Somewhere Between Read online

  She bent down and whispered to Elizabet. “We’re right next to each other. It could be fun.”

  The little girl turned adoring olive-green eyes to her new governess. “Secrets without the boys? Girl secrets?”

  Phebe nodded, watching the color, flecked with amber, dance in the child’s eyes.

  She studied the eyes of the boys to see if theirs matched Elizabet’s, but neither quite measured up, instead they resembled mud puddles, no spark, no dazzle.

  Ah, she’s a spitfire, for sure, with those eyes!

  She sighed. “Now, let’s go back to the classroom. What were you studying when I interrupted?”

  Charley frowned. “Cook tried to get us to read a book.”

  They led her back to the school room.

  Winston’s face softened, for an instant, no hint of a smile, but a definite diminishing of the ever-present pursed lips. “You’ve certainly worked magic on them. It seems they really like you.”

  His signature gruff manner returned quickly, the compressed lips once more in place. “Dinner is in an hour. The children will dine with their parents. You may take dinner in your room or with me and Cook in the kitchen. I’m sure you’re exhausted, so it’s fine if you’d rather enjoy a bit of solitude.”

  “I’d love to share a meal with you and Myrtle. You can tell me all about this ghost.”

  DISPLEASURE TRANSFORMED WINSTON’S FACE, EYES black with fury, lips white with anger at the mention of the ghost.

  She decided to shrug off his churlish demeanor and finished the hour by reading a book with the children. They relished her suggestion of acting out each scene. Benjamin wanted the part of the bear. Charley wanted to be the wolf. Elizabet acted out the part of the princess. By the end, they collapsed in a heap, laughing. It was a grand time. She almost forgot about Winston’s sinister reaction.

  He came to escort them to dinner with their parents.

  The children complained, reluctant to leave.

  Phebe suggested, “Tell them of the book you read, act out your parts. It’ll be a jolly conversation.”

  They scampered out of the room all talking at once.

  In the kitchen, Myrtle applied the finishing touches on two large trays.

  “Can I help?”

  Myrtle smiled, her jolly face red from the heat of the kitchen. “Oh, goodness no. Winston always does the honors. You sit down. I’ll serve ya the first course.”

  “No need, I can serve myself.”

  “Well, what a breath of fresh air you are!”

  Winston returned and lifted the trays, balancing one on each hand in an experienced manner.

  “He looks like he’s done this forever.”

  “He has. Can’t remember a time when he wasn’t in this house.”

  “Ah, that reminds me. What of the ghost the children mentioned? Did you ever encounter such a thing?”

  Myrtle glanced up. “I wouldn’t be askin’ about such things.”

  Phebe leaned closer. “And why not? Even the children think there’s a ghost here? Where does it come from?”

  “It’s not an it. It’s a ‘he’. The previous owner of this estate.”

  She pulled up a stool, eager to hear all the details. “What’s his name? Did he die here?”

  “Edmund. Yes, he died here, murdered.”

  “Murdered?”

  Myrtle sighed. “Well, no one knows for sure. He was found dead in the sky-parlor. The doctor couldn’t determine a cause of death. Said his heart probably gave out. But, he was only twenty-four.” She glanced around the kitchen as if a spy lurked about. She lowered her voice. “A rumor circulated. Poison.”

  “Poison? Who would do that?”

  Myrtle’s scowled. “Lordy, girl. You do ask a lot of questions.”

  “I love a good mystery and old houses, too. Why would someone poison him? Was he a vile man?”

  “Well, there’s the mystery. The only clue was a wine glass next to the body. No one knew what to make of it. He wasn’t much of a drinker.” Cook pointed the spoon at Phebe. “It’s best you not bring it up. The Powell’s don’t take kindly to prying into family business.”

  Winston reappeared. “If you are talking about that silly ghost I’ll take my meal elsewhere.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of chasing you away, Winston. Myrtle caught me up on the story. The children ask about it, thought I might prepare a better answer for them.”

  Myrtle winked. “It’s a sore spot with old Winston here. He wants to be the only mysterious male in the manor.”

