Page 65 of The Mystery Guest

“There was a stain, madam,” Gran says. “I was trying to remove the blot.”

“Is burning it to oblivion the only way?” Mrs. Grimthorpe asks. “Surely any half-decent maid knows better.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Gran replies.

“Child, you may read upstairs in the library,” Mrs. Grimthorpe says. “You can polish silver in the afternoon.”

“Would it be all right if I read in the parlor?” I ask. “Just for today?”

Mrs. Grimthorpe’s forehead scrunches up, then she says, “I suppose, provided you sit in one chair only and touch a grand total of nothing. Do not clean or polish anything, you understand? Keep your paws off Mr. Grimthorpe’s treasures.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I say.

“Off you go, then.”

Gran gives my arm a squeeze, then follows Mrs. Grimthorpe through the main corridor toward the back of the mansion. I hold on to the banister for a moment, steadying myself before I head up the main staircase to retrieve my book.

The creaks and groans of the floorboards sound different today, like a warning.Don’t do it. Don’t go upstairs.I make my way to the first landing and look out the window. There she is, Mr. Grimthorpe’s personal secretary, wearing her blue kerchief and blue gloves, entering through the side door of the mansion as usual. It makes me wonder: has she had to fend off the monster, too?

I start up the next flight of stairs, then turn down the damask corridor, forcing my feet forward to the library. I pause at the threshold, looking in. Light is shining through the crack under the hidden bookcase door. It’s spilling onto the floor. I hear the shuffle of Mr. Grimthorpe’s slippers on the other side.

I tiptoe into the library, grabGreat Expectations,and leave as quietly as I came.

I head down the main stairs and through the French doors of the parlor, taking a seat on a royal-blue high-back chair, where I begin to read quietly.

Rat-a-tat-tat-tat.

The sound starts up just as I finish a chapter, the familiar rhythm, the background drone of Mr. Grimthorpe’s secretary typing in her secret lair somewhere deep inside the mansion’s walls.

I wait, pretending to read my book until I see Gran walk by the open French doors. She smiles at me, then continues on her way. I listen as she climbs the creaky main staircase. A few minutes later, she comes back down with two large bags of laundry on her back. She stops for a moment in the doorway.

“All’s well?” she asks.

“All’s well,” I reply. “And you?”

“Perfectly fine,” she answers. “Today’s a brand-new day.”

She lugs her heavy burden down the hallway toward the kitchen. I listen as Mrs. Grimthorpe barks out orders at Gran, cutting her down with her razor-sharp tongue.

I hear the cellar door open, and thethump, thump, thumpas Gran pushes the heavy laundry bags down the stairs.

“For the love of God, can you not do a single thing the proper way?” Mrs. Grimthorpe scolds. “Why wouldn’t you carry the bags down?” Her rebuke reverberates through the entire house. Gran’s response is the same as always: “Yes, ma’am. Yes, ma’am.”

A few moments later, Mrs. Grimthorpe clicks down the corridor toward the parlor. She appears between the open French doors, eyeing me with her familiar look of disdain.

“I’m going out front to instruct Jenkins on the proper disposal of dead roses. When they have blight and you mix them into the compost, the disease infects the entire garden, not that he’d know that. The help these days don’t seem to know anything at all.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I say.

“I won’t be gone long. And remember,” she says, pointing a bony finger at me, “you are not to touch a thing.”

I nod. She turns on her kitten heels and makes her way to the front door.

I stay put until I hear the front door close behind her. Then I snap my book shut and place it on the side table.

It’s time.

I walk to the mantel and stand in front of it, taking in the glowing Fabergé. It’s just as beautiful as the first day I laid eyes on it, delicate and enchanting, encrusted with rows of precious, sparkling jewels and resting on an ornate pedestal of the finest, purest gold.

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