Maya turned around to see Arthur standing in the doorway, his face having changed entirely, with the emptiness gone and replaced by something sharp and dangerous.
“I am so sorry,” Maya said immediately. “I found it under the chair, and I did not mean to intrude.”
“Put it down,” he repeated.
She obeyed, placing the rabbit carefully on the side table, but Arthur crossed the room in three long strides and snatched it up, as if the toy might vanish if he waited a moment longer. For one second, his hand trembled, and then he closed his fist around it.
“You do not touch personal objects in this house,” he said.
“I understand,” Maya whispered.
“No, you do not,” he said, his voice lowering. “You people never understand. You come into this house pretending to respect rules, pretending you only want work, but then curiosity begins to take over.”
Maya kept her eyes steady, refusing to look down in shame.
“I was not stealing anything,” Maya said firmly.
“I did not ask for your defense,” Arthur snapped.
Heat rose in her cheeks, but she swallowed the retort she wanted to make. Arthur looked at her as though he was expecting tears, excuses, or fear. When none came, his jaw tightened in frustration.
“You may leave early today,” he said, turning away from her.
Mrs. Gordon appeared behind him, looking alarmed by the sudden command.
“Sir,” she began, but Arthur cut her off.
“I said she may leave right now,” he insisted.
Maya untied her apron slowly and set it on the library table.
“Of course, Mr. Penhaligon,” she said, walking out with her back straight.
In the servants’ corridor, her hands began to shake. It was not because he had shouted, but because of the way he had held that toy, like a man clutching a bone pulled from his own chest. That night, Catherine was sitting upright on the couch when Maya arrived home.
“You are home early,” Catherine said.
Maya placed her bag on the table with a heavy sigh.
“I found something I should not have,” she said.
Catherine’s brows lifted with concern.
“Was it money?” Catherine asked.
“No, it was a toy,” Maya replied.
The old woman was quiet for a long moment, nodding to herself.
“Ah,” she whispered.
Maya sank into the chair beside her, feeling the weight of the mansion pressing down on her.
“There was a little girl who lived there, was there not?” Maya asked.
“In houses that rich, tragedy becomes gossip long before the funeral flowers even have a chance to dry,” Catherine said.
Maya stared at her grandmother in shock.
“You know about this?” Maya asked.
“Everyone knows a piece of the story, but no one knows the whole truth,” Catherine said, adjusting the blanket over her aching knees. “His wife died in a car accident, and the daughter did as well, three years ago on a rainy night on the road to the valley,” she explained.
Maya closed her eyes, and the mansion suddenly made sense, including the silence, the locked room, and the untouched things.
“What about the maids?” Maya asked.
Catherine’s expression darkened considerably.
“That part is what people whisper about, because some left crying, some were fired, and one even claimed she heard a child singing behind a locked door,” she revealed.
Maya opened her eyes.
“A child?”
“Grief has many voices, and not all of them are actual ghosts,” Catherine said cryptically.
Maya said nothing, and her grandmother leaned closer.
“Do you want to go back there?” Catherine asked.
Maya thought of the medicine bottles on the kitchen shelf, the overdue rent notice folded under a magnet on the refrigerator, and her grandmother’s breath catching in her throat at night. Then she thought of the wooden rabbit and the broken man who held it.
“Yes, I am going back,” Maya said.
The next morning, Mrs. Gordon looked surprised to see her standing at the door.
“You returned,” Mrs. Gordon noted.
“I was scheduled to be here,” Maya replied.
“Most people would not have returned,” Mrs. Gordon said.
“I need the job,” Maya stated.
Mrs. Gordon studied her face.
“Need is not the same as endurance,” she said.
“No, but it certainly teaches it,” Maya replied.