  “Nonsense.” He brushed off the feckless comment. “Let’s change the subject. Are your accommodations satisfactory?”

  “They’re beautiful, thank you.”

  Myrtle placed a steaming plate of roast beef, carrots, potatoes, and a biscuit in front of her. “Eat up.”

  The savory aroma sparked her appetite. She dug in with gusto, banishing all thoughts of the ghost.

  PHEBE VISITED THE CHILDREN’S ROOMS at bedtime. Each child regaled her with their acting abilities, insisting they were the best actors at dinner. Reenactments followed, accompanied by her rapt attention. It wasn’t long before they fell asleep exhausted from their new experiences.

  The darkened hall brought the alleged ghost to mind as she padded softly toward her room. Not one of them mentioned Edmund, which is unfortunate. Best I don’t ask the children—but stick with Myrtle.

  Settled in her cozy bedchamber, she snuggled into the soft mattress, pulled the pink patchwork coverlet over her and opened a copy of Moby Dick, a present from her parents.

  After reading several pages, her eyelids drooped. When the book fell to the floor, she extinguished the lamp and pulled the blankets to her chin. The silvery glow of the moon faintly illuminated the room, a soothing comfort.

  She fell asleep satisfied with her first day.

  A soft bump woke her. Her eyes flew open. She glanced around, but saw nothing.

  She pulled the comforter to her chin and wiggled deeper into the covers.

  Before her eyelids drifted closed, it came again.

  Thud!

  The sound, like a heavy sack hitting the floor, came from above.

  She listened, heart pounding, blood surging.

  Heavy footsteps paced back and forth.

  Somebody is up there.

  Her bare feet hit the cold floor as she wrestled to don her robe.

  I bet it’s Winston playing tricks. Trying to scare me. I’ll show him.

  Did she believe in spirits? No, but a good ghost story always got her adrenalin running.

  She lit a candle and set out to find the room above her.

  At the end of the hall was a narrow staircase. “This must be the way up.”

  The old stairs creaked a bit, so she tread lightly.

  The landing opened into a hallway like the one she and the children occupied. The stairs and the passageway, covered with an undisturbed layer of dust, indicated their long disuse. It’s obvious Winston didn’t come this way.

  She tried to remember where her room was in proximity to this floor. Fourth door down, I think. On the left.

  She tip-toed until she stood in front of the corresponding door. The knob was loose, but locked. “Winston,” she whispered. “Open up. You don’t fool me.”

  Convinced he was behind the door, she rattled it harder.

  No sound.

  She glanced around the hallway as if something lurked in the shadows. “Maybe it’s not Winston.”

  The candle shook in her hand sending flickering shadows along the walls.

  Again, she murmured, mostly to assuage a rising panic, “I don’t believe in ghosts, so fear is not an option, but an investigation is warranted.”

  She reached out a trembling hand. Another hard rattle of the doorknob yielded nothing.

  She knocked. “Whoever’s in there, I’m not frightened. Come out, at once. You might wake the children.”

  Dead silence.

  “I mean it. Enough of this non
sense. Open the door.”

  Nothing.

  She tried it again and to her amazement, the knob turned.

  Her heart beat wildly. Now, we’ll get to the bottom of this.

  She pushed.

  The door opened.

  “Winston?”

  She stepped into the dark room. The bright moon offered little light through the dingy lace curtains.

  Nothing looked out of place. A normal parlor, covered with dust, but undisturbed.

  “Winston. If this is your idea of trickery, it’s not working. You might as well show yourself.”

  Silence.

  As her eyes adjusted, she noted several books scattered on the floor. At closer inspection, she observed one wall completely shelved with an array of reading material.

  The sky parlor. The one I saw this morning upon my arrival.

  She knelt to retrieve the displaced volumes. Most were leather-bound, valuable, soft and smooth in her hand.

  Whoever discarded these has no idea of their worth.

  Carefully, she eased them into the empty spaces on the shelf. The rest of the room was in order—dusty, worn, old and unused, but intact.

