June 2019

Inverness

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That morning, Mrs Lydia didn't expect to find anything remarkable in the newspaper, but she bought it all the same. It was her routine to run to the shop each day for fresh rolls, make a cup of tea, and read the latest news over breakfast. It had once been their routine, hers and her late husband Albert's, but for the past six months, she had been reading the paper alone. She used to start with the horoscope and read it aloud to both herself and her husband, and she hadn't stopped, even after his heart attack left her on her own.

"Libra: Today, for the first time in a long while, you will find a way to break free from your inner prison. An important decision at work lies ahead, bringing a change for the better.

Do you hear that, Albi? Then I suppose I'll quit my job as the school cook. Maybe today's the day I become an entrepreneur!" she raised her eyebrows, pushed her glasses up her nose, and carried on reading.

"Taurus: Your loved ones are facing an important life decision and will need your help. After a long separation, you will soon meet your old flame.

Well, did you run into old Johnson up there in heaven? Just wait until I get there. Your holiday will be over, you old goat. Now, where are the obituaries?"

She flicked through the newspaper until she reached the death notices, but Mrs Johnson seemed to be in good health. Lydia smiled sadly and looked at the empty chair beside her. A draught from the open window sent the front page tumbling down to the adverts. She usually skipped them, but today, her eye caught a brief piece of text:

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Advertisement: Housekeeper Wanted, URGENT

A discreet housekeeper is required for a remote country estate. Accommodation and meals are provided. Payment in cash. Meticulous attention to cleanliness and detail is essential. Immediate start. Preference will be given to an older, reliable lady experienced in cooking and baking for large groups of people. Permanent contract. Incentive offered for a prompt commencement.

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​She read the advertisement several times, carefully analysing every sentence in her mind. She had always dreamed of living in the countryside, but that dream had never come true. Together with Albert, they had spent their entire lives in a flat in Inverness. She did not even have a little garden where she could grow some carrots, radishes, and onions. And garlic. And a few potatoes. In truth, nothing was really keeping her in that place anymore. Every time she returned to her flat, she expected her husband to greet her with a cup of hot coffee, but all that answered her was an echo and a constant sense of sorrow. Every object reminded her of him, and she felt as if her own memories imprisoned her. There was a photo from a hill walk and a trinket from a seaside holiday. There was a vase from their wedding dinner service. Two comfortable armchairs they had bought for watching television. One forever empty. Her husband's children would not be coming back from London except for visits, and they could visit her anywhere. They had no children of their own. The job as a cook in the school canteen was all the same every day, and on top of that, the summer holidays were starting next week. Lydia imagined herself consumed by boredom and sadness in the flat, all alone.

No. The decision was made. She would call the number in the advertisement and could pack up and leave straight away if she wished.

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***

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"You must be Mrs Lydia, right? My name's Ava. We spoke on the phone, and I'm in charge here," Ava, a tall brunette, stepped forward and offered her hand with a professional smile.

"Yes, pleased to meet you, Miss Ava," Lydia glanced at the car they had sent for her, already thinking about her luggage.

"Don't worry, I'll send someone to bring it in for you. Your room is upstairs; come on, I'll show you around," Lydia gripped her handbag tightly and watched the young woman, who was already making her way quickly along the gravel driveway in high heels and a short pencil skirt, towards the main entrance. Something held Lydia back, but then a light breeze nudged her forward. She gathered herself and went after her.

The house, which turned out to be an old country manor, had no regular residents, apart from her now, but apparently was rarely completely empty. It was impeccably maintained inside and out. A company took care of the gardens, and Lydia was now in charge of the house. The furnishings were neither modern nor outdated but rather tasteful. However, she did notice a layer of dust here and there, which was probably the reason they were so eager to find a housekeeper.

"What happened to your last housekeeper, Miss Ava?" she asked as they passed through the banquet hall.

"Well, erm, she left the position due to health issues. She was an elderly lady. Here's the study, and behind it is the alchemy storeroom."

"Al-what, excuse me?"

