Free Always a Witch by Carolyn MacCullough

beckons me in. "Is that all you have with you?"
    I nod.
    "Not even a change of clothes?" Her tone is politely incredulous, but I can see the doubt scrolling across her face.
    "I ... was robbed. On the train platform in Chicago," I say, lowering my eyes a little. It's best to keep it brief when lying.
    Rosie gives a little sigh. "I'll see what Livie left."
    "Who's Livie?"
    "Lady's maid before you," she says, her voice suddenly lower.
    "I thought she ran off. Didn't she take everything with her?" I ask now, glancing up just in time to catch another look passing between Horace and Rosie.
    "That's right," Rosie says easily. "She did. But she may have left a few things here and there. Well, come in, then. Not you," she says to Horace now. She pushes him back out the door, muttering something to him while fussing with her apron. A small metallic chink reaches my ears and then I see Horace dip his hand quickly into his pocket. Apparently, Rosie found some money after all. Horace bobs his head once in my direction and then turns away. The door swings shut behind him.
    My eyes strain to adjust to the sudden darkness of the hallway. "Follow me," Rosie says as she brushes past me, and I do, trying not to trip. We climb a cramped staircase to emerge into a bright and sunny kitchen lined with racks of gleaming pots and pans. A large black stove takes up one end of the room, buttressed by counters that have a well-scrubbed look. A small fire burns in the hearth at the other end. A thin gray-haired woman is sitting at one end of a long wooden table, cradling a cup of tea between two reddened hands. With wide eyes, she takes me in, and then looks questioningly at Rosie.
    "New lady's maid," Rosie says with a shrug, and pushes me forward. "Cook, this is Agatha Smithsdale. Agatha, this is Cook."
    Cook shuffles to her feet and presses my hand within hers. Her eyes search mine swiftly, and then she looks down and says softly, "Pleased to meet you, dear." Something about her face, or maybe the way her hair curls in tight sprigs at her temple, suddenly looks familiar. But then the impression fades.
    I open my mouth to say something similar back when the faint sound of a door closing penetrates the kitchen, followed by a jaunty whistling tune.
    If anything Cook grows even paler, but it's Rosie's reaction that really fascinates me. Smoothing quick fingers over her hair, she refastens a stray wisp with a pin and then pinches her cheeks three times while biting her lips. "Be right back," she murmurs with a wink, and then dashes out of the kitchen.
    "That's not Mr. Tynsdell, is that?" I venture. Maybe I could scrub my skirt in the sink before he meets me? Cook shakes her head, compresses her lips, and shuffles over to a cabinet. She removes another mug from the shelf and fills it with tea from a white pot on the counter. "Drink this, dear. While you can."
    A little unsettled by that last comment, I accept the mug, staring down at the hot amber liquid, and give it what I hope is a very unobtrusive sniff. It smells like nothing more than strong black tea. watching me, Cook gives a little grunt and something like a smile touches her lips. "You're not so dimwitted as the others that come through here."
    "The others?" She sighs and sits down as if standing is suddenly too much to bear. "How many others?" I venture.
    She shrugs. "They never last long."
    "I heard the last one, Livie, ran off," I say casually, and sit down, too, blowing on my tea to cool it.
    A sudden silence chills the room. Glancing up, I watch as the woman takes a sip of her own tea, her hand trembling just slightly. "That's not true," she says hoarsely, and suddenly puts her cup down with a clatter. "She died." Her fingers twitch toward her cup as she whispers, "Poor lamb, she got sicker and sicker, and they kept—"
    But her mouth freezes around whatever else she was going to say as the kitchen door swings open and a giggling Rosie backs into the room followed by a tall man dressed in a