“And what were you doing in the secret passage?” I insist. “Just out of curiosity.”
“I was studying in the library. Count Umberto always let me use it since he never did but only on the condition that I wasn’t seen or heard, so I use the secret passages.”
“What are you studying?” Bingley asks in a gentle tone generally reserved for children.
“Everything. There’s not much else to do around here. You can study or leave town, or you stay and wait to get married. And considering the current state of the male population, I imagine when I come of age, there will only be farm animals left.”
Okay, this little girl is strange. “So you want to leave?”
“I won’t stoop to the level of the Cozzi cousins, and if I want a way out, I won’t look for it in a husband.”
Strange, maybe, but I like her. “You’re right.”
“Mr. Bingley.” Linda blinds us with her flashlight. “Can I keep using the library?”
“Sure, until we se—ouch!” he interrupts himself when I thump him.
“Until when?” she asks.
“Until you find a better place to study,” I say.
“Right,” Bingley agrees.
“Thank you.”
“And don’t worry about disturbing us; you can use the main staircase,” my friend insists.
“No,” Linda replies. “I like secret passages. The adults behave differently when they don’t know they’re being watched.”
What a slippery little bugger. I like her, but I’ll have to keep an eye on her.
“Here we are!” she announces, releasing a latch that opens one of the cue panels in the billiard room. “Your rooms are on this floor, right?”
“Are you asking us or do you know?” I ask.
“I know.”
“That’s what I thought.”
“Well then ... good night. Thanks for your help,” Bingley says, setting off for his room. “Aren’t you coming to sleep, Michael?”
“I think I’ll take a couple of shots to help me sleep,” I reply. He’s already out the door as I start arranging the billiard balls on the table.
“Good night,” Linda says to me.
“’Night and thanks for the shortcut.”
She, however, instead of leaving, remains planted there in front of me with her palm outstretched.
“Ah, sorry,” I high-five her.
“What was that?” she asks, perplexed.
“I high-fived you,” I explain, bewildered.
“I didn’t want a high-five.”
Oh no? “So ... what did you want?”
