Page 9 of Whispers of Shadowbrook House

The housemaids had retired for the night in preparation for an early morning, but when Pearl and Oliver made their way to the kitchen, Mrs. Randle sat on a tall stool at the long worktable, polishing silver.

“Good evening, Mrs. Randle. How nice to see you. It’s been a long time.” Oliver pointed his smile directly at the woman. It had not taken Pearl long to learn the power of that smile, but she had no doubt how Mrs. Randle would receive it.

The housekeeper glanced at Oliver, then over at Pearl, then back to the serving fork in her hand. “You’ve returned, I see.”

His blank look suggested he’d hoped for a warmer welcome.

Pearl removed her hand from Oliver’s arm. “Mrs. Randle, would you care for a cup of tea? Mr. Waverley and I would be happy for you to join us.”

Pearl caught Oliver’s sudden look of alarm. He was clearly unaware of the trick of removing Mrs. Randle from one’s company.

Without looking up from her polishing, she spoke a single word. “No.”

“Very well. We’ll have this prepared and be out of your way directly.”

As there was nearly always a pot of hot water in the Shadowbrook kitchen, Pearl made quick work of preparing the tea things, laying out a few slices of toast, and collecting a small pitcher of milk.

Oliver stood with his hands dangling at his sides, looking unsure how to handle Mrs. Randle’s cold rejection of his greeting, so Pearl handed him a lantern and a candle, then she picked up the tea tray and told him to lead the way to the blue drawing room.

They were a few steps out of the kitchen when Oliver whis pered to her over his shoulder. “I have no idea which is the blue drawing room. You better lead the way, or I might accidentally take us to the pink morning room or, heaven forbid, the green afternoon room.”

Pearl shook her head. “You’d have a time getting to the green afternoon room. It’s up three flights of stairs and behind a bricked-in doorway.”

Oliver stopped and turned to face her, his eyes wide. “Is it, really?”

She shook her head. “No. Turn left here.”

Oliver obeyed, and Pearl followed him into a dark and twisting hallway. “Keep making every left, and we’ll arrive in the blue drawing room when you run out of turns.”

Oliver’s steps became more confident, and Pearl focused on the way the lamp’s glow outlined his broad shoulders.

Mr. Waverley did not move like a soldier, which was perfectly understandable, since he’d attended university instead of serving in the army, but his gait swayed as he walked, as if he might break into a run at any time.

It was a youthful walk, and one that Pearl enjoyed watching.

It did not take many left turns for her to decide the man was an excellent walker.

At the door to the blue drawing room, he stopped, raising his elegant eyebrows in a silent question. Pearl nodded that this was the correct room, and he turned the knob.

Nothing happened.

“Try it again,” she said.

Oliver rattled the doorknob. “It isn’t locked. The handle is turning. The door simply won’t open.” He turned the knob again and shoved his shoulder into the door. Nothing.

This was not an unusual occurrence, but Pearl wasn’t certain if Oliver Waverley was the kind of man who would understand that, sometimes, Shadowbrook House didn’t want to open its doors.

Instead of asking him to try again, Pearl moved in front of the door.

Balancing the tea tray in one hand, she laid her palm flat against the door and whispered, “May we please come in?” She ran her hand down the door as she might caress Maxwell’s back, a single sweep.

Then she reached for the knob, turned it, and opened the door.

She was several steps into the room before she realized Oliver still stood in the open doorway, mouth agape, the lantern flame shuddering with the shaking of his hand.

“I’m going to need you to explain that.”

She nodded. “Very well, but come in first. You could use a cup of tea.”

“If the house continues to behave this way, I’ll need something stronger than tea.”

Pearl laughed softly. “I can’t help you there, but the tea is hot. Come inside and put the lantern on this table.”

Oliver took a tentative step into the room, holding the lamp high to look around the room. In a slow turn, he inspected what his light allowed him to see. Pearl didn’t rush him.

When he turned back to her, she gestured again to the table holding the tea tray. She took the chair on one side.

