Undermajordomo Minor by Patrick deWitt Read Free Book Online Page B

world’s been against me ever since.”
    â€œI’m sorry to hear that, sir.”
    â€œI had a terrific nightmare, is what.” Mr. Olderglough leaned in. “Eels,” he said.
    â€œEels, sir?”
    â€œThat was what the dream was about.” But he offered no further information regarding the eels, no description of what malice they had represented. Lucy made no inquiries about it, the reason being that he didn’t wish to know any more. As his eyes became accustomed to the darkness, now he saw that Mr. Olderglough’s attire, which had appeared so regal at the start, was actually quite scruffy—buttons mismatched, and stains illustrating his lapels. Lucy thought he looked like an aesthete chasing a run of foul luck. Pointing at the sling, he asked,
    â€œHave you had an accident, sir?”
    Mr. Olderglough stared at his hand with what Lucy took for regret. “No, not an accident,” he answered, and now he laid his left hand atop his injured right and began to stroke it consolingly, which summoned in Lucy a revulsion he couldn’t put words to. Mr. Olderglough emerged from his reverie and asked if Lucy would like a tour of the estate; before Lucy could answer, the man tottered away down the darkening corridor. Lucy followed after, not because he wanted to particularly, but because he could think of no other option, and because he didn’t like the idea of standing alone in the dim, dank place. Other than the stillness of the air it was not noticeably warmer inside the castle, and he did not unbutton his coat.

2
    M r. Olderglough was not an enthusiastic guide.
    â€œThis is a room,” he said, pointing as they passed. “Not much use for it these days. Better not to go in at all, is my thought. And here, here too is a room, just a room, serving no purpose whatsoever.”
    In fact, most every space in the castle was not in use, and the property in general had fallen into disrepair: the furniture was covered with canvas, the heavy velvet curtains drawn, and clumps of dust had built up in the corners and doorways. None of the fireplaces they passed were in use, and Lucy asked,
    â€œDo you never light a fire, sir?”
    â€œI wouldn’t say never. I’ll admit that it’s rare. Room.”
    â€œI wonder,” said Lucy, “on what occasion do you light one?” For the deeper they traveled into the castle, the more the temperature fell, with the light growing dimmer all the while.
    â€œI avoid them, myself,” Mr. Olderglough answered. “It seems I get nothing done with a fire going other than have a fire going. The notion of reading by the hearth is pure farce, so far as I’m concerned. Every half a page I have to set my book aside to nurture the flames—not at all my idea of a relaxing evening.” He gave Lucy a reproachful look. “You’re not cold, are you?”
    â€œI am not warm, sir.”
    â€œWell, if you’re after a fire, you may be my guest. But you’llhave to forage your own wood, as the little we have stocked goes to the scullery stove.”
    â€œThat’s fine, sir, thank you.”
    â€œYes, boy. And now, if you’ll follow me, please.” They entered a cavernous ballroom. Ringing the high walls were any number of ornately framed oil paintings, portraits of similarly regal-looking individuals, the Barons and Baronesses of yore, Lucy supposed, and correctly. Mr. Olderglough stepped to the center-point of the space; when he spoke, his voice was staggered by an echo on the air. “Yet another room,” he said, “and a very large and empty room it is, wouldn’t you say?”
    â€œIt is large and empty, sir.”
    â€œThis dingy chamber once was filled with music and dancing and laughter and gaiety. And look at it now. Quiet as the grave.”
    Indeed, the ballroom gave Lucy an uneasy feeling, as though it had been host to some godless occurrence or other. “And