Free The Treasure of Maria Mamoun by Michelle Chalfoun Page B

deposited them in a tiny steel sink. Beside the sink sat a wooden drain board. A sliver of dry soap caught her eye. Maybe Mr. Ironwall had once used that soap. Perhaps he’d drunk from that soda bottle.
    Above the sink were rows of cupboards with ornate brass catches. She opened a few cupboards and found a whisk broom and dustbin. After she’d swept up the glass shards, she looked in the cupboards for a rag to wipe up the dust. She found a set of plates and cups of enameled blue tin, and a small caddy of silverware with an ornate I carved into the handle, but no rags. There were four knives and four spoons, but only three forks. She searched for the missing fork for a while—the silverware caddy felt disturbingly incomplete without it. The utensils were probably quite valuable; they were heavy, and after she’d polished one up with some spit and her T-shirt it shone like real silver. It bothered her to give up on the missing fork, but Brutus was whining again.
    Right now she just needed a rag to dry off the Brute, and then maybe they could wait out the rain together on deck. He was probably frightened up there, alone.
    â€œI’m coming, Brutus.” She groped around, and then pulled a pillowcase off a bunk to use as a towel.
    Maria looked once more at the overwhelming mess. She’d have to come back another day—perhaps many days in a row—to really clean it up. She could bring rags and cleansers, garbage bags … She blew out the candles and climbed to the dog.
    Fixing up The Last Privateer would certainly keep her busy, though it was probably not what Hattie or Mr. Ironwall had meant when they said she needed something to do.

 
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    M R . I RONWALL , R EVISITED
    The rain didn’t stop. So they had to walk back to the mansion in it.
    By the time they reached Mr. Ironwall’s bedroom, both Maria and Brutus were soaked and shivering. Celeste immediately rerouted them into a bathroom so they could drip on the tile floor instead of the carpet.
    â€œThat dog is sopping wet!” Celeste clicked her tongue and la, la, la -ed at Maria as she rubbed Brutus down with a fluffy white towel.
    â€œI’m sopping wet, too.” Maria sneezed.
    â€œWhat’s going on in there?” Mr. Ironwall called from his bed.
    â€œThey just got caught in the rain,” Celeste said in an overly cheerful voice, as if getting drenched were some kind of fun. “I’m drying Brutus off now.”
    â€œWell, dry your daughter off first. She’ll catch pneumonia!” he said.
    â€œIf he catches a cold from you…” Celeste handed Maria a towel. Maria sneezed again.
    â€œWhat are you doing?” Mr. Ironwall said. “She needs dry clothes. Get her out of those wet things and put her in a bathrobe!”
    â€œWell, do as he says.” Celeste pointed to a robe hanging from the towel bar. “That one’s clean.”
    Celeste took Brutus into the bedroom, and as Maria peeled her icy clothes from her shivery skin, she heard her mother apologizing. She couldn’t hear what Mr. Ironwall said back, but he said quite a bit. Then the door to the bedroom opened and closed. Maria finished drying herself and wrapped up in the terry cloth robe. It was warm—the towel bar was heated, she discovered. She had never felt anything so comforting, and she let out a little involuntary sigh.
    â€œWell, don’t just stay in the bathroom all morning,” Mr. Ironwall called to her. “Are you dressed? If you are, come out and keep me company.”
    Maria stepped into the bedroom. Brutus already lay upon the bed. Celeste had placed a fluffy towel under the damp dog and another on top of him like a blanket.
    â€œI have sent your mother to find Frank so that he might get you dry clothes, start a fire in your cottage, and drive you there,” Mr. Ironwall informed her. “Also, she was to tell Hattie to bring your lunch here—I believe she said something