Page 11 of Whispers of Shadowbrook House

The next morning dawned crisp and brittle. Winter settled gently in the New Forest, but it always seemed to last too long.

Pearl readied herself for a trip into the village, as she did every Tuesday morning.

It was her half day, a request she’d been granted during employment negotiations with Mrs. Randle for the governess position at Shadowbrook.

Mrs. Randle had grumbled that she didn’t know of anyone nearby who gave any of their household help a half day, but she supposed it would be allowed. Pearl was glad for the concession.

When Pearl first arrived at Shadowbrook, she discovered why none of the neighbors gave half days. Situated almost midway between Portsmouth and Southampton, the houses on the River Hamble were not near enough either city to make an easy trip.

The village of Riverwood was tucked almost a mile upriver from Shadowbrook, and the walk through the forested lanes became a weekly delight for Pearl.

Even if the town didn’t have much to offer, there were some lovely lanes.

And it had Nanette’s Treasure Trove, a small bookshop where Pearl was happy to spend an hour and a bit of money each week.

Entering the shop, Pearl was met by the familiar, delicious smell of musty, dusty paper. Nothing in the world could ever be as wonderful as a shop full of books—the old, peeling leather of secondhand stories, the crisp crackle of new-pressed pages, the lingering feeling of possibility in the air.

A small bell announced her entry into the shop, and Nanette called out in a muffled voice, “Welcome to the Treasure Trove.” Her voice floated past a column of crates piled high on the shop’s main counter.

Pearl made her way around the pile and found her friend.

More precisely, she found her friend’s hair.

Nanette’s hair was an explosion of golden curls, the kind that everyone born with straight hair was sure they’d love, while everyone born with the curls resented them and spent their lives trying to tame them.

Nanette rarely succeeded at taming hers, and she told Pearl she’d decided upon turning twenty-five to give up the fight.

“I embrace the madness,” she was fond of saying.

That attitude was one of the things Pearl had loved first about her friend.

In the years they’d known each other, Pearl had come to admire many things about Nanette.

She was incredibly well-read, she gossiped freely and without malice, she had interesting opinions about history and philosophy, she laughed with abandon, and she was unerring in her book recommendations for Maxwell.

If she chose a book for Max, he loved it.

Pearl knelt behind the shop counter beside her friend, who had her arms full of fabric and ribbons. She squeezed Nanette’s shoulders in a hug and gestured to the pile. “Are you selling dressmaking materials now? I don’t know where you’ll find the space for them.”

One of the delights of the Treasure Trove was how packed full it always seemed.

Piles of books tottered atop crammed shelves.

Every surface had stacks of stories, sometimes organized by topic or color or binding size.

Sometimes not organized at all. But Nanette knew where each book could be found.

The map resided in her head along with fantastical stories and ideas about the people who came into her shop.

With a flick of her wrists, Nanette shook out the fabric in her hands to unfurl a dress of such magnificence, Pearl thought it ought to be in a museum.

Layers of hand-tatted lace cascaded down a slim skirt of golden silk.

It looked like something a lady would have worn to a ball at court seventy years ago.

“It was donated with a huge box of three-volume novels after the death of a customer’s favorite aunt. What do you think?” Nanette asked as she gazed at the gown.

“Delicious.” Being in this store always brought the romantic parts of Pearl to the surface.

“It is, isn’t it? I’m going to drape it from a display shelf and absolutely bury it in Regency romances. I have a small but fierce band of women who can’t get enough of Miss Austen’s stories.” She grinned as if such a thing was a strange but charming quirk in her customers.

Nanette folded the dress in half and placed it on the corner of the desk. She turned away from the glorious gown and gave Pearl her full attention.

“How are you today? What’s been happening in the silent and mysterious Shadowbrook House since last we met?

” Nanette generally asked Pearl such questions, and Pearl generally responded with a tale about finding a new secret passage or Maxwell’s delight in one of the books she’d brought home for him.

Today she had something truly interesting to share.

“Dreadful news.” Pearl worked to hide her smile.

Nanette’s eyes gleamed with excitement. She gasped, but her grin softened the sound into a new kind of laugh. “A vampire in the attics? Soldiers storming the riverbank? One of the portraits began to speak to you?”

Pearl lowered her voice and spoke in a mournful tone. “The heir has returned.”