"Oh, don't worry. The original owners were interested in mysticism and history, including alchemy, but there is nothing inherently dangerous about it. Some things might have strange labels, but it's all probably fake," Ava opened the door to reveal a small room full of shelves with boxes, bottles, and various unidentifiable objects. "It might seem a bit eerie at first, but you'll get used to it. Your job will only be to keep it clean," Lydia's eyes widened at something with two heads floating comfortably in a preserving liquid. She shot a glance at Ava, but she looked perfectly calm and moved on to the next door. Ava's calm reaction helped Lydia steady herself and shake off the chill that had run down her spine. She remembered the pantry in the school canteen, where sometimes equally unappetising things floated in jars, and thought it wasn't all that different. The next room was an extensive library.

"There are many rare books here, so you must be careful with them," Ava shrugged and was already striding towards the staircase with the steady clicking of her heels.

Lydia felt a heavy weight pressing on her. She had jumped into this adventure without a second thought. She had never changed jobs before, and now this was happening. She could cook and bake well enough, and it seemed a shame to waste that on a school canteen. She was tidy too but had never looked after such a large house. Her companion caught the doubt flickering across her face and came back to her, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

"I understand it might all feel a bit overwhelming, but there is nothing to worry about. Just imagine running a prestigious hotel where nobody ever complains. You need to cook well and keep the place nice. Come on, I will show you your room. It's bright and cosy, and I've brought you a catalogue so you can pick out some new furniture if you'd like. That should cheer you up,"

She was right. Her new home did lift her spirits a little. It was an attic flat with two spacious sunlit rooms. Lydia first cursed the number of stairs but then told herself at least it would keep her fit. She already had new knees, so what of it? There was some furniture there, but she was grateful for the young woman's foresight. The chance to furnish her new home herself thrilled her, especially since her employer was covering the cost.

"Who exactly is Mr Brushart? Am I saying that correctly?" she asked as soon as they sat down in the enormous modern kitchen to sign the contract. Ava nodded with a smile.

"He is a private entrepreneur and an art collector. One of the shareholders in the Organisation we all work for. He will probably come to meet you next time he is here, but I will be your direct supervisor. If you need anything at all, do not hesitate to contact me day or night. Sign here," she slid a short confidentiality agreement across the table and leaned in with a serious expression. "Mr Brushart uses this estate for various celebrations and meetings, occasionally special events. It is crucial for us that you remain discreet. So you must not talk to anyone about what goes on here, understand?" her tone turned sharp, and the smile disappeared as she fixed Lydia with a piercing look.

"Yes, of course," the elderly Lady whispered and signed the papers without reading them, thinking to herself that her husband would surely have scolded her for that. Ava switched back to her smiling, professional self and collected the documents.

"Very good. Here are the keys, the phone, the company laptop, and the card. Order whatever you need. You will receive detailed information about all guests and events via email every evening. Tomorrow, I will show you everything," she pushed the bag with the mentioned items towards Lydia and was about to leave. "You will probably be here alone for about two weeks, so you can explore the estate and tidy up while you're at it. You are in charge here, Mrs. Lydia," she saluted her and started to walk through the door but then paused. "You might see… let's say unusual things here, but whatever happens, the rule of discretion applies," Lydia nodded and found herself alone in the vast manor.

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***

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It was the strange kind of silence that kept her awake. Silence, and yet an unbearable noise. The house was speaking to her the way old houses do. It complained about the heavy roof, the drafty windows, the mice in the cellar, and about how time dragged on in the empty corridors.

​Lydia missed her morning ritual. Even though she had access to a car, she wasn't yet confident enough behind the wheel to drive into an unfamiliar town every morning for fresh bread and the newspaper. So she made do with coffee. After three days, she finally worked up the courage to ask Ava if her groceries could be delivered daily. That was no problem.  Of course. Early the next morning, a car arrived, and a young man silently unloaded the bags by the back entrance leading to the servants' quarters.

After a few days, Lydia managed to catch him and lure him inside with fresh lemon cakes, having someone to talk to, even for a little while. After that, he started ringing the bell and waiting for her to open the door. She had a new ritual, and soon, she was reading the horoscope aloud to him, too.

