Storing Up Trouble, стр. 15
“Was she one of your friends?”
Beatrix decided it would take far too much effort to explain to Norman that Miss Munn was more of a casual acquaintance of Beatrix’s who’d been hired by her mother for the sole purpose of accompanying Beatrix to Chicago. Or that Miss Munn had only agreed to the position because she’d recently experienced a disappointment of the heart. Or that her sudden “stomach ailment” might have been a direct result of a certain gentleman by the name of Mr. James Elliott showing up at the train station with flowers in hand after Beatrix’s parents had made their departure. She settled for a nod instead.
“Do you still consider her a friend?”
“I wouldn’t abandon any friendship simply because of unforeseen circumstances.”
“But she left you to travel alone. I imagine if she hadn’t done so, she also would have cautioned you against pulling out your pistol purse, which would have then spared both of us our dramatic experience today.”
“Miss Munn wouldn’t have been able to dissuade me from threatening that man with my pistol purse, not when I was all but ambushed by that thief and acted instinctively.”
“I would say you acted impulsively, which is a great deal different from acting instinctively.”
She stopped walking. “Impulsively, instinctively, they’re not that different.”
“They are, and before you argue with that, consider that you reacted impulsively when you all but leapt from the hansom cab to dash off to your aunt’s house, when, if you’d acted instinctively, you would have known that it wasn’t a prudent plan because you’re ill equipped to travel such a distance in shoes that have an inappropriate heel on them for strenuous activity.”
Surging into motion again, she forced herself to keep an even gait, even though the blister on her foot was really beginning to make itself known. “Surely I must be closer to Aunt Gladys’s house,” she muttered.
“It’s just another two blocks.”
“Thank goodness for that.” As she strode down the remaining two blocks, she noticed that the lots were getting larger and larger, and she stopped when she caught sight of a tall, wrought-iron fence that seemed to go on for an entire block.
“That fence surrounds the entirety of Miss Huttleston’s house,” Norman said, stopping beside her. “It’s like a fortress.”
“A comforting thought since I won’t have to worry about anyone breaking into the house.”
“Or a worrisome thought because the fence could be there to keep people from escaping.”
Beatrix glanced to the fence again. “There is that.” She bent down and began unlacing her shoe, tugging it off a second later. Straightening, she handed it to Norman before unlacing her other shoe.
“Why are you taking your shoes off?”
“Because I’m getting a blister, and I’ve decided I’ll only get more blisters if I keep my shoes on.”
“But we’re almost to your aunt’s house.”
“Which means I won’t have to walk far without my shoes, nor will I aggravate the blister I already have on my foot.”
Norman took her other shoe from her. “Why didn’t you take your shoes off when your foot first started hurting?”
“I didn’t want to give you the satisfaction of knowing you were right.”
She wasn’t certain, but it almost seemed as if Norman’s lips twitched. “I see.”
“I’m sure you do.” With that, she strode forward, enjoying the feel of the cool cobblestones under her feet, which helped to diminish the pain in her heel.
As she traveled alongside the wrought-iron fence, she got a glimpse of an imposing house sitting back from the road, one that was almost completely obscured by the many trees scattered about the front lawn. Coming to a stop when she reached an iron gate that wouldn’t have been out of place guarding a fortress, she gave the gate a rattle. “How do you suppose we get in?”
Norman nodded to a plaque Beatrix hadn’t notice. “It says Pull the bell string.”
“So it does.” Beatrix moved to a black rope that was attached to an iron post, gave it a yank, then smiled when a resounding gong sounded from the vicinity of the house. “How clever.”
“It is clever,” Norman said, eyeing the bell string. “It must run across the yard, and look, the gate is opening.”
Directing her attention to the gate, she shuddered a bit when the wind took that moment to whip up, sending branches on a nearby tree scratching against the iron fence. It was an eerie sound and sent a sense of foreboding swirling through her.
Blowing out a breath, she nodded to Norman. “You really don’t need to come with me. I’m sure I’ll be . . . fine.”
“I’m not leaving you now,” Norman said, taking her arm and then walking with her through the gate and down a gravel path, the gravel causing her to wince with every step.
“You should put these back on,” he said, handing over her shoes.
“I’m not putting them on. They were killing my feet,” Beatrix said, coming to a stop before she reached the covered porch to look the house over.
It was an imposing structure almost completely covered in ivy. Three stories high, it sported two turrets on either side of the house, as well as intricately paned windows, light pouring from many of them. Shifting her attention to the covered porch, she watched as the front door slowly opened, revealing the large form of a man.
“That’s Lurch,” Norman said, tightening his hold on her arm. “He’s the butler.”
“His name is Lurch?”
“According to my sister Alice, yes.”
“The same sister who fed you the story about disappearing orphans?”
“Are you suggesting my sister made up a name for your aunt’s butler?”
“I am, unless that man now gesturing for us to enter the house tells us his name is Lurch, which I highly doubt he’s going to do.”
“Ah, Miss Beatrix, you’re exactly as your aunt described,” the man said in a booming voice that caused Beatrix to jump.
“We’ve been expecting you, but allow me to say