It’s me, Mary,” came the whisper.
I opened the door and moved the flashlight’s beam from her face and to the floor. “Hello? What’s the matter?”
“You dropped this. When we bumped into each other.” Mary held out the third book.
I closed my eyes. I wanted to deny it, but what was the use? I’d been caught, and we both knew it.
Neither of us moved. Downstairs, Marguerite’s booming voice gave Cook a cheery goodnight. The grandfather clock chimed midnight. Its gongs carried with them the threat of discovery.
“Let me in! Hurry!” Mary whispered. We could hear Marguerite lumbering up the stairs. The housekeeper paused on the landing and wheezed.
I stood back, and Mary scooted inside. Quietly, I shut the door, holding the handle down to keep it from giving a hard click.
We stood as still as a pair of statues while the housekeeper shuffled in the hallway. At my doorway, Marguerite coughed, and I grabbed Mary’s arm. But, after another moment, Marguerite’s door latched shut. We let out a huge breath.
“You want to tell me what’s going on?” Mary asked. I turned to see Hank buried under the covers, in the process uncovering the other books. His eyes glistened in the candlelight’s flame.
I closed my eyes. That cat really was going to be the death of me.
“It’s okay. I promise I won’t tell.” Mary crossed her heart as if she were twelve.
At this point I couldn’t keep it a secret any longer. I needed help, and I was in too deep as it was. “I found a map.”
“What?” Mary grew excited.
“Yes, and I think it’s to the crown that has been missing all this time.”
Mary’s jaw dropped. “Can I see it?”
I caught the map out from the blankets and handed it over to Mary.
Her expression settled into one of reverence. “Oh, my goodness!” She held it delicately and studied the faint ink in the candlelight. “I know this place. I was there before.”
“You’re kidding! Where?”
“It’s the secret garden,” Mary whispered. “Nobody knows about it but me.”
“How?”
“Just in the right place at the wrong time, I guess.” She shrugged. “The garden is one of the biggest reasons I think this house is haunted.”
“Why?”
Mary flushed. “The thing is, there’s only one way in and out. But the plants are always taken care of. Everything pruned. I don’t get it.”
“Can you show me?”
Now it was Mary’s turn to study me, knowing she had the big secret. Finally, she nodded. “Tomorrow. We’ll meet in the main study at noon.”
She glanced at the bed. “Keep those books hidden. Heaven help us if Miss Janice discovers them. You’ll be fired for sure. And that’s probably the least of the threat.”
She handed the map back to me. After a moment, she dove into the dark hallway, noiselessly shutting the door behind her.
I collapsed onto the bed, exhausted but relieved. At long last, things were coming together.
Hank poked out from under the covers, his fur rumpled on the top of his head. He looked annoyed.
“Sorry to disturb your beauty sleep, but you did tattle on me.” I moved the books and hauled the covers up over my lap. “Okay, let’s figure this out.” I glanced at the map again and then the books. They were all books of poetry. First, I turned to page twenty-three on each of the books, the number on the map. The first book had a drawing of a rabbit. The second book opened to a picture of the sun. And the third was blank, possibly a misprint.
“Maybe the number is supposed to be backward.” I flipped to page thirty-two. Two of the books didn’t go that far. The third was the appendix.
I started to scroll through the list but the words bubbled together and didn’t make sense. Tiredness had snuck over me, unexpectedly. It was late, and I needed to get some sleep.
I shut the book. “I’m finding that crown tomorrow, Hank. I’m saving this place, you’ll see.”
The cat yawned and stretched his legs. His eyes were two sleepy globes that he closed to a slit.
“Sleep well, buddy. We have a big day, tomorrow. And we’re going to surprise everyone.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Some mornings I woke up to the sounds of birds trilling their lovely songs. They were gorgeous little things. I had no idea the species, but they wore a particularly colorful patch of red on both their chests and heads. One had made a nest on the ledge not too far from my window. The bird would hop and chirp, with matching fledgling warbles from inside the nest, all demanding to be fed. Nature made some of the sweetest alarm clocks.
However, this morning I woke to a cascade of indignant shrieks that rose and fell in the most horrifying manner. I didn’t bother to find a robe but leaped straight out of bed and into the hallway, still trying to wipe the sleep from my eyes.
