The Box in The Cuts: A Supernatural Mystery by Debra Castaneda

Author:Debra Castaneda [Castaneda, Debra]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Debra Castaneda
Published: 2020-07-01T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 29

Marguerite: Hillside 1868

The weather was so very stormy this morning I thought the train from San Francisco would certainly be canceled, but contrary to my expectations David Wirth arrived in the afternoon. Which was an enormous relief after all the work we did getting ready for him.

Mrs. A. shook me awake hours before the sun rose.

It was to the young gentleman's bedroom that I was escorted. And there awaited an enormous new featherbed, along with bedclothes of the finest quality. I had to make the bed three times before Mrs. A. was satisfied. But still my work was not over.

William delivered fresh flowers, with a look so longing that I feared it could not possibly escape the notice of Mrs. A, who hovered nearby. But no, she did not notice she was that distracted by young Mr. Wirth’s visit.

I went about my work of arranging the flowers, dusting the gas lights, and fetching fresh towels from the washroom, clear on the other side of the house.

Just as I was finishing, William arrived again, this time carrying a whatnot. Mrs. Wirth swept in behind him with a basket filled with bric-a-brac.

In the harsh tone that is her custom, she ordered me to arrange the bits and pieces in as artful a manner as I could muster. This is a most pleasurable task and I take my time over it. I place a coral here, a conch shell there, toy with where the pretty little figurines should go so they look best on the shelves. But this comes to an end when Mrs. A. begins hollering my name from below.

I run all the way down the backstairs, through the servant's passageway and out to the front hall.

When I arrive, I am flustered and breathless.

And there is David Wirth himself, all covered in mud. He is much taller than I imagined. His hair is a glorious color, like the sun itself. Mrs. Wirth is in such a state, wringing her hands, making a fuss, but doing nothing in the way of helping. Instead, this falls to me.

“Get some cloth, girl!” Mrs. Wirth shouts when she sees me.

“Yes, ma'am,” I say, turning on my heel.

“Now mother, surely the girl has a name,” says David. His tone is pleasant, but serious.

“It is Marguerite,” she says dismissively. “And what are you standing there for, girl? He will catch his death. Go! Go!”

And so I do, as hurriedly as I can. But I do not hurry on account of that woman. It's for David that I run, for the poor young man must be cold on this chilly, wet day.

When I return, Mrs. Wirth is so distraught that she's taken off to rest and recover. Mrs. A. asks me to accompany her to David's room where she requires my assistance, as there is no male servant in the house respectable enough to attend to him.

I am asked to wait outside while young Mr. Wirth undresses. Mrs. A. opens the door a crack, shoves through the damp, filthy clothes and orders me to take them to the washroom.

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