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but Helen seemed entranced by the place. I had no choice but to follow her as she headed farther into the old servants’ wing. Everything was painted a depressing dark brown, and it was all thick with dust. I was sure I heard the rustle of mice in the walls. I’d had enough. I was just about to ask Helen to turn back when I caught sight of a row of old bells in a mahogany frame. There were faded labels under them saying things like, DRAWING ROOM, BLUE SALON, and BILLIARDS ROOM.
    “What were they for?”
    “The bells rang when the servants were needed in all the different rooms. The maids would have run up and down the back steps a hundred times a day, some of them younger than us. They wouldn’t have been allowed to use the marble staircase, of course. That was only for the Templetons.”
    “Who were they?”
    “The people who owned this place.”
    Helen opened the door of an abandoned kitchen. “This is where the servants would have worked.” She gazed around. “Can’t you hear their voices?”
    She was really beginning to freak me out now. I had no desire to hear the voices of some dead Victorian maids, however much Helen was into all that. My heart seeme to slow down, and the weird feeling of being watched pressed in on me again. Whispers and secrets seemed to vibrate in my head….
    Just then a bell sounded in the distance, and I jumped. Helen blinked.
    “That’s the breakfast bell. We mustn’t be late!” She darted back down the passage toward the main house. “Come on! Hurry!”
    I struggled to keep up with her long legs, and in a few minutes we were back at the old servants’ staircase. Then Helen pushed open a door that led into the main corridor, near the marble steps. The sound of footsteps trooping down to the dining room echoed away to our left. We raced to catch up with them, but it was too late. As we entered the dining hall, flushed and out of breath, the girls were already standing in their long rows by the tables. Mrs. Hartle was at the high table, saying grace. Helen looked agonized and waited nervously by the door. I caught sight of Celeste, smooth and pure as an angel, her mouth curved in a secret smile.
    The High Mistress finished her prayer, then glanced at me coolly.
    “So, Evie Johnson is late again? We’ll have to help you and your friend Helen to remember that unpunctuality is against the rules at Wyldcliffe. Miss Scratton, two demerit cards, please.”
    Miss Scratton walked over and gave us each a printed red card. She frowned as we took them, and I gathered from Helen’s miserable expression that this was a deep disgrace. Another of Wyldcliffe’s dumb traditions.
    “This is to remind you that the rules must be kept,” said Miss Scratton. “And perhaps I should explain, Evie, that when a girl has been given three demerits, she must report to the High Mistress for a detention.”
    It all seemed a fuss about nothing, but Helen flinched as she held the card. I realized with astonishment that she was absolutely terrified of Mrs. Hartle. Helen was kind of strange, I thought uneasily. I couldn’t help being annoyed with her for landing me in trouble on my first morning. Yet she had tried, in her own way, to protect me from Celeste. I was still trying to work her out when the bell sounded for the end of breakfast and the beginning of class. We filed out of the dining hall, and I found Celeste at my side.
    “You’ve made a great start, Johnson. A demerit on your very first day. Must be a record. Just shows what happens when you hang around with a loser like Helen.”
    I tried to keep my temper. “It wasn’t Helen’s fault.”
    “Are you sticking up for her? That’s so sweet,” she mocked. “But don’t expect Helen to be a real friend. She’s completely crazy.”
    “She’s not,” I said stubbornly, though I had been pretty much thinking the same thing. “She’s just…high-strung; that’s all.”
    “Is that what you call it?” Celeste’s face suddenly looked sickly