Mine Till Midnight (The Hathaways #1)(35)

"It seems I'm helping with pest eradication."

"Then you can begin by leaving," Merripen growled.

Rohan only grinned nonchalantly, and continued on his way.

After informing the rest of the family about the perils of the upstairs parlor, which was promptly dubbed "the bee room," Amelia investigated the rest of the upstairs with extreme caution. There were no more hazards to be found, only dust and decay and silence.

But it was not an unwelcoming house. When the windows were opened and light spilled across floors that had been untouched for years, it seemed the place was eager to pen and breathe and be restored. Ramsay House was a charming place, really, with eccentricities, secret corners, and unique features that only needed some polish and attention. Not unlike the Hathaway family itself.

In the afternoon Amelia collapsed in a chair downstairs, while Poppy made tea in the kitchen. "Where is Win?"

"Napping in her room," Poppy replied. "She was exhausted after the busy morning. She wouldn't admit it, of course, but you can always tell when she gets all pale and drawn."

"Was she content?"

"She certainly seemed to be." Pouring hot water into a chipped pot filled with tea leaves, Poppy chattered about some of her discoveries. She had found a lovely rug in one of the bedrooms, and after she had beaten it for an hour, it had turned out to be richly colored and in good condition.

"1 think most of the dust was transferred from the carpet to you," Amelia said. Since Poppy had covered the lower half of her face with a handkerchief during the carpet-beating, the dust had settled on her forehead, eyes, and the bridge of her nose. When the handkerchief was removed, it had left Poppy's face oddly two-toned, the top half gray, the lower half white.

"I enjoyed it immensely," Poppy replied with a grin. "There's nothing like whacking a carpet with a rug-beater to vent one's frustrations."

Amelia was about to ask what Poppy's frustrations were, when Beatrix entered the kitchen.

The girl, usually so lively, was quiet and downcast.

"Tea will be ready soon," Poppy said, busy slicing bread at the kitchen table. "Will you have some toast, too, Bea?'

"No, thank you. Not hungry." Beatrix sat in a chair be side Amelia's, staring at the floor.

"You're always hungry," Amelia said. "What's the matter, dear? Aren't you feeling well? Are you tired?"

Silence. A violent shake of her head. Beatrix was definitely upset about something.

Amelia settled a gentle hand on her youngest sister's narrow back, and leaned over her. "Beatrix, what is it? Tell me. Are you missing your friends? Or Spot? Are you?

"No, it's nothing like that." Beatrix ducked her head until only the reddened arc of her cheek was visible.

"Then what?"

"Something's wrong with me." Her voice roughened with misery. "It's happened again, Amelia. I couldn't help myself. I barely remember doing it. I?

"Oh, no," came Poppy's whisper.

Amelia kept her hand on Beatrix's back. "Is it the same problem as before?"

Beatrix nodded. "I'm going to kill myself," she said vehemently. "I'm going to lock myself in the bee room. I'm going to?

"Hush. You'll do no such thing." Amelia rubbed her rigid back. "Quiet, dear, and let me think for a moment." Her worried gaze met Poppy's over Beatrix's downbent head.

"The problem" had occurred on and off for the past four years, ever since the Hathaways' mother had died. Every now and then Beatrix suffered an irresistible impulse to steal something, either from a shop or someone's home, usually the objects were insignificant... a tiny pair of sewing scissors, hairpins, a pen nib, a cube of sealing wax. But every so often she took something of value, like a snuff box or an earring. As far as Amelia could tell, Beatrix never planned these small crimes—in fact, the girl often wasn't even aware of what she had done until later. And then she suffered an agony of remorse, and no small amount of fear. It was alarming to discover one wasn't always in control of one's actions.

The Hathaways kept Beatrix's problem a secret, of course, all of them conspiring to return the stolen objects discreetly and protect her from the consequences. Since it hadn't happened for nearly a year, they had all assumed Beatrix was cured of her inexplicable compulsion.

"I assume you took something from Stony Cross Manor," Amelia said with forced calm. "That's the only place you've visited."

Beatrix nodded miserably. "It was after I let Spot go. I went to the library, and looked in a few rooms on the way, and... I didn't mean to, Amelia! I didn't want to!"

"I know." Amelia wrapped her arms around her in a consoling hug. She was filled with a maternal instinct to protect, soothe, ease. "We'll fix it, Bea. We'll put everything back and no one will know. Just tell me what you took, and try to remember which rooms the things came from."

"Here?this is everything." Reaching into the pockets of her pinafore, Beatrix dumped a small collection of objects in her lap.

Amelia held up the first item. It was a carved wooden horse, no bigger than her fist, with a silk mane and a delicately painted face. The object was worn from much handling, and there were teeth marks along the horse's body. "The Westcliffs have a daughter, still quite small," she murmured. "This must belong to her."