“Do I need to ask permission before I sit down?” He pointed to the other chair, his face giving a fair attempt at amusement, though Pearl saw his lingering discomfort.

She couldn’t help herself. She leaned in and whispered, “It can’t hurt.”

He’d already begun to sit, but at her comment, he straightened back up in a quick hop. Both feet left the floor at the same time.

Oliver looked up toward the ceiling. “May I take a seat?”

Pearl was tempted to push on his chair with her foot while his eyes were averted, but she didn’t know how much the poor man could handle in one evening, so she simply focused on pouring his tea.

Oliver hesitated another moment before he sat slowly at the very edge of the chair.

He lifted the cup to his lips and sipped before looking at her again. “So. Haunted?”

His tone was so carefully casual she knew he’d tried for this note of nonchalance exactly. She wondered how much effort it cost him to hold his voice and fingers steady.

With a shake of her head, Pearl drank from her own cup. After swallowing, setting down the cup, and tapping a napkin to the corners of her lips, she said, “Particular.”

“Particular how?” Oliver asked.

Pearl brushed a hand along her skirts. “You know how old houses are.”

Oliver made a quiet sound of exasperation. “Well, obviously you know how old houses are, or at least how this old house is. You requested entry of a locked door, and it opened for you. I used to think this place was full of ghosts, but I hoped it was a childish fancy.”

At that moment, with Oliver’s brow furrowed in frustrated puzzlement, Pearl could see the greatest connection yet between him and Maxwell. Something of the boy Oliver once was showed through the man he had become.

Pearl couldn’t hold in her smile. “It’s rather amazing, isn’t it?”

“Practically unbelievable,” he muttered.

She could feel his irritation, and she took only a small amount of pleasure in it.

“Things are not always what they seem, Mr. Waverley.” She realized she kept using his name and that she probably ought to stop, as it seemed terribly familiar.

But she loved the sound of it, the shape of the syllables.

At least she wasn’t calling him Oliver the way Maxwell did.

It had been so easy for the boy to become immediate friends with this stranger.

Of course, as they had sat together around the small table in the hidden room, she’d felt herself becoming rather immediately friendly as well.

“Are you saying you tricked me, Miss Ellicott?”

There was enough smile in his voice to take away any accusation in the question.

“It’s possible you were deceived, but that was not my intent. I assure you, there was no malice in my actions.”

“No malice, but was there magic?”

She wished she knew him well enough to tell if his question was a joke, but since she didn’t, she decided to answer him plainly.

“No magic either.”

“So, in theory, I could learn the trick of entering the—what was this place called? The blue drawing room?”

Pearl spread some golden peach jam onto a triangle of toast and passed it across the table.

She was unwilling to admit just how much she enjoyed keeping him in suspense.

Finally, he ate the toast in two large bites and brushed the crumbs from his fingers.

Steepling his hands in front of him, he tilted his head as if listening closely for an answer to his question.

Pearl obliged. “The wood of the door has a bow in its center that affects its unlatching mechanism. Pressure at the base of the bowed section will align everything within, and at the turning of the knob, the door will open. No amount of pressure in a different part of the door seems to suffice.”

“And the request you made?”

“Oh, that’s just a game I play.”

She couldn’t tell him the truth. Couldn’t simply ask him, “Have you ever been so lonely you make conversation with the walls surrounding you?”

“Quite a good game. I’m glad I was here to witness it. And is this game generally for your enjoyment alone? Or is it one you subject all the house’s visitors to?”

If he’d asked the question with any sense of being offended, Pearl would have known his charm extended only to situations in which he held an upper hand.

But here, in a dark, unfamiliar space with only her for company, feeling himself rather foolish, he could laugh.

A man who could laugh at himself seemed a rare treasure indeed.

“As you know, we don’t get visitors here.”

“But surely there are some?”

Pearl gestured in Oliver’s direction. “Aside from Dr. Dunning, you are the only exception in six years. I suppose Mr. Ravenscroft might have a host of guests secreted through the house in rooms I’ve never come across, but I’ve never run into anyone in hallways.”