Her friend gave a joyful clap. “And he’s horrible and angry?

” Before Pearl could disagree, Nanette shook her head.

“No, no. Wait. I know. Even better. He’s handsome and stares at you with the soul-weary eyes of a man who has seen far too much.

You fear being alone in a room with him, for at any moment he may lose control and ravish you. ”

Pearl laughed. “Has anyone ever mentioned you read too many novels?”

Nanette grinned back. “It’s a particular hazard of the work I do, I suppose. Well? The heir?”

A piece of Pearl wanted to keep the game going, with Nanette adding in more fantastic plot points she’d read in books, but another piece of her simply wanted to say the truth aloud.

To see if the story was as interesting as it felt in her heart.

“He wasn’t invited. He announced he was coming and threw the staff into chaos.

Apparently, he has plans for the sale of the house.

But that’s not the worst part. He’s rather lovely. ”

“Oh dear.”

They both laughed.

Pearl looked over her friend’s shoulder at the folded golden gown to avoid Nanette’s eyes. “I don’t think we ought to form our final opinions about him yet.”

Nanette tugged her hand, bringing her eyes up to meet her friend’s. “You like him.”

“No. Not at all.”

Nanette’s mouth drew down while her eyebrows rose into the mass of blonde curls that covered her forehead, changing her from a charming young woman full of spirit to a caricature of a disapproving matron.

Pearl couldn’t lie to her friend. “Perhaps a bit.”

Nanette shook her head. “You can’t like him. He’s the villain.”

“Not necessarily.” Pearl knew she sounded defensive.

“Everyone’s heard he wants to sell Shadowbrook, which means you’d move far away from me. There’s nothing else for it. Villain.”

Pearl stifled an urge to point out that many of the books they’d both read leaned heavily on the heroine falling for the villain, but she saw the look in Nanette’s eye.

She was thinking the same thing and shaking her head. “That’s not the kind of story you’re in.”

At that, Pearl laughed aloud. “I’m an orphaned governess living in a tumbledown Gothic mansion with a reclusive employer and ghosts in every room.”

Nanette joined the laugh. “Don’t forget the timid housekeeper, the silent butler, and the looming forest.”

Neither mentioned the ill child central to the entire story, but Maxwell was on both of their minds, Pearl knew.

“No. That’s only your story’s setting. And possibly your plot. Your story is different.”

Pearl loved when Nanette spoke to her like this—with depth of understanding about something they both prized.

“And what kind of story do you find me in?”

Nanette motioned to a pair of chairs flanking a tiny table wobbling under the weight of a huge basket full of penny dreadfuls. How appropriate.

As they sat, Nanette said, “You’re in a grand adventure.

An epic tale of mystery and discovery. Perhaps romance, but that comes later.

” A wave of her hand proved how Nanette felt about the romance part.

“This story is the making of you. The unearthing of your inner strength, the depth of your mind, and the goodness of your soul.”

How often had Pearl and Nanette given stories to the customers in the shop and the people in Riverwood village?

It was a simple game to assign a role in a story to a casual acquaintance.

To tell each other what Miss Morten must have been doing before she walked into the shop and marched straight to the travel guides of Italy, lifted one from the shelf, clutched it to her heart, and tossed payment on the counter without speaking a word to either of them.

Not to mention what Miss Morten might have done after walking out of the shop.

Creating a backstory for the lonely vicar was the work of many delightful mornings together. The elderly twins Miss Lola and Miss Francie, who came into the shop to purchase religious tracts, often became the heroes of a pirate adventure.

A simple and delightful way to pass the time. But Pearl was unused to being the main character in these imaginings. She was always an observer. Nanette’s direct attention unnerved her. She would much rather give stories to people she hardly knew.

“And what about your story?” she asked Nanette. Let her friend see how uncomfortable it was to be central to the telling.

Nanette shook her head. “Mine’s a poetry collection. Not much plot at the moment, but many, many words. It’s pretty to look at, and it makes you think.” She put a finger to her chin and looked toward the ceiling, a simpering grin on her face.

Pearl laughed. “What if I want to be poetry too?”

“Oh, no. That wouldn’t do at all. You’ve got far too much atmosphere over there at Shadowbrook. It would be wasted on anything but an adventure. How do you feel about a quest?”