had been coming in, although I was aware that once or twice he turned to study my profile. If my position in the household had been tentative before, I could not help but admit it was more so now, and I wondered if he were regretting his impulsiveness in hiring me just as I was regretting my impulsiveness in speaking my mind so frankly.
I was not sorry, though, for a free day to unwind a bit and settle into my new—if perhaps temporary—home. I sought out Mrs. Duffy in the kitchen, where she was supervising the planning of the meals for the next few days. The stout cook, who seemed happy enough to meet me, was the only other full-time servant, and she returned to her own home at sundown each night, so that meals at Green Willows had to be taken early or served cold.
“You get used to it, though,” Mrs. Duffy said cheerfully. “It’s quiet here in the evenings and you’ll be glad enough to go to bed early.”
I inquired about my meals, thinking I was to take them in the kitchen, but she informed me that I would eat in the dining room with the master and mistress. I was rather of two minds about this. It was flattering to discover that my station was somewhat above that of a common servant. On the other hand, I was inclined to think I would rather prefer a meal in the kitchen with the friendly cook.
As it turned out, I had lunch alone that day in the dining room. Mr. Tremayne was out somewhere, Mrs. Duffy did not say where, and Miss Tremayne, suffering a headache, had chosen to stay in her room.
I had some soup and a bit of trifle, served by Daisy, the same timorous girl who had come to my room that morning. She was no more receptive to my overtures of friendship than she had been before, and I began to think life at Green Willows was perhaps going to be as lonely as everyone said.
I could only wonder why young Elizabeth, who, I thought, away from her grandfather’s rather frightening presence, would no doubt be as gay and frolicsome as any young girl, should want to live here rather than in that sunny, bright cottage in the village.
I climbed the stairs to my room, pausing at the landing to again stare at the portrait of the dead Mrs. Tremayne. I found my eyes going to those in the portrait and for a moment it seemed as if those painted eyes were looking into mine, as if they had come to life and were trying to tell me something, some message that I could not grasp.
I had never been a particularly imaginative person, though, and now I mentally shook myself, making myself move up the stairs and away from that painted gaze.
As I did so, I heard a sound, faintly at first and then more distinctly—the sound of someone humming. I did not know the song but it had a catchy, easy to remember melody. A folk song of some sort, I thought. It was coming from the hall above, and when I reached there, I heard it coming quite clearly from one of the rooms past mine.
My first thought was that it was one of the maids, but when I thought of Daisy, I could not imagine her humming this happy tune. Perhaps Eleanor Tremayne, recovered from her headache? Then I caught the scent of gardenias and realized with pleasure that Elizabeth must have come to Green Willows on some errand. Maybe her father and grandfather had, after all, decreed that she could stay here now that she had a governess.
I was quite delighted by that prospect. Although her behavior had been a little odd this morning, I had an impression that she was a thoroughly likeable young lady and I was looking forward to our lessons.
I followed the humming—it was strange how clearly it carried along the hall—and came to the last room of this corridor. The sound was clearly coming from just inside the room, and I knocked lightly before reaching to open the door.
The door was locked. The humming had stopped when I knocked and from within I had the impression of someone waiting, holding her breath, listening. It gave me an uncomfortable chill so that I tapped again, a trifle impatiently.
“What are you doing there?” someone demanded sharply.
I whirled about, feeling guilty for no reason I could have explained, and saw Eleanor Tremayne in her chair just down the hall. A door was open on what I took to be her bedroom.
“Why, I...I heard something,” I said, stumbling over my own tongue.
She gave a sharp intake of breath and wheeled her chair toward me. “What are you saying? Do you mean you heard something in there?”
“Someone humming. I thought it was Elizabeth and—”
“Humming? From in there?”
“I thought so, but it’s stopped. Maybe it was one of the maids.”
She reached for the knob and gave it a good yank. “It’s locked,” she said, as if accusing me of locking it.
“I know. I must have been mistaken. I am sorry.”
“There’s no one in there. There never is. We don’t use that room.”
“Of course.”
She wheeled her chair about to return down the hall, but she paused and turned back to me. “Never go to that room,” she said.
“Very well,” I said, since it seemed I must say something.
She went quickly back to her room, but when she reached the open door, she again looked back at me.
“You must have been mistaken,” she said in a less hostile voice. “You must have heard the wind.”
To this I did not reply and she did not wait for one, but went inside, closing her door firmly, leaving me to walk slowly, thoughtfully, back to my own room.
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