Once a week, the gardening company arrived, and Lydia looked forward to their visits with delight. Suddenly, the place felt alive. Gradually, she began to feel that she belonged there. The house needed her. It longed for someone to care for it, to tend to it. In the beginning, it had felt eerie, the way the draught swept through the empty halls, but she got used to it. The security system helped. As she had been told, no one could enter without her knowing. Still, all that technology overwhelmed her. She kept a small notebook where she wrote down everything, including passwords. Sometimes, she caught herself sighing over the little laptop, picturing the way he would have turned it over in his hands, frowning, and with that quiet smirk of his, reminded her that passwords should never be written down. She promised him silently she would fix it. Then turned the page and wrote down another one. He would have figured it all out in no time. He would already know what needed fixing or improving. There was even a small workshop on the grounds. It would have been his kingdom.

Lydia put on her thick glasses each evening, opened her notebook, and carefully typed in the exact sequence into the security system according to the instructions. In the mornings, she looked forward to reading the security report, which always showed deer, hares, and foxes roaming around the estate in the night. People tended to avoid the manor, but she had the odd feeling that something else was present there, too. She told herself it was nothing more than the weight of history seeping from the walls and wardrobes like old perfume. Perhaps, she thought, the house simply needed to be understood. And she would try.

No door was locked to her if only that alchemical storeroom were not her concern. She had spent an entire day in there just dusting and inspecting the strange oddities. It gave her the shivers. Then she reached a shelf filled with what looked like human foetuses in various stages of development. Oddly, that was the one thing that made her feel better. Surely, unborn babies did not look like that. It had to be fake. A tasteless prank. Forged curiosities. Of course, it was. She had no doubt. Or did she? No, no, of course not.

She was starting to feel like the Lady of the house. In her mind, she imagined the whole place belonged to her. She played with the idea that she was a country noblewoman, running her own little Hotel by the Lady of the Manor. In the evenings, she would set the table with the finest china, polished silver cutlery, and fresh flowers in a vase. It did not matter that she dined alone or that dinner was sometimes nothing more than sausages and bread. She played music on the gramophone and danced through the corridors for the joy of it.

Eventually, she found the courage to drive her little red Mini Cooper, which she fondly called Alice, into the nearby town where a department store sat just on the edge. Until then, she had checked up on the car, occasionally washing and polishing it, but now the moment felt right. Her pay was more than generous, and she decided that if she was going to play the part of a manor lady, she ought to look like one.

She got rid of her old floral aprons and worn-out tops and bought herself a few smart suits and dresses, soft but elegant clothes for around the house, and some lovely comfortable shoes. And handbags, naturally. Those were essential. With a sigh, she also let the woman at the beauty counter talk her into buying a few expensive, supposedly miraculous anti-aging creams. She knew they would not be able to turn back time. However, she still looked forward to wrapping her hair in a towel, applying that precious caviar face mask, laying cucumber slices over her eyes, and sipping a bit of champagne, just like the women in those Latin American telenovelas. She would lie back on the lounger on the terrace by the fountain, listening to birdsong. Or perhaps to Frank Sinatra.

She began regularly booking appointments at the hairdresser and overall felt ten years younger. Her husband would have been proud of her. Most importantly, she no longer felt like the scruffy woman from the kitchen but a true lady of the manor who represented both the house and her employer with dignity. From the wardrobe, she also took out her rose gold jewellery set with red stones, a gift from her husband for her fiftieth birthday, but she had been afraid to wear it. She had felt it did not suit her, that it was not quite right for her, but that had now changed.

There were rarely many guests at the manor. Sometimes, just a few pass through; other times, a small group stays for the weekend. She did not speak much with them, and they tended to keep to themselves. She always prepared their rooms and made the beds with fresh linen. On the pillows, she placed small chocolates and decorated the rooms with fresh flowers. She also packed each guest a mini cakes or pastries for their journey, wrapped in a red and white checkered cloth napkin. Over time, the guests returned, and some even came into the kitchen to beg for treats. She saw Mr Brushart only a few times. He usually arrived late at night and left the next day but always asked her to join him for breakfast, where they exchanged polite conversation, and he thanked her for the excellent care she had taken of his estate. He would always check she was happy with everything and that all was running smoothly. For the first time since her husband's death, she felt truly appreciated.

