The Haunting of Maddy Clare Read Online Free PDF

wayward strands behind my ears, if the wind was not too strong.
    I combed a little water through my hair, trying to make it look fresh again. I had but a few cosmetics, dearly bought and sparsely used, so I did not use any now. My face would simply have to be good enough.
    I was tired, and I briefly considered staying in my tiny room; but, looking around its sparse furniture, lit dimly by one shaky electric light in the corner, I changed my mind. The exhaustion in me fought with another emotion, a thrill of excitement that was unfamiliar to me. I wanted to know what came next. I needed direction from Mr. Gellis, anyway, as to what he would expect of me in the morning.
    He was in the taproom. He had not, like me, gone to his room, and he was sipping a beer, making quiet notes in a notebook, his golden brown head bent to his work.
    He smiled up at me when he saw me, a smile that was so easy and handsome it made my heart flutter in my chest. “There you are,” he said. “Fresh as a daisy. Have a seat, and order some supper. We need to go over some details for tomorrow.”
    I sat. I had to admit I was very hungry, but pride still held me back. “This doesn’t seem right, your paying for all of my meals. Shouldn’t you insist I pay for myself?”
    He lifted a brow. “Of course not. You are here on my assignment, as my employee. You’re my responsibility. Besides, what kind of a gentleman lets a lady pay for her own supper?”
    “I am a modern girl, you know.” I felt myself smile. I could not quite believe he was flirting with me. Even less could I believe I was flirting back.
    “So I’ve noticed.” He smiled again. “You may be entirely too modern for Waringstoke. Everyone in the room has noticed you. I believe they expect you to begin smoking cigarettes and dancing on the tables at any moment.”
    I, too, had seen the glances from all the others in the taproom—the innkeeper, Mr. Ahearn, darting looks at us as he bustled about his business; the barkeep bending his head to whisper with his patrons as they talked in low voices; the glances from the men at tables in all corners of the room. But the tension had already been present when I entered, so it was foolish to think any of it was caused by me. “It isn’t me they are looking at. It’s you.”
    He leaned closer to me and spoke confidentially. “You must get used to it here. We’re far from London, you know. This is a small community. Everyone knows everyone, and most know everyone’s parents and grandparents as well. I’ve found that outsiders are not well received in most of the villages and towns I’ve been to in my line of work.”
    “I noticed the innkeeper was not particularly welcoming.”
    “Ah, you’re perceptive, then. I did try to put a few questions to him while you were upstairs. I believe there’s a statue of Wellington in my garden at home that is more forthcoming.”
    We were nearly whispering. I was listening closely, leaning forward. I caught sight of an aged man in a dark blue coat from the corner of my eye. He sat on a stool at the bar, tankard of beer in hand, and looked at me with an unmistakable expression of knowing disapproval. As I glanced at him, he met my gaze squarely and did not look away. I realized how it looked—Mr. Gellis and I, sitting intimately at our table, leaning toward each other. To any onlooker, we looked exactly like lovers. I reddened slightly and the man in the blue coat changed his expression to a sort of small, petty triumph. I looked away.
    Mr. Gellis leaned back in his chair and signaled to someone behind me. A waiter—the bar’s only one—approached and Mr. Gellis ordered my supper for me along with his own, with hardlya look in my direction. Beef, potatoes, stewed vegetables. As the waiter disappeared, Mr. Gellis looked at me a little apologetically.
    “I realize we just agreed that you’re modern,” he said, “but it doesn’t hurt to appear a little old-fashioned here.”
    As my surprise