“And what are you up to, little one? Oh, I see. You want to take a closer look at the fountain. Here you go.” He lifted Willy to his chest and stood by the crystal clear pool. Water roared overhead gushing out of the stone fish’s mouth. Safe in Maurice’s arms, Willy emitted a contented bark. It gazed into the pond, as though fascinated by the mosaics and their vivid portrait of sea creatures swimming in the waters.
Still holding Willy, Maurice examined his surroundings. As he had noted the day before, there was an underground set of steps but it only led to a boiler. He resumed his stroll, scrutinising every part of the house’s walls for a hidden entrance or a nearby trapdoor.
Maurice had now reached the other lateral side of the house without finding any sign of a cellar. Where was it? In his arms, Willy had settled and now rested its head in the nook of Maurice’s shoulder. After a fruitless search, Maurice reached the veranda.
“Alors, mon petit bonhomme, on fait la sieste?” he asked, half-laughing. The dog seemed to be taking a nap against him. “Shouldn’t you be with Mary? Where have you left her?”
Indeed, it was strange. Where was the young maid?
Before he had a chance to ponder over this, the glass doors opened and a sullen Mary stepped outside. In silence, she reached for Willy.
“We were just taking a walk,” said Maurice, handing over the Bolognese. Mary did not answer. She cradled Willy in her arms, averting her gaze. Her eyes were swollen red. She looked as though she had been crying. Without a word, she re-entered the house.
Madeleine
AFTER dinner, Maurice took the liberty to speak with Gerard, if only to complement him on his delicious roast. While Gerard blushed and muttered thanks, Maurice noted, much to his disappointment that the cook had hazel eyes.
The discovery further depressed him. Between the housemaids’ supernatural ramblings, Mary’s confusing statements and the mysterious eye that he could not identify, nothing made sense.
Maurice climbed upstairs and after freshening up with the clean water Ellen had brought to his room, he took a book from Aaron’s study, and returned downstairs with his journal to sit in the parlour. Relieved to find himself in more spacious surrounds where the walls did not cloy at him, he now sat by the roar of the fire.
He’d been reviewing his notes for half an hour when a slender girl with her black hair tied in a bun suddenly appeared before him. Fetching as she seemed in her maid outfit, she startled Maurice.
He recognised her as the maid who had lingered at the breakfast table on his first morning at Alexandra Hall. She had sneaked into the parlour, unnoticed, like a cat. All feline, there was a defiance in her manner. She walked as though flaunting that she went without her white bonnet, unlike the other maids.
With a daring glint in her eyes and a slight swing in her hips, she passed right by his armchair.
“Solved any mysteries today?” she asked. She began to dust the mantelpiece, though each of her movements was an act to pre-empt any sudden appearance by Mrs. Cleary.
“No. As a matter fact, I haven’t.” Maurice put away his journal and opened the large book on his lap.
“Well, obviously. Sitting there, idling in your comfortable chair. Hardly the manner of a proper French detective.”
Maurice was astounded by her boldness.
“Do you have some work to do, Miss…?”
“Madeleine.” She smiled. “Oh, I’m sorry, have we not met?” she asked, in an audacious tone.
“Miss Madeleine, no, I don’t believe we’ve properly met.”
“Well, Mr. Leroux, given you’ve bothered to speak with everyone in this house except for me, it is hardly surprising. Do they not teach you manners in your country?”
Maurice stammered. “I…Well, I did not think it pertinent to the case.”
“Suit yourself, then. And what have you learnt today, Mr. Leroux?” Unlike all the other maids in the household, who spoke with an Irish lilt, Madeleine had a decidedly English accent but right now, she rolled the r of his surname in a flirtatious manner.
“I do not wish to discuss it. When I work on a case, I like to keep things to myself.”
“That’s a sensible approach,” she said, turning towards him, just long enough for Maurice to ascertain that her large doe eyes were a deep green and very unlike the eye he had seen through the keyhole.
“What are you ogling at?” she asked, catching hold of his stare.
“Given you are here,” said Maurice, “what can you tell me about this place? I’m beginning to think everyone believes it is either haunted or that something out of the ordinary is going on.”
“Oh, you would like to know what I think. Well that’s a first. Nobody ever asks my opinion. After all, I’m the new girl, right?” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Well to be clear, let me tell you that a certain housekeeper is intoxicated out of her mind.” She gave a quiet cackle.
Maurice looked disapprovingly in her direction. “That’s hardly…ladylike of you…”
“But it’s true, though,” she whispered. “Don’t be fooled by the stiff act. Oh, I’ve seen what she gets up to. Saw it on my first day. You just sit right there in your armchair and you’ll see it too. Be ready for a surprise with that one. She even sleeps with her eyes open. I ain’t joking. It’s frightening to see. And…” She interrupted her cleaning performance, having just registered his previous words. “Ladylike? Did you say, ladylike? Who do you take me for? Mr. Leroux, let’s talk seriously. What do I have to lose? I know they won’t keep me. T’was in the terms of