Weeks and months passed. She made friends among the other staff and occasionally went for coffee at the local patisserie where ladies of a similar age gathered to chat. Sometimes, the conversation turned to her manor, and those ladies asked strange questions and shared odd stories, but Lydia always waved them off with a smile. She knew well she ought not to talk much about her work.

​One morning, an envelope was lying on the kitchen table, with her name neatly written on the front. When she opened it, she found a generous sum of money and a note:

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For your discretion and impeccable work.

A.

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The first time she found an envelope like that was almost exactly a year and a half ago. She had been about to clean the banquet hall after one of their gatherings when she noticed some dishes stained with blood. She didn't know quite what to make of it, but the contents of the envelope reassured her. She told herself someone must have cut themselves.

She planned to visit her grandchildren in London over Christmas, and not just as a poor old granny. Besides, she felt so content in this place that she never questioned how things really worked. Over time, though, the envelopes and strange messes began to multiply.

Once, an envelope was especially stuffed, so Mrs Lydia prepared herself with rubber gloves, old work overalls, and strong disinfectant before heading off to clean. As soon as she opened the door, the stench hit her like a wall - the sharp iron scent of blood mixed with the acrid ammonia smell of decay. She hurried to the windows and flung them open, letting in both fresh air and light. When she turned around, she saw the source of the smell and gasped in surprise. It took her several minutes to catch her breath by the window, then she shrugged and got on with the job. She wondered what kind of creature had such guts and organs that someone had chucked into the bucket. They were slimy and soaked in blood, and she was thankful her foresight made her bring gloves. She added several pairs to her mental shopping list, just in case, along with strong hospital-grade cleaners. Old Mrs MacLeod would know exactly what to suggest.

Today, the envelope was average, just like the mess, but something felt different. The guests had left late the previous night, yet Lydia had a strange feeling that something had lingered behind. It hung in every room like a dark mist, just like when she'd burnt onions last summer, except this she could not air out. Dusting with her feather duster and spraying dust cleaning product as she walked down the ground floor corridor, she suddenly felt as if footsteps were following her. She wondered if she'd forgotten a guest, but no, they had all gone, and the house was... locked? She spun round sharply but saw no one. Frantically, she searched her pockets for her phone. She pulled it out with her glasses and hurried to open the app Ava had shown her, but the app insisted the house really was locked up tight. In the garage was only her red Mini Cooper, Alice. The front gate was shut. The windows were closed, too.

"Meow?"

Lydia jumped with a startled yelp, dropping both her phone and the dusting spray. The intruder was just as scared and slipped under the sideboard.

"I thought that was it for me," she breathed out, still clutching her chest. She knelt to gather her things and to see the cause of her fright. From beneath the sideboard, two eerily shining eyes stared back at her.

"Don't be afraid, come out. I'll give you something nice in the kitchen," she reached her hand out to the creature, and a gold pendant swinging from her neckline caught its attention. Suddenly, the eyes shot towards it, and a tiny paw stretched out to bat at the chain. Lydia pulled back but laughed softly. A mere tabby kitten had caused such a fright. That must have been the rustling noise haunting her house today. Definitely.

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***

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"These are Vicky and Danny, and over there is James. They'll be helping you today," Ava nudged the two bored-looking girls towards Lydia. They were new again, courtesy of the catering company that had assisted Lydia during significant events. No one lasted long. Ava glanced down at the tabby kitten fiercely, trying to shove her shoelace into its mouth. "Today is really important," she remarked, pushing the little creature with the tip of her white sneaker. "This little rodent will have to be kept locked up," Lydia just smiled, scooped up the kitten, and took it to her apartment.

"You've got to be good today, ok, Max?" she stroked the kitten's head, and it answered with a playful meow. It had been keeping her company for several days, so she decided to give it a name and even chose its birthday so that each morning she could read the horoscope not only to Daniel the messenger and sometimes the gardener but now to the kitten as well.

When she came back downstairs, the girls were already unpacking the shopping James and Daniel had brought. A banquet with several courses awaited them today. Lydia had been preparing for it for days, testing recipes in advance. She'd taken inspiration from cooking shows and magazines and firmly believed she had everything under control. It was autumn, so after canapés with caviar came pumpkin soup with crispy bacon chips. It wasn't a particularly lavish dish by reputation, but she'd practiced plating it a hundred times to make it look elegant, and she wasn't worried about the taste. The next course was duck with cabbage and homemade dumplings. Ava had been reluctant, thinking it too ordinary, but Mr. Brushart was delighted on the condition that it had to be followed by his favorite apple tart with vanilla rum cream. Lydia was happy to meet that condition.

