Mercy, who he was pleased to note was lying bonelessly next to him, a sated, dreamy half smile on her face, roused herself enough to say, “That wasn’t an attempt to get out of the attic. You said there was wood rot, and the weight of the door was finally too much for the damaged frame.”
“Or it could have been trying to leave the house the only way it knew how.”
Mercy gave a ladylike snort. “So you’ve had one little incident—”
“Two days ago, a branch came off the oak next to the third-floor bedroom on the north wing, and broke not just the window, but damaged the frame.”
“OK, so you’ve had two little incidents—”
“And the day before that, there was the discovery that the water heater for Lady Sybilla’s side of the house has been leaking for an undetermined length of time.”
“Aha! That means it wasn’t an act of self-harm,” Mercy said, raising her hand.
He raised one eyebrow. “Although the leak is of long term, the fact that the water heater fell over onto its side and spewed a good six inches of water in one of the cellars before I could turn off the water makes it fit my parameters for suicide.”
“Hrmph. A few events—”
“Don’t forget about the hornet’s nest I found burrowed into the wall in the old housekeeper’s room. Or the mushrooms that were growing in the ground-floor guest loo. Or the family of bats residing in the north wing’s attic, rendering that attic unusable, and most likely unable to renovate due to the amount of guano that has hardened on the floor.”
“All right, I admit those are all bad things—”
“Not to mention the fact that every day, whenever I go outside, yet another piece of roof tile manages to slither its way off in what I can only describe as an attempt to brain me.”
Mercy’s hand fell back to the bed. “Thathasbeen kind of odd. I wouldn’t have thought it could happen until I saw it for myself.”
He turned off the bedside lamp that he had finally gotten working again and settled back on the pillows, waiting for Mercy to snuggle up against him. That she did so automatically filled him with a quiet sense of contentment. “I told you the house hated me.”
“It’s a mild animosity at best,” she corrected, putting her hand on his chest, and tucking one of her legs between his. She kissed his ear, and settled against his side to sleep.
He said nothing, enjoying the drowsy pull of sleep, and her warm, comforting nearness, but before he could completely drift off, a dull thud penetrated his awareness.
He opened his eyes, frowning at the sight of the quarter moon just barely visible through the leaves of the tree outside his window. The moon hadn’t been anywhere near to visible when they’d settled down for sleep. A glance at the clock showed almost two hours since he’d turned out the light.
Thud. Thunk. Kerwidget.
Alden sat up in bed, his frown increasing as he stared at the section of wall where the noise seemed to originate. As in the other bedrooms in this wing, the two windows in his room sat above a deep window seat, one with storage that he did not use, since he suspected that the mice that still occupied the walls despite the efforts of the exterminator might have access to it.
Thekerwidgetdefinitely came from the window seat.
He extricated himself from Mercy, gently easing himself out from under her arm and leg.
She murmured an inarticulate noise, and rolled over, wiggling her enticing ass at him until she evidently realized he wasn’t there for her to back up into. She half sat up, saying, “Alden?”
“I’m here.”
“What are you doing?” She shoved her hair back off her face. “Is anything wrong?”
“No. Close your eyes; I’m going to turn on the light.” He clicked on the bedside lamp, squinting a little at the brightness that followed. It died away almost immediately with a gurgling fizzle of the lightbulb.
Alden sighed. “The house is just being mean now.”
“Coincidence,” Mercy said in the darkness.
Alden carefully made his way over to the wall, and clicked on the light switch there.
Mercy shielded her eyes from the overhead light, and asked, “Why are you up?”
“I heard a noise. I think it came from the window seat.”
