Free The House of Dead Maids by Clare B. Dunkle Page B

determined to find it and learn the truth about the deadly place at last.

 

CHAPTER NINE
     
    The day dawned cool, damp, and windy, with low clouds bucketing across the sky. Mrs. Sexton stood at the kitchen window to watch them after she gave us our breakfast. She had prepared sweet cakes for us with warm butter and berry preserves. Himself had been so delighted that he had made his pirate kiss her wrinkled cheek.
    I had left Alma Augusta in the bedroom. She looked beautiful now in her red chintz, with her fair hair coiled up in a bun; before breakfast, I had warmed her scalp over a candle and fastened onthe little wig. Then I had propped her in the chair by the fire rather than bring her on my dangerous quest. Himself and his pirate saw eye to eye, but Alma Augusta and I were different. She was a lady now, and I didn’t want to spoil her pretty dress.
    “Let’s play hide-and-seek,” I told Himself. “You hide first.”
    I did not find him during our first several trials, for he was good at hiding and I was not seeking him. Our game gave me a pretext to roam about the house and look for the way into the courtyard. One by one, I examined the back walls of each wing, wandering the dim passages and holding up a candle to study them closely. But, try as I might, I could find no crack in the stone nor keyhole in the paneling that might indicate the presence of a door.
    “I’m tired of this,” said Himself after waiting patiently for me yet again. “You hide now, and I’ll find you.” But I proved no better at hiding than I had been at finding, and he grew disgusted with me.
    Having examined the wing that held the kitchen, including the passages outside Miss Winter’s rooms, I turned my attention to the wing that held the front door. The man in the white shirt had been closest to this part of the house. Perhaps he had come through a doorway to an outside flight of stairs. If so, thedoor must be high in the wall. I began my investigation on the top floor.
    “I’ve stood by the banister there, watching you,” announced my charge. “You weren’t hiding. You meant to be rid of me. I’m master, and I shan’t bear this. If you won’t play properly, I’ll tell Mrs. Sexton.”
    “All right,” I admitted then, “I wasn’t hiding, and I haven’t been looking for you. I’ll tell you what I’m doing. I’m looking for the way into the courtyard we saw, where the man in the white shirt went. I can’t find a regular door, so you can help me look for cracks or keyholes, something unusual.”
    We had come to the room at the top of the stairs with the painted leather panels, where Himself had sulked inside the enormous buffet. It was such a lovely chamber, I thought, with its warm colors and its fine work, but my enthusiasm abated when I recalled that Izzy’s ghost had appeared here. Leather panels, I mused, attempting to put her from my mind. What better material to cover a secret door?
    “I see something unusual,” said Himself, standing in the middle of the room. “Someone’s come in here to dust.”
    I was running my hands over the leather, the flaking gilt from the painted flowers spangling my fingers. “Why’s that unusual?” I asked.
    “Because all these rooms are dusty, that’s why,” he said, “and this one was too. Rogue says to tell you you’re thick.”
    Himself was right, I realized, looking around, and quite possibly so was his pirate. This chamber had been full of cobwebs and grime the last time we had seen it. Since then, the floor had been mopped, the cobwebs pulled down, and every curve of the wooden overmantel polished until it gleamed. No wonder the chamber looked so nice.
    “But why?” I wondered.
    “Maybe they wanted the man in the white shirt to see it looking tidy,” said Himself.
    “Then the door is here. Where is it? Look for cracks that make the edges of a door.”
    We searched for some time, but we found no cracks, and I was put to some trouble dissuading my charge from