  “Maybe the books simply fell off the shelf. I don’t see anything else to indicate someone’s been here. Everything’s covered with dust. Maybe a mouse…”

  A crystal carafe surrounded by five tulip-shaped sherry glasses sat in the center of a small wooden table. They wore the mantle of disuse, as well, but something odd struck her immediately. A missing stemware and the topper to the carafe.

  She scanned the room as if to find the absent pieces and return them to their proper places, to no avail.

  Myrtle said a wine glass was found next to Edmund’s body. The missing sherry glass, perhaps?

  Suddenly, all energy left her. She yearned for the comfort of her bed. Whether it was the night chill or lack of sleep, she’d enough adventure for one night.

  Nothing to see here. Simply a rogue mouse playing havoc.

  PHEBE ROSE EARLY, ANXIOUS TO talk to Myrtle before the children awoke.

  The warm kitchen smelled of bacon. Homemade biscuits, stacked on the sideboard, peaked her appetite. She almost forgot why she rushed downstairs.

  “My, you’re up early, Phebe. You slept soundly, then?” Myrtle’s happy voice brightened the first blush of day.

  “Don’t expect it every morning. I didn’t get as much sleep as I’d like.”

  Cook frowned. “And why was that? The room doesn’t suit you? Or are ya homesick?”

  “No, nothing like that. I heard the ghost.”

  The cook dropped the large metal fork. “The ghost?”

  Phebe retrieved the utensil. “Yes, and I went up to check it out.”

  Myrtle’s face turned lily-white. “Tell me you didn’t.”

  “Why yes, I thought it was Winston playing a trick on me and was determined to catch him.”

  “No one’s been up there in years.”

  “So it seems. It was very dusty.”

  Myrtle frowned. “Winston would never trick you. He’s too prim and proper to indulge in such things.”

  “I didn’t see him, nor did I find another way up there. Is there a hidden passageway?”

  “No. No other passage.” She retrieved the fork from Phebe. “Are you going to tell me what ya did find?”

  She grabbed a biscuit and spread a large amount of butter on top. “Books. Large, leather-bound books scattered on the floor. A loud thump woke me. It happened twice. When I found the books on the floor, I figured a mouse or rat pushed them from the shelf. That would account for the noise. Someone really should rescue those old volumes. It’s a shame to let them ruin.”

  “Books? On the floor?”

  “Yes, but the strangest thing happened. The door was locked. I jiggled the knob, but it wouldn’t turn. I rattled it again, and it opened.”

  “And you went in?”

  “Of course. I wanted to catch the culprit. No one was there.”

  “My Lord, Phebe, don’t tell the Mr. and Mrs. about this. Why, they’d fire you on the spot. No one is to go up there.”

  “They never told me I couldn’t, only mentioned the other girls and how the sounds frightened them.”

  Myrtle wagged a finger. “You’ll stir up a hornet’s nest if you pursue this. Leave Mr. Edmund in peace.”

  Phebe grinned. “So, you do believe there’s a ghost up there.”

  “I’m not sayin’ I do, and I’m not sayin’ I don’t. I simply don’t stick my nose where it don’t belong. You’d best heed my warning.”

  Phebe finished her biscuit and wiped her hands on a napkin. “I found one more thing.”

  Myrtle rolled her eyes. “Well, you know I’m going to ask. What?”

  “A missing sherry glass.”

  The kitchen door swung open. Winston entered.

  Myrtle turned back to the bacon.

  He returned the empty trays to the proper cupboard. “You’re up early Phebe. Anxious to start the day with the children?”

  “Just came down to say hello. Did you sleep well, Winston?”

  He raised his brows. “An odd question. I always sleep well, but thank you for asking.”

  Myrtle handed her a heaping plate. “You best be gettin’ your belly full and ready for those children. This being your first full day.”

  “I’ll take it upstairs. Thank you.” With a nod to Winston, she carried her meal up to the breakfast room.

