In the Manor with the Millionaire

“SHE SELLS SEASHELLS…” Duncan repeated the rhyme again and again. “Temperance, where are you?”

“Here I am.”

She stood with her back against a tree. He could see her, but his daddy and Madeline couldn’t. And that was good. He didn’t want to share his new friend.

He held out the shell. “You gave me this to warn me about the bad man.”

She bent down and picked up a pinecone. Her shiny golden hair fell across her face. “There is something dangerous in the Manor.”

“What?”

“Perhaps the basement. I cannot enter the Manor.”

“You don’t have to be scared, Temperance. I won’t let anybody hurt you.”

She placed a pinecone into his gloved hand. “You need ten of these. For your teacher.”

He was happy to have a friend who didn’t tease about his gloves. “I’m very brave. Madeline said so.”

“Duncan, you must not forget the danger.”

“Danger,” he repeated.

Chapter Four

Half an hour before the scheduled time for lunch, Madeline was pleased with their progress. She and Duncan had arranged the ten pinecones for an afternoon art project. And they’d read an entire book about trains.

Her initial assessment of his skills matched the reports from his previous tutor. Exceptional mathematic ability. Reading and writing skills were poor.

Duncan jumped to his feet. “I want to explore.”

“So do I,” she said. “We could get your father to give us a tour. He knows a lot about the Manor.”

“No,” he shouted. “No.”

His loud, strident voice had an edge to it. She hadn’t figured out how to deal with disagreements, but it couldn’t be good to continually back down to his demands. She replied with a statement, not a question. “We’ll explore one room.”

“Basement,” he said.

Not what she was hoping for. She should have been more specific, should have told him that they would explore his father’s studio, which would give her a chance to spend a bit more time with Blake. Unfortunately, she hadn’t specified a room, and she needed to be unambiguous with Duncan. “The basement it is.”

The door leading to the basement was off the kitchen where Alma should have been preparing lunch. She was nowhere in sight.

Madeline turned on the light, revealing a wooden staircase that descended straight down. “I’ll go first,” she said. “You need to hold tight to the railing.”

Duncan followed behind her, counting each step aloud.

A series of bare bulbs lit the huge space that was divided with heavy support pillars and walls. The ceiling was only eight feet high. Like most unfinished basements, it was used for storage. There were stacks of old boxes, discarded furniture and tools. A series of notched shelves suggested that the basement had at one time been a wine cellar.

A damp, musty smell coiled around them, and she shuddered, thinking of rats and spiders. As far as she could tell, there were no windows.

“I’ve seen enough,” she said.

Duncan reached out and touched a concrete wall with his gloved hand. “Danger,” he said.

The word startled her.

He zigzagged from the walls to the stairs and back. In spite of her rising trepidation, Madeline noticed a geometric pattern in his movements. If she could have traced his steps, the pattern would form a perfect isosceles triangle. Under his breath, Duncan repeated, “Danger.”

She took the warning to heart; his father said that he sensed things. And Alma had mentioned a curse on the town. “Danger means we should leave. Right now.”

He ran away from her and disappeared behind a concrete wall.

She started after him. “Duncan, listen to me.”

“Danger,” came a louder shout.

The door at the top of the stairs slammed with a heavy thud. Fear shot through her. She spun around, staring toward the stairs. Though she saw no one, her sense of being stalked became palpable. That door hadn’t blown shut by accident.

The lights blinked out. Darkness consumed her. Not the faintest glimmer penetrated this windowless tomb. Trapped. She thought of Teddy Fisher. Of the serial killer who liked women with long black hair.

Terror stole her breath. Where were the stairs? To her right? Her left? Her hands thrust forward, groping in empty space.

If she’d been here by herself, Madeline would have screamed for help. But Duncan was with her, and she didn’t want to frighten him. “Duncan? Where are you?”

“Right here.” He didn’t sound scared. “Thirty-six steps from the stairs.”

“Don’t move.” She listened hard, trying to discern if anyone else was here with them. The silence filled with dark portent. She moved forward with hesitant steps. Her shin bumped against a cardboard box. Her outstretched hands felt the cold that emanated from the walls. She pivoted and took another step. Was she going the wrong way? “Duncan, can you find the stairs?”

Instead of answering, he started counting backward from thirty-six. His strange habit came in handy; the boy seemed to know his exact location while she was utterly disoriented.

She bit back a sob. Even with her eyes accustomed to the dark, she couldn’t see a thing.

“I’m at the stairs,” Duncan announced.

She took a step toward his voice and stumbled. Falling forward to her hands and knees, she let out a yip.

“I’m okay,” she said, though Duncan hadn’t inquired. The only way she’d find the stairs was for him to keep talking. “Can you say the poem about starlight?”

Instead, he chanted, “She sells seashells…”

Crouched low, she inched toward the sound. When her hand connected with the stair rail, she latched on, desperately needing an anchor, something solid in the dark.

“Danger,” he shouted.

Shivers chased up and down her spine. She had to get a grip, had to get them to safety. “I’m going up the stairs, Duncan. I’ll open the door so we have enough light to see. Then I’ll come back down for you.”

“I can go. I’m very brave.”