House of Secrets (24 page)

I
n the master bedroom, Will snapped up. “Cordelia! Eleanor!”

“What?” they asked, rubbing their eyes. Then they heard the shrieking upstairs, as if a very angry young woman were defending herself with a high-decibel assault . . . and with small household objects, which bounced off the walls. Brendan shouted in pain.

“That’s Bren!” Cordelia said. “Sounds like he’s in trouble.”

“But who’s the girl?” asked Eleanor.

“Hopefully not that blasted Wind Witch!” said Will as he leaped off the mattress. “Follow me!” He reached for his gun—and suddenly got very angry.
“Brendan!”

Upstairs, Brendan was backed into a corner, trying to swat away tchotchkes and busted bureau pieces that the reanimated redhead threw at him. She was turned sideways, going for anything she could grab with one hand and covering her body with the other.

“Stop ogling me, you debased child!”

“Stop throwing stuff at me and I won’t have to—
ow
!”

“What have you done with my clothes? Where is Mr. Kristoff?!”

“Dead!
Ow!
I’ll ask my sister for clothes! What’s your
name
?”

“I’m asking questions, not you!” The redhead picked up the Maglite—

“Stop!”
Brendan ordered, his voice cracking. “That’s our only one!” Hands shaking, he pointed the gun at the woman—

BLAM.

Brendan had no idea how it had happened. His fingers must have slipped. As soon as he heard the shot, he knew it had been wrong to steal the gun. It kicked back with a fearsome snap, like an angry little animal.

The shot went into the ceiling; Brendan had no idea how to aim. The bullet hit a hanging light—a metal globe on a chain—and the light fell on the red-haired woman. The glass had already been shattered by the colossus attack, but the frame made her slump to the floor.

“No!” Brendan yelled, tossing aside the gun (it was hot) and running over. “I’m so sorry—please, wake up—I didn’t mean to—I shouldn’t have taken that gun—I don’t even—
Errr
!”

The woman kicked him in the groin.

In imitation of Will, Brendan managed a single
“Crikey!”
before crumpling to the floor. The woman stood over him, lifting the dented light fixture. A trickle of blood ran down her forehead, but that wasn’t going to stop her from slamming the fixture into Brendan’s face—

“Stop!”
Will ordered.

He had climbed into the attic with Eleanor and Cordelia. The woman looked at him, dropped the light, and covered herself.

“Leave me alone!”
the woman screamed, dabbing her fingertips in the trickle of blood on her head.
“He tried to kill me!”

“Calm down,” said Will, stepping forward cautiously. He covered the woman in his bomber jacket and pressed a handkerchief against her head to staunch the blood flow. Cordelia watched, fascinated; she thought she recognized the woman’s red hair and olive-green eyes.

“Who are you?” she asked.

The woman didn’t answer.

“Brendan!” Will ordered. “Give me my Webley, you thief!”

Scared and ashamed, Brendan handed the gun to Will.

“I specifically told you not to touch my gun,” said the pilot. “Why would you do something so ridiculously irresponsible?!”

“I just . . . I wanted to be safe,” Brendan said.

“Safe?
” asked an incredulous Will. “By stealing my gun you put yourself and the rest of us in danger!”

“I was on an important mission. I wanted a man’s weapon.”

“A gun doesn’t make you a man. You can’t steal manhood. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Will,” said Brendan, mortified.

“Very well.” Will holstered the gun. “Now, miss,” he said to the woman, “my name is Draper. Wing Commander Will Draper. Royal Flying Corps, Squadron Seventy. These are my traveling companions Brendan, Cordelia, and Eleanor. Who might you be?”

Cordelia scowled, remembering:
That was the same way Will introduced himself to me in the forest.

“First you had better control that little lunatic!” the redhead said, defiantly blowing a hair away from her face. “If he had decent aim, he would’ve killed me. Plus I don’t like the way he’s looking at me.”

“Hey, Pippi Longstocking, I’m
not
looking at you. I have no interest in redheads with freckles on their—”

“That’s quite enough!” Will said.

Brendan clammed up. “Miss,” Will continued, “I completely understand your discomfort and embarrassment. Plus you’ve been injured. Cordelia, can you fetch the young lady some clothes?”

“Fetch?” Cordelia asked. “I’m not a dog. And I know her name. It’s Penelope Hope.”

T
he woman gave Cordelia a shocked look. “You know my name?”

“I read it in a book by Denver Kristoff,” Cordelia said. “You’re Penelope Hope, a nurse living in Frimley during World War One.”

“No . . . ,” Penelope said, utterly bewildered. “I don’t even know what a Frimley is. My name is Penelope Hope, yes, but I’m a maid. Here. At Kristoff House. And I would really like some clothes.”

“We’ll get you something,” Cordelia said, climbing down from the attic with Eleanor. She thought about how twisted this situation had become: in the book
The Fighting Ace
, Penelope Hope was the woman Will Draper fell in love with.

Back in the attic, Will and Brendan kept their distance from Penelope. She stared out the window at the shingled waves, wrapped in Will’s bomber jacket. The sun was up and shimmering.

