wildââ
ââall you care about is the Addison money, and I know that youâd just as soon she was out of the way altogetherââ
âSTOP!â
Emmyâs knees were suddenly trembling.
âNot one word more, Rebecca Brecksniff. I can get you fired tomorrow!â
âI know you can, moreâs the pity,â Mrs. Brecksniff went on hysterically. âThe girlâs parents listen to youâwho knows whyâyouâd never dare talk like this in front of your mother, or your poor dear fatherâyour mother knew what it was to be housekeeper of this house, what with managing the staff and keeping nine bathrooms clean, not to mention the windowsââ
Mrs. Brecksniff was making a great deal of noise, honking and blowing into her handkerchief. Emmy gripped the stair treads with hands that felt strangely cold. She had never felt that Miss Barmy really liked her; but to actually want her out of the way? Could Mrs. Brecksniff be right?
âStop sniveling,â Miss Barmy said icily. âControl yourself now. The girlâs parents are arriving tomorrow night, and â¦â
Miss Barmyâs voice faded as the women moved off. Emmy strained to hear, but the only word she caught was âpotato.â
She waited until the voices had faded entirely. Then, cautiously, she poked her head around the corner. The coast was clear, and she still had to get the Rat something to eat.
What did rats like to eat?
On the counter was Miss Barmyâs health food, neatly labeled. Emmy shuddered, pocketing an apple and a box of raisins instead. She risked a look in the fridgeâwerenât rats supposed to like cheese? But she didnât dare take time to cut a slice ⦠there! Maggie kept a stash of candy behind the breadbox. Emmy snatched a peanut-butter cup and fled up the stairs.
On the second-floor landing she heard Miss Barmyâs voice raised in the foyer below.
âNo, I insist. You must keep the rest of the servants out of the kitchen while Iâm baking. Itâs an old family recipeâand the ingredients are secret.â
Emmy stood in the shadows, suddenly thoughtful. It was the same thing every time her parents came home: Miss Barmy had to bake her special potato rolls. But why?
Emmy stole quietly up the stairs to her bedroom. A whooshing sound was coming from the bathroom, and she cracked open the door.
The blow-dryer, lying on its side, had been turned on. A tube of hair gel was oozing green. And standing happily in front of the mirror, looking remarkably spiky, was the Rat.
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âSo whatâs for breakfast around here? Toast points with mushrooms? Eggs Benedict?â
Emmy opened her eyes and choked back a scream. The Rat was sitting on her chest, his sharp, whiskered face just inches from her nose.
She sat up, tumbling the Rat among the blankets. âBreakfast is usually cereal. Or, if Maggie cooks,maybe sausages. What are you talking about? In your cage, all you ate were those little pellets.â
âA rodent can dream, canât he?â The Ratâs ears turned pink.
âBut where did you ever hear about toast points and all that? Youâve been locked in a cage for years.â
âI took advantage of my educational opportunities,â said the Rat stiffly. âIn short, I learned to read. It would have been hard to avoid, after years in an elementary classroom. Not only that but I know the Pledge of Allegiance, and âAmerica the Beautiful,â and all the words to âThe Star-Spangled Banner.ââ
âBut toast points? Eggs Benedict?â
The Rat looked uncomfortable. âWell, if you must know,â he said, âevery time the paper in my cage was changed, I had something new to read. If the teacher did it, I mostly got Teacherâs Tattle. But if I was home with a student for the weekend, I got a little bit of everything.â The Rat lowered his voice. âSome kids