From across the hall, Janet came stumbling out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around her soaking wet body. “The toilet’s overflowing and the shower hit me with scalding water!”
At that exact moment, Mary flung open her door. Her eyes were wide with panic, and she darted for the bathroom. She disappeared through the entrance and, a second later, there was an enormous thump, the kind that gives you shivers. It was followed by another scream, this time not so indignant, but one filled with pain.
Mary had thought to help Janet and managed to slip on the wet floor.
This resulted in a good chunk of chaos, with Janet still yelling, Mary shrieking, and now Cook bawling out orders. Eventually, between Marguerite and myself, we had Mary dressed, then Stephen and Butler carried her downstairs and trundled her to the hospital.
Creepy-faced Earl appeared to help clean the mess. He saw me and winked in my direction before mouthing, “Meow.”
I turned away, disgusted. He gave me the shivers.
So, what with being short staffed and the following conundrum of all of us trying to crowd into the remaining bathroom and the very real struggle to share the mirror, sink and amenities, a great deal of time had passed before we managed to get the house in order.
After lunch, Mary still was not back. I snagged an apple and headed outdoors, determined to see if I could find that hidden garden by myself.
The estate grounds covered acres and acres of land. Behind the many gardens, hills rolled one after the other, with a smudge of trees winding through like a wisp of smoke. Who knew what lay hidden out in the forest. I doubted there’d been any exploration of the area in years.
It was a battle not to feel overwhelmed. I didn’t know where to even start to look for Mary’s secret garden. However, I had to start somewhere, and on this beautiful day, I decided to head for the woods.
I entered the forest to a flock of birds lifting from the branches at my approach. Soon, I understood the reason for the curving path of the trees. A creek cut through the property, burbling delightfully as it watered its leafy grove. It was a good-size brook, and as I leaned over to study the current, I saw shadows of fish darting about near the water’s bank.
Peace filled the area. I chose a spot to sit on the marshy side, and plucked a tall piece of grass to poke in the water. The fish scattered every time I broke the water’s surface, only to return cautiously a moment later.
It was then that I heard a whistling sound coming from someplace upstream. I glanced up and caught a glimpse of a figure reclining in the grass beside the water. Man or woman, at this distance I couldn’t tell, but they held a fishing pole while a floppy hat covered their face.
I rose to my feet and brushed my pants off, unsure if I should say hello or instead creep back unheard to the field above. After all, this person clearly was the intruder on the property. As I watched, the p
erson wound their fishing line, exposing a slim wrist from beneath the cuff of their shirt. Indecision slipped into curiosity, and I called out. “Hello?”
The person jumped to their feet, the hat bobbing in my direction. In the next moment, they ran through the trees, leaving the fishing pole behind.
I wasn’t about to let them out of sight now. I swiftly followed and soon past the abandoned fishing pole. As I hurried, the trees gave way to grass, and bees buzzed over the wild flowers like wee golden orbs of light. I rounded a huge pine tree, and stopped abruptly. A house sat not a hundred feet away, small and quaint, with two picturesque rocking chairs on the front porch.
Cautiously, I walked toward the house, wondering to whom it belonged. As I drew closer I saw the front porch with new eyes. What had first appeared to be delightful now revealed rot and black mold in the corners. Several of the railings were near eaten away by some pestilence, and the very rocking chairs themselves had paint scattered beneath like a person with uncontrolled dandruff.
I stopped to listen. Only the hum of insects broke the air. Possibly, the person had disappeared inside.
Uneasily, I took the first porch step. My leg stiffened when the wood groaned in the most appalling way under my foot. It seemed to hold my weight though, so I continued on.
The front door spoke of quality despite its peeling lacquer from years of rain lashings. Surprising me, I saw the knocker was the twin to the one at the main house—a brass lion with a metal ring clamped in its green-tinged mouth. I grabbed it firmly and let it fall.
Its metal sound echoed inside. I was reminded of my first day here, when I had walked up the manors broad steps and instinctively clenched the suitcase handle tighter in my sweaty hand. Back then, a sleepy Butler had opened the door.
This time, a much younger man appeared in the doorway, although similarly sleepy looking. Stephen raised an eyebrow when he saw it was me.
“Hello?” His greeting rose in a rather unfriendly manner. His rumpled clothes spoke of having spent the night in them, and his frown added to the unwelcome touch.