Cooking and setting up the hall took the whole day. James arranged chairs and tables under Ava's instructions while Mrs. Lydia and the gardener, Ruby, spread flowers around. Guests arrived gradually and eagerly dug into sandwiches and lemon tarts, which many had already discussed in the car. Lydia dressed in her finest blue dress and a new linen apron. She was nervous like never before, her eyes darting about to check everything was as it should be.

Midway through dinner, Ava burst through the back door.

"Help!" she said, supporting a faint girl in a white dress. The girls rushed over and together helped her sit down.

"Who is she? What's happened to her?" Lydia asked, steadying the girl so she wouldn't fall.

"That's Daisy, the star of the evening. She overdid it a bit and was wandering around the garden," Ava explained.

"Will she be singing?"

"Something like that."

"Ava, dearie, this little bird isn't going to sing any time soon," Lydia said, looking at the girl with concern and pushing a plate of pumpkin soup with a generous helping of bacon chips and croutons towards her.

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***

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The help left after dinner, leaving only some finger food to prepare for the lounge, which Lydia managed on her own, though she was kept company by a dozing Daisy.

"It's all just a stupid game anyway," the girl hiccupped.

"What do you mean, love? Would you like some water?" Lydia looked concerned and pushed a long strand of her hair away from Daisy´s face. Her hair was long, ink-black that fell straight down her back like a curtain of night, always slightly moving even without wind, as if it listened to secrets.

"Whisky? I'll have some. It's going to be my last anyway," her glassy eyes filled with tears, and Lydia handed her a glass of water.

"Everyone wants to stop drinking when they have a little too much. You'll get over it," she smiled as she arranged the finger food on a tray.

"But I'll never drink anything again. For her eternal glory," Daisy clumsily raised her glass in a toast and sobbed.

"Whose glory, love?" Daisy nibbled on the finger food Lydia had carefully placed in front of her.

"The ancient one, of course," she smirked with her mouth full. "I thought I'd find meaning in it, but now I feel differently. What do you think the meaning of life is?"

"For me, it was my husband," Lydia smiled dreamily. "I know it seems silly to you young ones, but we found each other late in life," the housekeeper said, cutting a piece of cake and offering it to Daisy. "Have some. You'll feel better," the girl eyed the plate dramatically but tasted it. Before she could finish her portion, two men entered the kitchen and took her away. Lydia found the whole thing strange; girl, this drunk can hardly sing, especially when she is rambling like that.

She took the refreshments to the empty lounge and topped up the bar with a few bottles of champagne. She had been strictly instructed not to approach the guests, as they would manage on their own, and she would only be needed in the morning. Slowly, she climbed the stairs when she heard a desperate scream. With her hand on her chest, she hurried down the few steps but stopped and nervously paced along the corridor. Mumbling came from the room, and strange light glowed beneath the door. She moved closer and heard the scream again. It had to be Daisy! Lydia reached for the handle and…

"The cake was excellent, as was the whole dinner," a voice spoke directly behind her.

"Good heavens! I'm sorry, Mr Brushart, I thought…" Lydia withdrew her hand and nervously adjusted her skirt. She glanced at the door she longed to open. The door remained firmly shut.

"That's quite all right. Could you cut me another piece and prepare it in my study?" the tall, elegant man in a blue suit spoke quietly but firmly. He smiled slightly, but his eyes warned her she had no business there. "And perhaps bring another to the pink bedroom. For Daisy,"

"Of course, Mr Brushart,"

"Good night, Mrs Lydia," a knot tightened in her stomach. Turning away from another scream, she knew it was best to do as he said.

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***

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She could not sleep, so she got up early. She felt uneasy as she stepped into the kitchen and noticed a thicker envelope lying on the table. She decided to tidy the drawing room first so that the guests might have their breakfast there. Afterward, she planned to move on to the bedrooms. Something in her compelled her to avoid the banquet hall. The very thought of what she might find there sent a chill down her spine. But there was no avoiding it in the end. She had to go in.