“Are we floating on the sea? How is that possible?”

“First, please tell us where you come from,” said Will.

“The closet,” said Brendan.

“What?” asked Will.

“Last night she was the skeleton from the closet. This morning she was . . .
her
.”

“You’re confusing me,” Penelope said. “I was a
skeleton
?”

“Please, allow me.” Will eased Brendan aside. “Penelope, do you know what year it is?”

“1913.”

“Afraid not. According to my companions it’s
20
13.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Have you ever seen one of these?” Will reached into his pocket and handed Penelope something that took Brendan by surprise.

“My PSP! Where’d you get that?”

“You steal my gun; I steal your games. Miss Hope? Any idea?”

“Not a clue,” Penelope said, turning the device around.

“Allow me to demonstrate.”

Will turned it on. Penelope’s mouth hung open. “It’s like a photograph . . . in color?! And it’s
moving
?!?
How?
!”

For the next ten minutes Brendan and Will filled Penelope in on their adventures—and Brendan related a century of world history. It was a long, involved conversation with lots of smiles and jokes, and by the end of it, Brendan had forgiven Penelope for waking up scared and kicking him. Then the Walker sisters returned, bringing a dress for Penelope: purple and green, with a crocheted collar and hulking shoulder pads. They all left the attic so she could change.

“That’s the nasty dress Grandma gave you for Christmas!” Brendan told Cordelia. “Why couldn’t you get her something prettier?”

“Brendan’s got a crush on the new girl!” teased Eleanor.

Brendan was ready to defend himself, but he got help from Will: “So? Penelope’s intelligent, well-spoken—especially for a maid—and quite beautiful. Your brother could do a lot worse.”

Brendan gave Will a horrified look.

“You two,” said Cordelia, “don’t get enchanted by this woman. There’s a character in Denver Kristoff’s book
The Fighting Ace
named Penelope Hope, and I’ll bet this maid was the inspiration for her. Unless you want to have a crush on the same girl as Kristoff . . . ”

“I don’t have a crush on anybody!” Brendan said.

“And I’m a free man; I can do as I please,” said Will.

Cordelia looked crestfallen. Will sighed, put a hand on her shoulder, and tried to be as understanding as possible, searching for the proper words.

“Cordelia,” he said, “I’m too old for you.”

“Too old?” Cordelia was suddenly livid. Will’s words had exactly the opposite effect than he had intended. “You’re only seventeen! Two years older than me! You lied about how old you were to join the army.”

Will sighed. “In the future, I’m going to keep away from girls who’ve read books about me.”

“Wait, Will’s a kid, like us?” asked Eleanor. “Cool. Now it won’t be so creepy if we get back and he goes to the prom with Deal—”

“I’m dressed!” Penelope called from the attic.

They all went up, with the tension between Cordelia and Will very much unresolved.

Penelope Hope looked graceful even in the awful dress. As she sat in the window and told her story, Will darted his eyes around the room so he wouldn’t stare at her. Brendan stared. Eleanor thought she was pretty. Cordelia thought she was okay.

Penelope began. “I started working at Kristoff House as a laundry maid, above stairs, two years ago—er, I mean, in 1911. Of course, when I took the job, I knew that Mr. Kristoff was an odd one. Even when he stopped by to shake my hand during the interview, there was something dark behind his eyes. I assumed he was thinking about his stories. After I was hired, I learned that he didn’t eat or sleep when he was working on one.”

“With your limited education,” Cordelia said, “it might be difficult to understand the work habits of a genius.”

“I don’t mean that he worked hard,” said Penelope, annoyed at Cordelia’s dig. “I mean that he literally did
not
sleep or eat.” Her voice got quiet. “Things got much darker when Kristoff became obsessed with something he called his ‘greatest work.’”

“His greatest work?” asked Cordelia. “What was it?”

“At first I assumed he was writing another novel,” said Penelope. “But he was no longer working in his study. He started in the attic for several months, and then moved somewhere more private to work, someplace hidden. He would disappear for days. And when he returned, his eyes were deep red, bloodshot. There was always a mad grin on his face. At this point, he started to develop an affection for me. It was all rather disturbing, but I played along because I was frightened of him. I would talk with him, listen to his problems, worries. Sometimes he just rambled incoherently. Once, when I asked about his ‘great work,’ he became quite furious. Slapped me. Told me it wasn’t meant for simple-minded people like me. The great book was meant for someone with extreme intelligence and power, someone very gifted. Someone like him.”

“He
slapped
you?” said Eleanor. “That’s horrible!”

“Not the worst thing that’s happened to me,” said Penelope, staring at the waves.

“Well, I can assure you it won’t be happening anymore,” said Will. “You’re with us now, and I’ll make sure you’re protected.”

“Thank you,” Penelope said, moving on. “I tried to put Kristoff and his great book out of my mind. But nearly a year later, I discovered the hidden side of Kristoff House.”

“You found the secret hallway?” Brendan asked.

“Hall
way
, as in one? There isn’t just one!” Penelope laughed. “This is a house of secrets. I don’t think even Kristoff knows them all.”