One
West
The laugh is jarring. It’s bright, soft, joyful—a melodic sound that is so out of place in my home, it might as well be the cry of an exotic bird. In my study, I stiffen by the bookcase, ears straining.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
…No. I hear nothing except the distant murmur of voices down the corridor, the rumble of a vehicle engine out on the driveway, and my own steady heartbeat. In this whole echoing manor, there’s barely a peep.
There never is.
Good.
Exhaling, I turn back to the book in my hand. It’s an old first edition, a collectible with a worn fabric cover and, inside, hand-painted illustrations of plants of the Scottish Isles. The pages are well-thumbed, whispering against each other as I flick to the chapter on mosses and lichens. My own notes crowd the pages in my spiky handwriting, written in faded pencil.
I’m frowning at the book, squinting to read the tiny text, when the sound comes again, shattering the solemn quiet. A bright peal of laughter, echoing across the grounds outside. Tossing the book down on the nearest shelf, I grip my cane and limp to the study window. Drawn like a fish on a line.
Out there, the winter morning is cool but cloudless. Watery sunshine washes the grounds clean, from the manicured rose bushes and sculpted hedges nearer the house, down to the rolling grasses that drop off a cliff without warning into the foaming sea.
Footsteps crunch on gravel. Two heads bob past below the window: one familiar and belonging to my groundskeeper, Jenkins. He’s graying, windswept, thinning on top. The other head is dark with long hair which catches the breeze, lightening to caramel by the dancing ends.
Voices float up to the window: Jenkins’ gruff baritone asks after the stranger’s journey. The woman—because it is undoubtedly a woman with a laugh like that—answers in a soft, happy voice, saying something inane about the land bridge to the island.
A bulky object swings in Jenkins’ hand. I scowl, moving closer to the window, my breath fogging the glass. It’s a suitcase, hot pink and crammed full enough to burst.
Christ.
Whoever she is, she plans to stay here. A new employee, then. It’s not like I ever entertain guests. Will she keep laughing like that? Will it echo through the halls of the manor?
A shudder rolls down my spine, and I turn my back on the window, limping back to the bookcase. Surely not. The last thing I need right now is distracting noise from my staff. If this woman can’t be quiet, falling into the reverent hush that permeates these grounds, then she will have to leave—and take her hotpink suitcase with her. Even that single glimpse of it through the window was garish, too bright for the faded morning.
In some distant part of the building, a door opens and closes with a thud. Floorboards creak down the hall. Is that her? Is she inside already?
What is her job, exactly? Where will she sleep?
An ache pulses behind my left eye, radiating pain across my forehead and temple, and I set down the book on Scottish flora once again. No point in trying to read that tiny font with a headache already brewing. This morning has been officially derailed.
Far off in the belly of the mansion, a feminine laugh echoes. My whole body stiffens, my pulse quickening. I haven’t even seen her face, and already, this woman is a disaster.
Gusting out a long breath, I move behind the desk and collapse into the chair.
I’ll simply have to avoid her, whoever she is.
It shouldn’t be too difficult. This is a big, empty manor on its own windswept island. Everyone else hurries away when they see me coming, scuttling like mice. She’ll be the same, no doubt.
Yes. She’ll settle in, adjust her volume, and blend into the wallpaper like the rest of the manor staff. This will be the first and last headache she ever gives me.
I’m sure of it.
Two
Maddy
One month later
My phone blares with an old Elvis track that I used to dance around the kitchen to with my dad. I crack one eye open and groan, swiping for my nightstand and accidentally knocking my phone to the floor. It keeps blasting that old crooner, the sound even louder as my phone buzzes against the floorboards.
Oops.
