Page 37 of Winterset
My heart raced as it had when I was a boy and Father had caught Damon and me creeping around Summerhaven’s forbidden east wing. I guiltily dropped the dress and closed the trunk lid.
“Mr. Jennings?” she called again. “The attic door was open. Are you up there?”
“I’m here,” I called back, quickly standing and searching for something to do to make my being here less suspicious.
Butwhy? This wasmyhouse,myattic. Even this trunk was mine until Mr. Lockwood’s next of kin could be found. Still, I felt silly standing here doing nothing, so I sat atop the lid and pulled out my notebook and pencil.
Mrs. Owensby appeared at the top of the stairs and walked over to where I sat. “What are you doing up here?” she asked, breathless.
“Can a man not sit in his own attic?” I smiled.
“He can, but why would he wish to?” She glanced around the attic as if looking for explanation.
That was the question, wasn’t it? “To ... rest.”
She gave me a skeptical look, unconvinced.
“I was checking the soundness of the roof, and I grew tired.”
“I see. And how have you found the roof?”
“Watertight.”
“Good. Then you will have no need to come up here again.”
I raised an eyebrow at her impertinence. I stood and, crossing my arms, looked down at her.
“That is to say,” she quickly amended, “it is good that you will not have to add a new roof to your list of repairs and waste your time up here, where no one will ever see your progress. Shall we?” She motioned toward the stairs.
She was acting even odder than usual, like a vexed governess handling a naughty child.
“I’ll be down shortly, Mrs. Owensby,” I said, standing my ground.
But she stoodherground.
What was a man to do? I cleared my throat. “We have much to accomplish with very little time before winter arrives; the drive must be cleared of overgrowth to allow the cart entrance, the Lockwood portraits removed and replaced with these.” I indicated my ancestor’s portraits leaning against the wall. “Speaking of portraits, I did not see Miss Lockwood’s portrait rehung in the entrance hall, nor did I see it stored up here in the attic. Do you know what has become of it?”
Mrs. Owensby cast her eyes about the attic, whether to look for it or avoid my gaze, I couldn’t be sure. “I suppose it has been ...misplaced,” she said.
“Well, see that it is found and rehung immediately. I should like to keep the portrait safe until it can be delivered to the young lady’s next of kin.”
Mrs. Owensby nodded but said nothing more on the subject.
I continued listing the chores that needed to be completed today. “You and Charlie will work inside the house to remove the pictures. Both the gallery and the white room must be emptied,” I instructed. “And Bexley and I will work outside to clear the drive.”
I thought it best to separate Bexley and Mrs. Owensby and keep an eye on them until I could explain all that had transpired in this house or until these peculiar incidents stopped happening.
“Very well,” she said. “We best get to it.”
Still, she seemed too eager. She did not even object to my requests or to being paired with Charlie instead of Bexley. Why? What was she hiding?
“Please inform Bexley and Charlie. And as I said, I will be down shortly.”
Unmoving, she worried her lower lip.
“You may go now, Mrs. Owensby.”
With a nod, she reluctantly retreated down the stairs.