Even as her hand reached for the doorknob, she felt as though the weight of the world had dropped onto her shoulders. Opening the door did nothing to relieve her. The room sent a shiver straight into her bones. The hall was spacious, and along the right side by the windows stood a large table cluttered with leftover dishes and crumpled napkins. Nothing out of the ordinary, really. Yet she barely registered any of it because her eyes had locked onto a great wooden X. She had an idea what it was. She had seen something similar in a movie once. That one had leather straps on each end as well. And perhaps that alone was not the worst of it, except there was blood. Blood everywhere. Pools of it dried onto the floor.

"Christ… the parquet floors. It will never scrub out," she resolved not to think about where the blood had come from. She could not allow herself to, or she would lose her mind. She bent to pick up a piece of white fabric lying at her feet. A dress. Daisy's dress. Or rather, what was left of it, soaked through with blood. Lydia swallowed hard. She let the fabric fall from her fingers and fled from the hall, hurrying up the stairs to the bedrooms.

She stopped outside the pink room but did not hesitate for long. She seized the handle, only to find the door would not open.

"Oh God..."

She slumped against the wall and clutched her hand to her mouth, eyes wide with horror. It felt as though she could not breathe. Only a narrow strip of sunlight shone beneath the door, and still, she seemed to catch the scent of blood, now beginning to drift quietly through the house.

Something moved behind the door.

Lydia froze.

A passing shadow broke the strip of light, and then something struck the door with tremendous force. She sprang back in fright but stumbled and let out a strangled cry as she fell. Whatever it was, it struck again. And again.

"That is quite enough!" Mr Brushart's voice thundered from behind her. The banging stopped. "In this house, we behave with dignity," he offered Lydia his hand and helped her to her feet, but she remained frozen with fear. She had the distinct sense that someone was still standing behind that door.

"Would there be… please… another slice of that apple tart?" It was Daisy's voice, but something about it was wrong. Strained. Sinister. There was still some tart left, though.

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***

 

Only Mr Brushart, Ava, two men, and Daisy remained at the manor. Lydia, ever the diligent housekeeper, cleaned everything and prepared both lunch and dinner for them, though they hardly ate a thing. They spent all their time in Daisy's room, from which came sounds that shifted between screams, desperate cries, murmuring, and cheerful conversation. Lydia walked past the door often, trying to catch even a word or two, but all they ever seemed to talk about was some book. She had no idea what to make of it, but there was nothing to do except continue with her work.

​She felt uneasy. It was as though she had to keep turning around to check if someone was following her. A nervous tension sat in her chest. Even the house felt different as if echoing her mood. It was colder and darker than usual. The sun had not emerged all morning despite the forecast promising clear skies. Several flowers she had put in vases the day before were already wilted. The wind crept around the house with great care but still managed to make dreadful noises as it tangled itself in the trees. Something was not right. She took a deep breath and pressed the thick envelope to her chest.

I will buy Jane a bicycle with a basket for her dolls and little Mark, that robot dinosaur he told me about last time. She nodded and placed the envelope among the others. Her cat Max meowed for attention, so she stroked his head gently and returned to her duties.

She was carrying a dish of warm food into the drawing room when the electricity cut out. She quickly found a few candles and placed them into old holders, which she set throughout the house. She left a few just outside the pink bedroom and knocked, though she did not want to go in. The scene looked almost romantic with all the candlelight. If only the smell would finally lift from the rooms. For hours now, there had been silence. A strange, suspicious kind of silence.

She was carrying the last dish, a bowl of schnitzels when she saw a man outside the window. The bowl almost slipped from her hands, but she caught it just in time. He stood there in the dark a few metres from the glass, watching. Lydia thought at first it must be one of the guests, but the more she looked at him, the more familiar he became. He wore a flannel shirt just like the one her husband used to love. And a golf cap. The same kind.

"Do you miss him?" came a soft voice behind her. The same voice that had been screaming for hours only the day before.