  The children took this morning’s meal as a special treat with their parents in the dining room, so the time alone allowed her to contemplate the first night at the Powell’s. The more she tried to make sense of what happened upstairs, the more she thought it played out like a dream.

  My over-active imagination, most likely. Myrtle’s right. I need to put it out of my mind and concentrate on the children.

  In the light of day, a dream proved the more logical answer; a new place, new people, a ghost story, and the excitement of a new position.

  Convinced of her own folly, she shrugged off the incident and turned to the day’s curriculum.

  The children bounded into the schoolroom at the stroke of eight.

  Caught up in their enthusiasm, she forgot all about the adventure of the night before.

  The children bent to their numbers, pencils in hand, scribbling furiously.

  A sense of pride filled her. The children respond well. Each of them wormed their way into my heart. I hope I sustain a long employment in this house.

  At mid-morning, a knock sounded on the school room door.

  “Come in.”

  Mr. and Mrs. Powell entered.

  “My wife and I came to see how you’re getting along. From previous experience, the children would’ve wreaked havoc by now.”

  “Please come in. We’re doing numbers.” She turned to Charley. “Show your parents your work.”

  Charley lifted his paper with an infectious, freckled smile. “I’ve done ten problems this morning.”

  The Powell’s exchanged glances.

  “Why, this is incredible.” Mrs. Powell walked over to Charley and inspected his paper. “And, they’re correct, too.”

  Mr. Powell clucked his tongue. “Very nice, indeed.”

  Phebe sighed. “They’re all doing well this morning.”

  Mr. Powell motioned for her to come closer.

  She leaned in to catch his whispered question. “Did you sleep well last night? No disturbances?”

  “The accommodations are wonderful. I slept fine. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

  His shoulders relaxed, and a wide smile erased the concern on his face. “Wonderful. Glad to hear it. We’re most pleased at what we see. It’s not our habit to interfere in the daily lessons, but since it was your first night here we felt compelled to check in. Feel free to come to us with any problems or questions that arise.”

  Mrs. Powell rejoined her husband. “Yes, I’m impressed. They’ve never taken such an interest before. You’re qu
ite gifted.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Powell. The children are charming.”

  “We’ll leave you to it.” Mr. Powell stepped back to allow his wife to pass, but turned and whispered. “I didn’t mention it before, but you might notice the stairway to the third floor at the end of the hall. We’ve closed that part of the mansion off. This house is too big for this small family. We’ve no use for the upper floor. It’s in great disrepair, so I implore you not to wander up there. I’d hate for you to fall through some rotten board.”

  Phebe smiled sweetly. “I understand, Mr. Powell. There’s enough to keep me busy here. I see no need to wander around. Thank you for the warning.”

  The door closed, and she turned her attention to Elizabet who sat primly behind her desk, hands folded on top of her work.

  “Now, young lady, it’s your turn. Let me see your paper.”

  Elizabet didn’t move her hands. Instead, the amber flecks in her eyes danced with mischief. “If you don’t take me upstairs with you, I’ll tell Papa what you did last night.”

  PHEBE STEPPED BACK. “ELIZABET, WHATEVER do you mean?”

  “I saw you.”

  “Of course, you saw me. I came into your room to bid you goodnight.”

  “After.”

  She glanced at the boys, who bent to their work and remained oblivious to the conversation. “After what, Elizabet?”

  “After the noise. It happens every night. I hopped out of bed and opened my door. I saw you go upstairs.”

  “Oh, well, I heard something and went to check it out. There was nothing there. I believe it’s simply old creaking timbers.”

  Elizabet shook her head. “It wasn’t creaking. The sound was a thump. Like every night.”

  “It’s none of our business. Let’s get back to work.”

  “Not until you promise.”

  “Blackmail, Elizabet, really? You’ll cost me my job over a noise in a rattling old house? Is this how you got rid of the others?”

  “I didn’t. They were scaredy cats and left on their own. You’re not afraid.” Elizabet’s eyes glowed. “Why, you marched right up those stairs without a blink of an eye.”

  “Enough, young lady. We’ll get back to work or you will stand in the corner.”