Page 17 of The Maid's Secret

“If you can,” says Beagle.

“I don’t have any paperwork. It was a gift,” I say.

“You have witnesses,” Brown replies. “And, Molly, that egg of yours has been lost for over a century. Never once in all that time has anyone surfaced a document that references it.”

“Which suggests the finders keepers law applies,” Beagle adds.

“Meaning?” asks my gran-dad.

“When the original and true owner of a found item is unknown, it rightfully belongs to the finder. Molly, you’re the finder,” Brown says, beaming down at us. “In other words, the egg is yours.”

My knees go weak as I gaze at the pricelessobjetin Beagle’s little hands. Is the egg twinkling or am I seeing stars?

“Oh, no. You’re not going down again,” says Juan as he wraps a protective arm around my waist.

“Deep breaths,” Angela instructs, and I breathe until my vision returns.

“I’m okay,” I reassure everyone.

“Molly,” says Brown. “Your life is about to change.”

“Mi amor,we won’t have to struggle anymore,” says Juan. “And we can have a big, fancy wedding—the marriage of our dreams!”

“If, and only if, you sell the egg,” says Brown.

“Of course she’ll sell the egg,” Juan says. “Right, Molly?”

I look at the expectant faces gathered around me—friends, family, and two shiny reality TV stars.

“Why wouldn’t I sell the egg?” I say. “After all, what could go wrong?”

—

Chapter 6

Dear Molly,

One of the great perils of youth is the false confidence that comes with it, but with each passing year, bravado erodes, taking the chip off and leaving something new in its place: humility.

When I was young—seventeen years of age, to be precise—I was elated that Papa granted me permission to take a prep course to sit university entrance exams. I was on top of the world—invincible. I ignored all of Papa’s caveats and warnings. I was practically skipping as I escorted the headmaster out of my father’s office, down the grand staircase, and all the way to the front foyer of Gray Manor. At the entrance, the headmaster handed me a long reading list, advising me to begin studying on my own before prep classes began.

“You’ll be the only girl in the class, Flora. Are you prepared for that?” he asked.

“Of course,” I replied. “What could go wrong?”

The headmaster’s Adam’s apple bobbed, but whatever he wanted to say, he swallowed it.

Uncle Willy, my father’s butler, was standing sentry in the foyer.Strong, broad-shouldered, with silver hair and a distinguished mustache, he seemed to me an old man, though he probably wasn’t even sixty at the time. I was forbidden from calling him Uncle Willy, a term of endearment that he loved but that both my parents found questionable. If you looked at his hands, you could tell he hadn’t always been a butler, for they were as large as bear paws, the skin weathered and callused from physical labor.

Uncle Willy had once worked as a caretaker on the acreage bordering Gray Manor. A man more comfortable in stables than in mansions, he became our long-serving butler when I was but a babe in arms, an unorthodox hiring decision on my father’s part, one that raised eyebrows amongst the trained serving staff, who suddenly found themselves led by a worker from the farm next door. Uncle Willy carried himself with great dignity, though, and could spot trouble a mile away. For that reason, Papa trusted him.

All of this flashed through my mind as Uncle Willy saw the headmaster out, then closed the door behind him. He turned to me expectantly. “Well?” he said. “Am I looking at a potential university scholar?”

My ear-to-ear smile was the only reply he needed, and after a quick look to make sure my parents weren’t about, Uncle Willy threw open his arms and I ran into them eagerly.

“You’ve always had gumption, ever since you were a wee girl. You do me and Maggie proud,” he said.

Maggie, a.k.a. my nursemaid, Mrs.Mead, was Uncle Willy’s sister. All the warmth I lacked from my own parents I found in excess quantities in those two beings. They doted on me hand and foot, celebrating my successes—my first steps, my first words, my first time riding a bicycle. They worried themselves silly over any setback I experienced, so much so that I sometimes felt they were my true parents, though there was not a drop of common blood between us. Despite the constancy of their love, I didn’t always treat them well, for my parents drilled it into me that servants were lesser than.

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