Was he remembering the way she’d leaped into his arms at his arrival? The way she clung to the sleeves of his coat as if she’d never seen anyone so fascinating and absolutely must not let him go?

She hoped not. Or at least, she hoped he couldn’t see the memory replaying itself on her face.

“So my uncle goes out when he wants to visit?”

“Mr. Waverley, I think you misunderstand. It’s possible that Mr. Ravenscroft leaves Shadowbrook, but in the time I’ve been employed here, I’ve never seen it happen. Perhaps things have changed since you lived here.”

Oliver gave a calm, serious nod. “A great many things have changed. And now I think of it, the only people who visited here when I was a boy were other boys, and they were not exactly invited. Not that they required an invitation. All three of us would simply appear at each other’s houses.”

Pearl wondered at the simple magic of children finding each other. Poor Maxwell might never know such a childlike enchantment. There were no children in any of the nearby houses, and even if there were, she was sure Mr. Ravenscroft would not welcome them into Shadowbrook.

“Please, tell me more about your friends.”

“George Yates was from the village. His father worked as head gardener over at Hastings House. George was a crack shot with a sling and a stone, but he only ever aimed at walls. I wondered how that could be fun until I saw how he selected tiny targets for himself—this notch in the wall’s stone, that edge of the kitchen door—and he rarely missed.

Russell Trowbridge lived in the house next door, but to call it a house doesn’t do it justice.

Oakdell Manor was built before Shadowbrook, and it used to tower over the surrounding trees.

I think it cast the shadow that gave this house its name.

Its builders mimicked the Tudor style, and most of the house was made of wood.

A few drier-than-usual years followed by a terrible accident left it a smoking ruin.

That happened the last year I lived here.

Trowbridge and I left for school not long after the fire, and he and his father determined the best thing to do would be to tear the place down and sell the land.

Only recently has a decent offering been made, and they’ve sold their property to the Campbell Clothing Company. ”

“And you? What were you like as a boy?”

Oliver shook his head. “I don’t want to tell you.”

She laughed, but when he looked up at her, she saw his face was serious.

“I won’t hold your childhood sins against you.”

Oliver breathed out a long sigh. “I don’t know how you could help it.

I was a dismal child, sullen and miserable.

When I made it out of my bed, it was only to wander around with a scowl on my face.

It’s a wonder anyone ever gave me a chance to grow up and prove myself anything but a complete grouser.

Coming to Shadowbrook offered me a new way to see the world.

At first, it was even more difficult here, because my uncle was not interested in entertaining a sad little boy.

The walls felt heavy with sorrow. I thought I heard voices telling me to lie in bed and never get up.

Isn’t that a state? But before too much time passed, I took myself outdoors and met the lads.

It’s the miracle of my childhood that George and Russell found me.

They brought a sense of wonder back into my life, and it’s never gone fully away. ”

“How lovely for you to have had such good friends.”

Oliver nodded. “And to keep them into adulthood. I know good luck and good fortune are nothing to be proud of, but I consider holding onto these friendships to be one of the great accomplishments of my life.”

Pearl swallowed away the lump in her throat.

Hearing Oliver speak of his boyhood friends reminded her strongly of her relationship with her brother, Edgar.

Even some of the words Oliver used brought to her mind a few of his traits.

She imagined Eddie working toward a goal with the same precision that George Yates practiced hitting his targets.

“I’m rather inclined to like them both,” Pearl said, hoping if she continued in the small talk, she could shake off the feeling of sadness that overcame her whenever she considered what her brother’s life might have been had he survived.

I’m rather inclined to like you too , she added to herself.

Mr. Waverley had not even been here a whole day, and he’d managed to turn everything upside down.

She knew Mr. Ravenscroft would not be pleased with a new occupant at Shadowbrook House, but as Pearl settled into both her chair and conversation with Oliver, she couldn’t help but be intrigued by what else might change because of Oliver’s arrival.