Page 7 of Whispers of Shadowbrook House

Pearl loved when her games had such successful outcomes. As she sat and waited for Maxwell to join her, she hoped he’d appear with Mr. Waverley. More than that, she realized now: She counted on it. Maxwell couldn’t climb the rope ladder without the man’s help.

She’d heard the boy’s cough when he’d dropped into the strange loft.

If he’d been cross or overtired, that cough might have gone on much longer.

Not that he would ever give in to his illness, but there was an element of will in recovering from some of his more troubling episodes.

And when he was in the middle of exploring, Maxwell had quite a strong will to be able to breathe through the fit.

Pearl served tea that was no longer hot and lemonade that was no longer cold, but there were no complaints from the gentlemen at the table. Even though he rarely stopped talking, Maxwell managed a few bites of his favorite lemon cake.

“The rope ladder is a good one. Can I have it in my room? We can attach it to the ceiling, and I can practice climbing it every day for exercise. Dr. Dunning says exercise is good for me.”

“Pearl, did you know Oliver lived here at Shadowbrook when he was a boy? But he’s never been in this room. You discovered it because you’re an adventurer like me.”

“These custard tarts are just like the ones we had for my birthday.”

“Oliver, are you married? Before you inherit this house, you probably need a wife.”

“Is there more lemonade for me?”

Whenever Pearl dared a look at Mr. Waverley, he was watching Maxwell with as much interest as she was. Why, then, did she feel his eyes on her? Maybe he was doing the same thing she was—sneaking glances when no one was watching.

Oliver Waverley was a mystery. Mr. Ravenscroft never spoke to Pearl about his heir.

Not that he spoke to Pearl about much of anything that wasn’t Maxwell.

Her employer was a quiet man, uninterested in the dealings of his household staff as long as everyone kept Shadowbrook running in its way.

He never entertained, and only the village doctor ever visited.

Even Pearl’s employment had been arranged without a personal meeting via a few letters exchanged with the housekeeper, Mrs. Randle.

After a few more minutes of Maxwell’s constant talking, Pearl was sure the boy’s energy was dimming. His voice grew softer, and his words slowed. It was time to move him to his bedroom before exhaustion overtook him and caused him pain.

“I believe it’s time for us to say good night, Max. Come, help me gather up the dishes.”

Maxwell gave a breathy chuckle. “You’ll have to show me the alternate exit. I can’t go down the ladder with a plate in my hands.”

Pearl shook her head. “I’m afraid you’re right. We must leave behind the adventure and go out through the door like the rest of the world. We can’t be explorers all the time.” She pointed to the far wall, where a tapestry hung.

After reaching for one of the small glass lamps on the table, Max scrambled out of his chair and tugged aside the tapestry. When he gripped the doorknob, he turned back and grinned at Pearl. “This was a wonderful game. I’m so glad you’re here, Oliver.”

Maxwell pulled the door open and walked through, the mystery of what lay beyond causing him to forget he was supposed to help clear up.

Pearl caught Oliver’s eye. “Will you go with him?”

“Oh, no. I’ll help you carry these things.”

With a shake of her head, Pearl gestured after Maxwell. “One of us ought to be with him. It’s not entirely safe here.”

Oliver looked at her in surprise.

She lowered her voice. “He’s not strong. And this part of the house has far more dangers than the sections in daily use. Walls crumble. Floorboards might not hold.”

With a nod, Oliver moved toward the tapestry-draped door. Before he crossed the threshold, he turned and grinned at her. “I hope I don’t get us both hopelessly lost.”

Pearl attempted to tamp down her returning smile. She gave what she hoped was a serious nod. “I believe I’ll be able to find you. But just in case, there are three connected rooms to walk through before you arrive at the west hallway stairs.”

Oliver glanced from Pearl through the door and back again, clearly torn between leaving her alone and leaving Maxwell alone.

A good sign , she thought. For inheritance reasons.

After Oliver had trotted off after Maxwell, Pearl reassured herself that her fascination with Mr. Ravenscroft’s heir was strictly due to the pending state of affairs at Shadowbrook. How the transfer of ownership would affect Max. Nothing more.

But as she collected the serving plates from the small table and placed them in the basket, she smiled at the memory of Oliver’s laugh. At the way he’d watched Maxwell with real interest. Listened to his funny statements and answered questions that were far too personal.

