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The House in Hook Street — Margaret Erskine
Louise Winter was quite aware that the large, pale gray envelope she held in her hands was more than just an invitation. It had been sent by a woman named Margaret Forest, who claimed to be the sister of Louise's mother. Louise was always moved by any mention of her real mother, who had died during her birth. And now she had received a pleasant welcome to visit her mother's sister, a newfound part to her past.
Who was this woman? Why had her presence been mysteriously hidden from her? At this very moment, Louise's father and stepmother were thousands of miles away, and there was no one to ask. She would write to Margaret, but meanwhile she was ready for a little adventure of her own. No one was there to prevent her from the visit, but likewise, no one would know where she had gone for quite some time…and there would be no one to save her from discovering some dark family secrets, or stepping into the middle of a well-laid trap…
Louise felt there was still something unaccounted for. She looked about her curiously. Then it came to her.
The mirror in which she had seen herself reflected on that previous evening had gone from its place on the far wall.
It must have fallen, she told herself, walking the length of the room. She skirted the potted plants. The mirror had hung here, close to the piano. It must have fallen -- there.
Only it had not done so. Had someone removed it earlier that day?
Louise was aware of a faint, distant alarm beating up in her brain. Her eyes sought the picture rail from which the mirror had hung.
There was no picture rail.
A small sob broke from her. Her hands strayed over the smooth surface of the wall. At first they moved leisurely. Then a frenzy seemed to possess them. It was as if by their very speed they could outpace the monstrous thought that threatened to engulf her.
There must be a nail in the wall. Or a small hole where a nail had been.
Her hands could not discover either. The handsome wallpaper stretched, unblemished, from the ceiling to the wainscoting.
Louise sank to the floor in an abandonment of misery and despair. She rested her forehead on the wall between her two hands while a deathly cold flowed over her. She knew it all now…
Who was this woman? Why had her presence been mysteriously hidden from her? At this very moment, Louise's father and stepmother were thousands of miles away, and there was no one to ask. She would write to Margaret, but meanwhile she was ready for a little adventure of her own. No one was there to prevent her from the visit, but likewise, no one would know where she had gone for quite some time…and there would be no one to save her from discovering some dark family secrets, or stepping into the middle of a well-laid trap…
Louise felt there was still something unaccounted for. She looked about her curiously. Then it came to her.
The mirror in which she had seen herself reflected on that previous evening had gone from its place on the far wall.
It must have fallen, she told herself, walking the length of the room. She skirted the potted plants. The mirror had hung here, close to the piano. It must have fallen -- there.
Only it had not done so. Had someone removed it earlier that day?
Louise was aware of a faint, distant alarm beating up in her brain. Her eyes sought the picture rail from which the mirror had hung.
There was no picture rail.
A small sob broke from her. Her hands strayed over the smooth surface of the wall. At first they moved leisurely. Then a frenzy seemed to possess them. It was as if by their very speed they could outpace the monstrous thought that threatened to engulf her.
There must be a nail in the wall. Or a small hole where a nail had been.
Her hands could not discover either. The handsome wallpaper stretched, unblemished, from the ceiling to the wainscoting.
Louise sank to the floor in an abandonment of misery and despair. She rested her forehead on the wall between her two hands while a deathly cold flowed over her. She knew it all now…
