Page 9 of The Haunted Hotel

“You mean a lift?” Ellis asks, then shakes his head.

“What do you do for disabled access for guests?”

“People tend to leave here in a wheelchair rather than arrive in one,” interrupts a gruff female voice with a heavy Scottish accent.

I glance over my shoulder and see a small, plump woman in chef’s whites march through the lobby, gripping a meat cleaver in one hand and a burlap sack in the other.

My eyes widen and I’m almost afraid to ask.

“Stew and dumplings tonight, Ellis,” the woman says briskly, and doesn’t even spare us a glance as she opens another door and heads through, leaving us once again alone.

“That’s Aggie, she makes the best dumplings!” Ellis grins. “You’re in for a treat tonight.”

“This place is crazy,” I mutter.

“Come on.” Ellis starts up the steep stairs, still clutching my garment bag, and I follow behind him with my suitcase and laptop bag.

By the time we’ve reached the fourth floor, which is apparently where my room is located, I’m almost wheezing.

“Are you sure you don’t have an elevator?” I lean against the polished mahogany banister to catch my breath. I’ll say one thing for the staff. The place may be run-down and firmly lodged in a previous century, but it’s ruthlessly clean. Not so much as a spiderweb or speck of dust anywhere.

“Sorry.” Ellis shakes his head. “We do have some disabled access rooms on the ground floor, but the rest of the house is accessed by stairs only.”

“Is it much further?” I push myself up and extend the handle on my case so I can wheel it to the room.

“Just round the corner.”

After a moment of twisting hallways decorated with faded silk wallpaper and dull-looking portraits, we arrive at room 419.

“Here we are. This is the block of rooms we use as honeymoon suites,” he announces proudly.

“Excuse me?” My brows rise.

“They’re the nicest rooms we have and the ones with the most up-to-date bathrooms.” He leans in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “They even have whirlpool bathtubs.”

What is this? 1998? Who even has whirlpool baths anymore? That’s what hot tubs are for.

“Uh, thanks.” I watch him unlock the door, but when it swings open, my heart jolts in shock as we come face-to-face with a giant of a man.

He looks like an ex-marine. His stoic face is clean-shaven and his head is bald. He’s wearing black pants and a black polo shirt with a name tag, and weirdly enough, he also has a little white frilly apron on, the kind of thing that would be part of a sexy French maid’s outfit. In his hand is a fluffy pink duster.

I lean in a fraction to read his name tag:John, the Maid.

The scary-looking guy gives me a slow once-over, starting at my face and traveling down my body. His eyes narrow as hetakes in my damp coat and its mud splashes from the puddle to my soggy shoes, which leave a damp imprint on the carpet. His eyes narrow further.

“There you are, John,” Ellis greets him warmly, as if the man doesn’t look like he’s about to murder me for dirtying the floor. “This is our newest guest, Mr Ashton-Drake. He’s Mr Ashton-Drake’s grandson. Isn’t that exciting!”

John the maid growls in my direction and I find myself wanting to take an involuntary step back. “I’ll be watching you, four-one-nine.”

Before I can say anything, he strides past us and down the hallway.

“What the–” I mutter.

“That’s just John.” Ellis lets himself into my room, leaving me to grasp at the door so it doesn’t swing shut in my face. “He doesn’t tend to remember names, just room numbers, but he’s a sweetheart. Just don’t drop crumbs on the bed or leave toothpaste smeared on the sink and he’s as sweet as a baby.”

I glance around at the room and I’m forced to admit it’s not terrible. I mean, yeah, it’s dated and very, very British, but it’s got a kind of quirky charm to it, I guess, with its huge wooden-framed bed and plush bedding, polished dark wood furniture and pale green walls. There are fresh flowers on the dresser and a light lemony scent to the air. There’s also a huge fireplace.

“Well, I’ll let you settle in.” Ellis lays my bag on the bed and heads back towards the door. “Lunch will be served in an hour and a half if you’re hungry. Aggie’s sandwiches are the best. Today it’s beef with her homemade horseradish sauce. That’s a spicy, peppery sauce, by the way.”