Pearl had never before considered the way a young child took so much of the awkwardness out of making a new acquaintance. Maxwell asked things Pearl would never dare, even though she was as interested in the answers as anyone could be.

When Maxwell had asked about Oliver’s marriage prospects, Oliver had responded with a shrug. “I’ve had no luck. Maybe I’ve been looking in the wrong places.”

Maxwell’s answer, quick and confident, was to tell his cousin—a man who was practically a stranger—he’d be happy to help him secure a wife.

The fact that Maxwell knew exactly four single women, and two of them were employees of the house, didn’t seem to factor into their consideration. They’d shaken hands on the bargain.

Of course it was all silliness. Just a game within a game. But Pearl couldn’t hide her smile now that no one was there to see it nor ask her to explain it.

With the basket of serving plates and blown-out candles over her arm, she made her way through the dim rooms beyond the door.

Each of the connected bedchambers held a bed, a small table, and a chair.

From these rooms, she’d borrowed furnishings for the evening’s tea.

She could return the table and chairs at any time.

No one used these rooms now; they had been functional many years ago, when a full complement of servants lived and worked in Shadowbrook.

Now the serving staff stayed in the rooms off the kitchen.

Pearl imagined they rarely, if ever, had reason to come here.

Showing Maxwell this part of the house gave her the feeling of waking it up again, if only for an evening of tea and cakes. There was something healing and comforting about lighting a lamp in a room that had been years in darkness.

In the third of the connected bedchambers, Pearl found Maxwell lying atop the bed’s bare mattress, his hands under his head.

She swallowed away her inclination to rush to his side, ask if he was well, check for fever. And a moment later, she was glad she had refrained, because Oliver Waverley was stretched out on the floor beside the bed, one hand beneath his head and the other arm pointing to the ceiling.

“This one is Ceres. That’s Pallas. Vesta’s here, and there’s Juno. They were discovered in the early years of this century, so whoever painted them here probably did so in the last seventy-five years.”

“I thought the painting was much older.”

Pearl followed Maxwell’s gaze to the ceiling of the small room, where a painted star chart covered nearly the entire surface. Swirls and lines surrounded white circles, suggesting movement through the night sky.

“You know,” Maxwell mused, “you could be inventing all these names, and I’d never know.”

Oliver chuckled, and Pearl stifled a laugh of her own.

“I’m not terribly clever when it comes to naming things. There was a dog that came around my mother’s house when I was small. I called it Oliver. It was the only name I could think of.”

“But that’s your name.” Maxwell laughed and then coughed, bringing one arm over his face as his chest heaved with the effort to suck in a breath.

Pearl held herself back from running to him. He’d proven already today that he could settle himself. When his lungs calmed, he pointed to the ceiling again.

“Those last four you pointed out. Are they stars? Or planets?”

Pearl hovered in the doorway, reluctant to interrupt the conversation or miss a word of it.

“I’m not sure. Maybe neither. How about this? You grow up to travel through the skies and come back to tell us all about them.”

Maxwell hummed. “No. I won’t. I’ll never be an adult, and I’m not well enough to travel. But it’s a lovely painting, and I’m glad we found it.”

Pearl’s heart tore in two. Poor Maxwell.

Mr. Ravenscroft insisted on being honest, though careful, in discussing the boy’s condition, and Maxwell seemed to understand his prognosis.

But on a day of play and relative strength, Pearl allowed herself to forget that Max wouldn’t grow up.

That he didn’t have the privilege to dream about his future like other children did.

If his response to Oliver’s comment was any indication, the fact of his mortality was never far from Maxwell’s mind.

Oliver turned on his side, an arm propped beneath his head. “Does it hurt you to speak of your illness?”

Would he have dared ask such a deeply personal question if he knew Pearl was listening?

Maxwell mirrored Oliver’s movement, and the lamplight caught the planes of his face, casting shadows and making his eyes look even larger than they were. “No, but I think it makes my grandfather sad. And Pearl.”

“I’d never want to bring sadness to either of them, but if you want to speak about it, you can always talk to me.”

“Always?” Maxwell’s eyes widened. “Do you mean you’re going to stay with us from now on?”

