Page 57 of Winterset
Once in the attic, I walked along the walls, searching for seams and pressing on panels, hoping to find another priest hide, but they were well disguised, purposely so.
I’d already made a full circle of the room’s walls when Mrs. Owensby entered the attic, out of breath and looking anxious.
“Where is the entrance?” I said.
“Perhaps you should not—”
“The priest hide, Mrs. Owensby. Where is the door?” I knew there was one up here, considering how strangely she’d acted the last time we’d occupied this space together and how severely she was shaking now.
She didn’t move right away, and my confidence wavered. I could be wrong. While Miss Lockwood’s survival and hiding here made sense, I’d seen nothing other than a few footprints today to prove as much.
But then Mrs. Owensby stepped past me and pressed on a wall panel that looked as innocuous as all the others, and a door swung silently open.
My heart picked up its pace. Miss Lockwood could be sitting inside this room. I tugged my cuffs to straighten my shirt sleeves and walked inside the room, anticipating our introduction.
But the room was empty.
This was, by far, the largest priest hide. The room where a priest would have slept. It boasted a neatly made bed, a wardrobe, and even a tiny window. Dust covered the furniture, and cobwebs hung in the corners. Miss Lockwood had not slept here. The room was undisturbed.
Disappointed, my heart slowed to its normal rhythm. I was about to leave when I noticed something strange: footprints leading directly into the wall.
For a moment, my mind conjured up an image of a ghost passing through the wall. But then I just as quickly dismissed the idea because an incorporeal being did not have feet with which to make these footprints.
Could there beanotherroom directly behind this one?
I knocked on the paneling, and sure enough, it sounded hollow. It took a moment to find a latch, but when I did, the door easily opened.
I blinked against the darkness. There was no window in this room.
“Hello?” I said softly, gently, but there came no answer. She wasn’t hiding here.
It took a few seconds for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. This room was significantly smaller than the first, just large enough for a bed and bedside table, but it appeared lived in.
Linens covered the bed, a book spread open on a pillow. I picked up the book and thumbed through the pages. Like the other books in the library, drawings of flowers covered the pages. I closed the book and set it back on the bed.
On the table was a woman’s hairbrush and a bar of soap.
Mysoap, I realized from the familiar scent.
I tucked the bar into my coat pocket, then sat on the bed and opened the bedside table drawer, wondering what else my stowaway had pilfered. Something rolled to the front. I felt for it, and once it was in my hand, I did not even have to hold it up to the light to know what it was.
My seal.
I trained my gaze on Mrs. Owensby, who was silently watching from the doorway.
“I know how this must seem, sir, but if you will let me explain.”
“Oh, Idemandthat you do. But first, I want to know where she is.”
“W-who, sir?”
“Come now, Mrs. Owensby. You’ve had enough entertainment at my expense, don’t you think? No more lies.”
“I have never lied to you, sir.”
“Not overtly, but you have withheld the truth. Is that not lying?” I asked, and she looked away, guilty. “I was told today that Miss Lockwood’s body was never recovered. So I will ask you again, and plainly thistime so there is no room for confusion or miscommunication: Where is Miss Lockwood?”
As if Mrs. Owensby could no longer bear the weight of her guilt, she bowed her head and sniffed. “I don’t know. Kate was supposed to be back up here well before you returned home from church, but sometimes she gets distracted drawing, and ...” She shrugged.
