The Secret of Kolney Hatch by Stefani Milan Read Free Book Online

I sank into one of the leather chairs.
                          “Life is so complicated,” Richard replied, downing his glass.
                          I had to break the long moment of silence that followed.
                          “Look Richard,” I said trying to comfort him, but the words felt counterfeit as they left my lips. I was not sure if I were reassuring Richard or myself. “You made a mistake. It was an awful one, I’ll give you that, but you’re a good man, I know it.”
    Richard still seemed perplexed. He opened his mouth as if to say something but then changed his mind. He shook his head as he stood and gave me a friendly pat on the back.
     “I have to go. Goodbye Paul. Be safe.” He produced a half-hearted smile. “You’ll write me when you arrive?”
    “Of course,” I said.
    “You’re a true friend Paul.”
    His words stung me, and I could not utter any response. Richard gave me a friendly hug goodbye, and with that, he left.         
     
     
     
     
    six A HAUNTED NAME
    Smack ! Petunia was hit with such force from behind that she nearly fell flat on her face onto the pavement outside of her stone front steps. Luckily, her body twisted when she landed so that her large bottom cushioned the fall.
    “Pardon me,” Richard Baker mumbled as he attempted, with some struggle, to help Petunia up.
    Richard’s grungy appearance intrigued Petunia—too much for her to be angry with him. The Bakers’ were known around London for their exceptional fashion and lustrous, groomed look, so Petunia was surprised to see Richard with unshaven whiskers, shabby hair, and a shirt that Petunia swore was stained. He was an intriguing sight indeed.
     “Are you alright? I wasn’t watching where I was going…I didn’t mean to…”
    “It’s no matter, Mr. Baker. I appear to be fine,” Petunia said as she intently studied Richard’s face.
    “Sorry again, Mrs. Pennyworth,” Richard said as he hurried down Peddler Street and out of sight. Petunia watched him until he turned the corner at Cromwell. She rubbed her aching bottom.
    And then she thought about the other night, when she watched through her window with curious eyes as a sopping wet Claire Baker nearly shattered Paul Watson’s front door with her persistent knocking—a knocking that had jostled Petunia from a rather peaceful sleep. She had watched that night as Claire quickly entered Paul’s home and then left with him a few hours later.
    Petunia knew something unusual had come to pass from the dread on Claire and Paul’s faces that night as they stood several feet apart from one another waiting for the cab and the peculiar actions and appearance of Richard on this day. Oh yes, something strange stirred between the Bakers and Paul Watson, and Petunia had a few assumptions of what that may be.
             She decided though, for the sake of Paul, not to discuss these curious observations and the events of this day with Mrs. Wendell and Beatrice, who visited that Tuesday afternoon instead of their usual Saturday. The ladies were considerably more interested in the newest gossip anyway.
            “Has Phillip heard anything at the bank about it?” Mrs. Wendell asked.
            “No, no he has not. Not that I know of anyway.”
            “Where is Phillip anyway?”
            “Boring meetings with potential clients as usual. That’s why I always have you over when he’s not here. He’s such a bore, that one.”
            “Oh, I almost forgot to tell you both. They’ve found a letter,” Beatrice said as she sipped on her chamomile tea. She was clad in a dull pink garb with a thin brown belt this evening, her hair tight in a bun like Petunia’s, but much, much neater.
            When Beatrice did not add anymore to the statement, Mrs. Wendell became agitated, her voice more plummy than ever.
            “Hwho? Hwhat?