Oliver’s shoulders drooped, and Pearl wished she could see his expression. Hiding in doorways had both benefits and drawbacks.

“I’ve only come for a short time. I don’t have permission to stay. Your grandfather wouldn’t like having me here always. I meant you can speak to me when I’m here, and you can write to me when I’m back in the city.”

“And I can talk to the voices in the walls.” Max gave a slow nod and rolled onto his back again. Pearl thought she could see a shine in his eyes, though it could be a reflection of the lamplight.

Pearl did not like to hear him speak of voices she couldn’t hear. She knocked at the open doorframe and put her head inside the small room. “Did the walk back tire you both out?”

Maxwell sat up, swiping at his nose with his shirtsleeve. Under any other circumstance, Pearl would have commented on such lack of manners, but she’d seen enough of the boy’s vulnerability. He did not need a scolding or a reminder to use a handkerchief tonight.

Oliver also sat up, moving so his back was against the wall. “I was exhausted. Max agreed to rest with me so I wouldn’t accidentally fall into an enchanted sleep and never be found.”

“He’s only teasing, Pearl.” Max scooted off the bed and reached for Oliver’s hand to help him off the floor. “We saw the painted ceiling and wanted to explore it.”

She looked up at the star chart again, seeing it more clearly in the lamplight. “Oh, it’s lovely.”

Maxwell snuggled beside her and put his arm around her waist. “Maybe you could paint one like it in my room? I’d want you to make sure you include Ceres and Juno and the others I can’t remember.”

Oliver came to stand beside Maxwell, and the two shared a look over the boy’s head.

“Is your governess a painter, then?” Oliver asked.

“Pearl can do everything.” The uncomplicated trust Max had in her made Pearl feel maybe she could, in fact, do anything.

“Is this true?” Oliver looked at Pearl, but Max answered.

“She can do a lot of things a little bit. It’s how they train a woman to be a governess.”

Pearl held Oliver’s glance for a moment longer. “It’s not a very flattering picture of my skills, but he’s not wrong. It is good training to know a bit about a great many things.”

Oliver nodded. “I would be a dreadful governess, then. I know very little about only a few things.”

“Like what?” Maxwell took Oliver’s hand, and the three of them stepped into a hallway that was not quite wide enough for them to walk together. They continued anyway, Maxwell tucked snugly between Pearl and Oliver.

“Architecture. I love buildings, and I spent my university years studying design.”

“What else?”

“I’m a very proficient cook. I know at least twenty ways to prepare an egg.”

Maxwell wrinkled his nose. “Are you joking? Eggs are just eggs.”

“Not in my kitchen, they’re not.”

Pearl smiled at Oliver again. He was taking care not to speak to Maxwell as though he were a baby, and she appreciated his efforts.

They arrived at a staircase, and Maxwell looked up into the murky darkness of the ascending stairs before pointing down. “This way?”

With a nod, Pearl lifted the small lantern in her hand to light the steps before them. There were no windows on either side of the staircase, and the sconces, likely once flickering with candles, were dusty and cobwebby with disuse.

The boy chattered as he walked. “You did a good job finding this place. I’ll come here again from the secret door in the wall. I’m not so sure about walking back this way.”

“Never alone, however,” Pearl warned him. “Too many turns on your own and you could get lost in Shadowbrook’s passageways.”

Maxwell’s sigh was heavy and aggrieved. “I know. I mustn’t go anywhere alone. I must stay near my room. I must have no fun whatsoever.”

Pearl chuckled and patted his arm as he walked down the stairs beside her. “No fun whatsoever is the first rule you ever learned.”

“I’ve learned it too well,” Maxwell grumbled.

Oliver spoke up. “But your Explorer’s Search game was fun. I enjoyed our adventure tonight.”

Maxwell shrugged. “It was acceptable.”

Oliver laughed loud and strong. “You must be a very difficult young man to please. I’m sure if I had a companion such as your Miss Ellicott, I’d never complain of anything ever again.”

A sigh preceded Max’s next words. “Yes, but you think eggs and buildings are exciting. You’re not a very good judge of fun.”

Pearl spoke the words she knew she must—reminding Maxwell of his manners. But in her heart, she repeated Oliver’s last statement over and over, hoping it had been true.