"Daisy!" Lydia had had enough of being startled. It was as if no one in this house knew how to approach a person in a usual manner. Her heart could not take much more of this. "Where is Mr Brushart? Did you find that book everyone keeps talking about?" she asked, trying to sound casual, maybe even clever.

"Mr Brushart is busy," Daisy replied quickly. "Yes. Unfortunately, he now knows where the book is," she sighted, disappointment dripping from her voice. She was wearing a dark dress Lydia had once seen Ava wear. Her skin, unmarked and ghostly pale, looked almost translucent.

"Well, I hope they come down for dinner. Everything's ready. Come and sit down, dear. You must eat something," Daisy did as she was told and let Lydia serve her a generous portion of schnitzel with salad.

"I baked a new tart too. Plum tart. In case you'd like some. Are you feeling better?" Lydia asked kindly and brushed a lock of hair from Daisy's face. Daisy nodded with a gentle smile.

"Sit with me. I hate eating alone,"

"Miss Ava would not like that,"

"Miss Ava will do as I say," Daisy took Lydia's hand and, with a light but insistent grip, made her sit beside her. "I asked if you miss your husband," Daisy cut a piece of meat and placed it carefully in her mouth.

"Of course I do. Very much. I'd love to tell him how well I'm doing here, but that's life,"

"What did his horoscope say this morning?" Lydia froze. They certainly had not talked about it before. Maybe Mr. Brushart had mentioned it once at breakfast when she read his horoscope aloud to him. But surely he would not remember, and even if he did, why would he bring it up with her?

"I… I don't know. I haven't read the paper today. It's been so hectic around here," a shiver ran down Lydia's spine. She listened for the usual sounds of the house, the ones that usually calmed her, but there was nothing but a grave silence.

"It was probably something typical, like: Your loved ones are facing a great decision, and you must help them through it. After a long separation, you will soon reunite with the great love of your life," the housekeeper sat as if frozen in place. "What would you give to see him again?" Daisy asked and glanced toward the window. Lydia followed her gaze and saw only her own reflection. Then, something heavy gripped her shoulder. She looked toward it, but nothing was there. Only when she looked back at her reflection in the dark glass did her heart stop. Her husband stood behind her. Her eyes widened, and she couldn't breathe.

"What… what is this?"

"You are a kind woman, not like the others,"

"But Daisy…" Lydia shook her head in confusion.

"Daisy is no longer here," the young woman said it calmly and took another bite.

"What are you saying, love?" Lydia forced a nervous smile, but when she turned to her again, her eyes were as dark as the deepest night. "Daisy?"

"Daisy… is gone. But she found her purpose. What would you give to have yours back?" Lydia studied her husband's face. He stared into her eyes with urgency, his brow furrowed, the grip of his invisible hand tighter now. And then she understood. She swallowed hard and looked down at her hands folded in her lap.

"Anything. If only we could be together again; that is what I would truly wish," she whispered.

"Good. Will you fetch me that tart, please?" the young woman smiled so brightly, so Lydia stood up slowly and walked toward the kitchen. She felt as if someone were walking with her. A gentle touch on her back helped her up the stairs, doors that normally closed on their own held open for her. She entered the kitchen and saw the small kitten sprawled out blissfully on the table. She shook her head. Max wasn't allowed up there, but she didn't have the heart to shoo the kitten away. She looked into his brown eyes and suddenly felt a wave of dizziness. The world seemed to dim. She didn't feel herself fall, only that someone's hand helped her back to her feet. She looked up and lost her breath.

"Albi!" she embraced him, and he gently led her to a chair at the table, where they sat down together.

The kitten jumped down from the table and knocked something to the floor. An envelope. Now, she could take the grandchildren to the zoo in London, to the Eye, and to that overpriced Christmas fair where everything sparkled. She could give the young ones a little more to help with their house renovations, and there would still be enough left for that new handbag she had been admiring for two weeks. But her eyes were drawn to the kitten, which had turned its head toward something on the floor. Lydia held her breath, but her husband stroked her face gently, soothing her.

Max meowed softly as he reached the face of his mistress lying on the cold stone floor. He pawed at her lightly, trying to wake her, but it was no use. So he looked around the kitchen, his eyes shining with sudden light, and with his tail held high, he ran toward the two empty chairs.