This House is Haunted by John Boyne Page A

stood up, then glanced at his watch and shook his head.
    “It won’t do,” he said. “I forgot that I have an appointment with … with … with Mr. Hastings from Bramble Lodge. I can’t talk now.”
    “Please,” I said. “It won’t take long.”
    “I’m sorry, Miss Caine, but—”
    “Please,” I insisted, raising my voice. A long silence ensued between us. He continued to stare and I turned away, noticing a rather lovely clock set inside a wooden boat on the mantelpiece. It was elaborately carved, really a thing of some beauty, and I felt an urge to walk over, release it from its mooring and run my finger along the woodwork.
    “The new governess,” he said, sitting back down at last with a sigh. “Indeed. Arrived already.”
    “You knew I was coming then?” I asked, turning back to him.
    “Miss Bennet said something about it,” he replied, dissembling, I thought. “Well, rather more than something. She was here not three days since, seated in that same seat that you find yourself in now. She told me she was leaving. I had rather hoped I might persuade her otherwise.”
    I felt suddenly uncomfortable and knew not why. I did not like the notion that I was sitting in that woman’s chair. It made no sense—it was not as if she had died there—but I shifted awkwardly and wished that we could repair to the couches that were situated along the walls of the office.
    “Which is more than she told me,” I replied. “Mr. Raisin, I come to you in a state of some confusion. I understood that I was being hired by a family to be governess to their children. However, I arrived last night to discover that neither Mr. nor Mrs. Westerley is available, that neither of them is even in situ at Gaudlin Hall, and that the previous governess boarded the train that I disembarked in order to avail herself of its return journey. I’m quite at a loss as to what is going on.”
    Mr. Raisin nodded and sighed. He smiled at me and offered something like a shrug. “I can imagine that would be quite bewildering, Miss Caine,” he said.
    “You imagine correctly, sir.”
    “So,” he said, making a temple of his fingers before his nose, “how can I help you?”
    I hesitated, wondering why he needed to ask such a ludicrous question. “Well,” I said, feeling a sense of irritation grow in me now, “I was informed that you take care of financial matters relating to the estate.”
    “I do,” he agreed. “I do indeed.” He sat up suddenly. “Ah, I think I understand now,” he said. “You’re concerned for your salary? You need have no worries on that point, Miss Caine. You may collect your weekly stipend here, at this office, every Tuesday morning. Cratchett will have everything ready for you. The accounts are in perfect order.”
    “It’s not my salary I’m thinking of,” I said, although I must admit that had been at the back of my mind too; I did not have many savings of my own, after all, only what I had managed to put aside from my work at St. Elizabeth’s, and a few hundred pounds that Father had left me in his will and I had determined never to touch this capital but to avail myself of the interest instead. I needed paying if I was to survive.
    “As for the other household expenses,” he continued, “you need not give them a second thought. The local grocer here organizes the food and has it sent up. All the invoices from the stores come directly to me and are settled promptly. Heckling’s wages, Mrs. … ” He coughed and corrected himself. “Any wages that need paying. We take care of them all here. There’s really nothing for you to worry about other than the obvious.”
    “The obvious?” I asked. “And what obvious is that?”
    “Why,” he said, smiling at me as if I was a perfect fool, “taking care of the children, of course. Who else would do that, if not the governess?”
    “Their parents?” I suggested. “I assume that I am not to be left alone with Isabella and Eustace