Chapter 2 - The Secret Beneath the Floorboards
Adrian did not raise his voice, but the entire foyer grew so quiet that the ticking of the grandfather clock in the library sounded like falling stones. Marcus stepped forward, preparing to handle the situation, but a single subtle lift of Adrian’s hand stopped him dead in his tracks.
“The bus,” Lucy answered, blinking her large brown eyes. “And then I walked up the big hill because the man at the gate said cars only come for important people. I told him I was important because I brought a spare sponge.”
She reached into the pocket of her oversized raincoat and produced a yellow kitchen sponge, slightly damp and frayed at the edges.
A muscle ticked in Adrian’s jaw. Four years ago, an accident—or what the authorities officially ruled an accident—had taken his wife, Clara, and their four-year-old daughter, Lily. Lily would have been eight years old now. She would have worn yellow rain boots if she liked the rain. She would have stood on this exact marble floor.
“Marcus,” Adrian said, his voice terrifyingly calm. “Find Claire Bennett. Where is she?”
“She’s at St. Jude’s Clinic in White Plains, Mr. Marlowe,” a trembling voice interrupted. It was Mrs. Gable, the head housekeeper, who had hurried forward, wringing her hands in her apron. “Severe exhaustion and low blood pressure. She collapsed yesterday after her shift, but she didn’t want to tell anyone because she was terrified of losing her position here. She has medical bills mounting, sir. Her mother needs dialysis three times a week.”
Adrian stood up slowly. He looked down at the mop, then at the bucket of gray water, and finally back at Lucy, who was now examining the brass buttons on his coat with innocent curiosity.
“You came here to work for your mother?” Adrian asked.
“Yes, sir. I’m very good at dusting low things. I can reach the legs of the chairs without bending down.”
Adrian turned to Marcus. “Bring the car around. Not the sedan. The black SUV.”
“Sir?” Marcus asked, bewildered.
“We are going to St. Jude’s Clinic. And Mrs. Gable, find someone to take this child to the breakfast room. Give her whatever she wants. Warm milk, pastries, fruit. Do not let her touch another mop.”
“I’m not tired,” Lucy protested gently, clutching her yellow sponge like a talisman. “I can help finish the hall.”
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“You’ve done enough, Lucy,” Adrian said. For the first time in four years, a microscopic softening touched the corners of his mouth—so faint that Marcus wondered if he had imagined it. “The hall is clean.”
As Marcus rushed to obey, Adrian lingered for a moment, staring at the spot where the child had sung. The silence of the mansion felt different now. It wasn't the heavy, suffocating tomb it had been for 1,460 days. It had a crack in it. And through that crack, something long dead stirred.
