none of ’em real. They canna hurt you or anyone else.”
Penny shook her head. “It’s not the dreams that frighten me.” She peered about the room, as if the walls might be listening. “It’s that sometimes, when I can’t sleep, I hear something else … I hear
him
.”
Molly caught her breath. “Him, who?” she asked.
Penny leaned close, her voice barely a whisper. “The night man.”
Molly stared at the little girl, trying to discern if she was making a joke. Penny went on. “He walks through the whole house, room to room, and then he’s gone. I asked Mummy about him, and she said I just made him up. But I’m sure I didn’t, because some mornings I see the footprints he’s left behind. They’re muddy and shaped wrong and I don’t like them.”
Molly’s heart was beating very quickly. She thought of the footprints she’d been scrubbing throughout the house, and she thought of the story her brother had told their first night, about a figure in the fog—had he told the same story to Penny, who had added some details of her own? “Well, the next time you hear this night fellow, could you tell him to wipe his boots before comin’ inside? I dinna break my back scrubbin’ these floors just to have him ruin it all while I sleep.” She stood up.
“Don’t go,” Penny protested through a yawn.
“You’ve a lifetime of tuck-ins ahead of you.” She silently hoped this was true. But even in the orange lamplight, the girl’s complexion was as white as a headstone. Dark shadows flickered and danced across her face, clinging to the wells beneath her eyes. Molly put on a smile. “And until then—
“You sleep soft, you sleep sound,
You sleep the snow in Dublin town.”
This was a rhyme her own mother had sung to her when she was little. When Molly sang the words now, she could almost hear Ma’s voice echoing in the air, distant and faint, calling to her from someplace far away. Molly hid her face from Penny’s view and slipped from the room.
The grandfather clock struck nine as Molly walked down the hall. Penny’s tuck-in had taken longer than she’d planned, and she knew her brother would be waiting at the window. When she turned the corner toward the stairs, however, she stopped. In the last week, she had been inside every room of Windsor Manor—every room, that is, but for the one with the green door at the top of the stairs. Mistress Windsor had given Molly the impression that the key had been lost, and Molly had believed her. But what she had witnessed that night between Bertrand and Constance in the drawing room after supper had changed her mind.
And now, the green door was unlocked.
It was not completely open, but Molly could see a sliver of light shining out from the side that should have been closed tight. She glanced at the bank of windows above the foyer. Kip was waiting outside, probably catching cold at this very moment. Still, perhaps there was time for a quick peek. She dimmed her lamp and crept toward the door. She could hear sounds of someone moving on the other side—scraping, clinking, shuffling, grunting. The noises would have been frightening if they were not so obviously comical.
Molly was about to reach for the handle when the door swung open to reveal the folds of a man’s nightgown. It was Master Windsor.He was bent away from her, trying to drag a large canvas sack into the hall. The bag was half-full and seemed quite heavy; whatever was inside rattled and clinked as he pulled it across the floorboards. Molly watched him struggle, unsure whether she should interrupt him. “Pardon, sir?” she said softly.
Bertrand let out a startled noise and spun around. The moment he saw Molly, he lunged for the door and pulled it shut behind him. There was a look of panic on his pale face. “M-M-Molly!” he said, doing a bad job at sounding happy to see her. “I thought you had turned in for the night.”
“Just puttin’ Miss Penny to bed, sir.” She craned her neck to
Penny shook her head. “It’s not the dreams that frighten me.” She peered about the room, as if the walls might be listening. “It’s that sometimes, when I can’t sleep, I hear something else … I hear
him
.”
Molly caught her breath. “Him, who?” she asked.
Penny leaned close, her voice barely a whisper. “The night man.”
Molly stared at the little girl, trying to discern if she was making a joke. Penny went on. “He walks through the whole house, room to room, and then he’s gone. I asked Mummy about him, and she said I just made him up. But I’m sure I didn’t, because some mornings I see the footprints he’s left behind. They’re muddy and shaped wrong and I don’t like them.”
Molly’s heart was beating very quickly. She thought of the footprints she’d been scrubbing throughout the house, and she thought of the story her brother had told their first night, about a figure in the fog—had he told the same story to Penny, who had added some details of her own? “Well, the next time you hear this night fellow, could you tell him to wipe his boots before comin’ inside? I dinna break my back scrubbin’ these floors just to have him ruin it all while I sleep.” She stood up.
“Don’t go,” Penny protested through a yawn.
“You’ve a lifetime of tuck-ins ahead of you.” She silently hoped this was true. But even in the orange lamplight, the girl’s complexion was as white as a headstone. Dark shadows flickered and danced across her face, clinging to the wells beneath her eyes. Molly put on a smile. “And until then—
“You sleep soft, you sleep sound,
You sleep the snow in Dublin town.”
This was a rhyme her own mother had sung to her when she was little. When Molly sang the words now, she could almost hear Ma’s voice echoing in the air, distant and faint, calling to her from someplace far away. Molly hid her face from Penny’s view and slipped from the room.
The grandfather clock struck nine as Molly walked down the hall. Penny’s tuck-in had taken longer than she’d planned, and she knew her brother would be waiting at the window. When she turned the corner toward the stairs, however, she stopped. In the last week, she had been inside every room of Windsor Manor—every room, that is, but for the one with the green door at the top of the stairs. Mistress Windsor had given Molly the impression that the key had been lost, and Molly had believed her. But what she had witnessed that night between Bertrand and Constance in the drawing room after supper had changed her mind.
And now, the green door was unlocked.
It was not completely open, but Molly could see a sliver of light shining out from the side that should have been closed tight. She glanced at the bank of windows above the foyer. Kip was waiting outside, probably catching cold at this very moment. Still, perhaps there was time for a quick peek. She dimmed her lamp and crept toward the door. She could hear sounds of someone moving on the other side—scraping, clinking, shuffling, grunting. The noises would have been frightening if they were not so obviously comical.
Molly was about to reach for the handle when the door swung open to reveal the folds of a man’s nightgown. It was Master Windsor.He was bent away from her, trying to drag a large canvas sack into the hall. The bag was half-full and seemed quite heavy; whatever was inside rattled and clinked as he pulled it across the floorboards. Molly watched him struggle, unsure whether she should interrupt him. “Pardon, sir?” she said softly.
Bertrand let out a startled noise and spun around. The moment he saw Molly, he lunged for the door and pulled it shut behind him. There was a look of panic on his pale face. “M-M-Molly!” he said, doing a bad job at sounding happy to see her. “I thought you had turned in for the night.”
“Just puttin’ Miss Penny to bed, sir.” She craned her neck to
Similar Books
