Chapter 4 - The Locked Door
The next morning, the mansion felt entirely different to Maya.
It wasn't just a quiet house of grief anymore; it was a crime scene.
She went about her duties, dusting the long corridors and polishing the antique silver, but her mind was racing.
How could she show Arthur the receipt without sounding insane?
Around noon, Maya noticed Mrs. Gordon acting strangely.
The strict housekeeper was pacing near the forbidden room at the end of the second-floor hallway.
She was holding a heavy brass key.
Maya hid behind a marble pillar, watching intently.
Mrs. Gordon unlocked the door, slipped inside, and shut it quickly behind her.
Maya held her breath.
She crept down the carpeted hallway and pressed her ear against the heavy oak wood.
She could hear drawers opening and closing.
Paper rustling.
Mrs. Gordon was searching for something.
Suddenly, footsteps echoed from the stairs.
Arthur.
Maya panicked. She couldn't be caught snooping near the forbidden room.
She quickly grabbed her feather duster and began wiping down a nearby painting just as Arthur reached the top of the stairs.
He stopped, looking at her suspiciously.
“What are you doing up here, Maya? This floor is for the bedrooms only.”
“Just ensuring the frames are dust-free, sir,” Maya lied smoothly.
Before Arthur could reply, the door to the forbidden room clicked open.
Mrs. Gordon stepped out, her face instantly draining of color when she saw Arthur.
“Mr. Penhaligon,” she stammered, quickly hiding her hands behind her back.
Arthur's eyes dropped to the brass key in the lock, then shot up to Mrs. Gordon's face.
His expression turned lethal.
“What were you doing in my daughter's room?”
“I... I was just checking for dampness, sir. The autumn rain—”
“I gave you an explicit order,” Arthur roared, his voice echoing off the vaulted ceiling. “No one enters that room!”
“Sir, please—”
“Give me the key.”
Mrs. Gordon hesitated, then slowly handed it over.
“Pack your things,” Arthur said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “You are fired.”
Mrs. Gordon shot Maya a look of pure hatred before rushing past them down the stairs.
Arthur stood before the open door, his chest rising and falling heavily.
He looked inside, then closed his eyes, unable to face the memories.
He reached out to pull the door shut.
“Wait,” Maya said softly.
Arthur opened his eyes and looked at her.
“She was looking for something,” Maya said. “She was digging through the drawers.”
Arthur frowned, stepping into the room.
Maya followed hesitantly.
The room was beautiful, painted in soft pastel pinks and yellows.
A white crib stood in the center, and a grand piano sat by the window.
But it was covered in three years of dust.
Except for the desk in the corner.
The dust on the desk had been wiped away.
Arthur walked over and pulled open the bottom drawer.
“Empty,” he said.
“What was in there?” Maya asked.
“The police file,” Arthur replied, his voice shaking. “The original accident report.”
May you like
Maya pulled the crumpled receipt from her apron pocket.
“I think I know why she took it,” Maya said, handing him the paper. “And I think I know who told her to do it.”
