Read Online Milrose Munce and the Den of Professional Help by Douglas Anthony Cooper - Free Book Online Page B

ceased to Help us.”
    They paused to enjoy this possibility.
    “You know,” said Milrose, “there’s a door in the ceiling.”
    “Really?”
    “Yup. An ordinary door. Except it opens downwards. Or perhaps upwards.”
    “Into the second floor?” asked Arabella.
    Milrose considered this, with growing excitement. “Yes! That’s exactly where it would open into. Or out of. Man, I never thought I’d welcome the thought of seeing Poisoned Percy, but it would be great to have him here.”
    “He’s not so bad, Percival.”
    “He’s a pompous, self-obsessed, mediocre bore.”
    “I do believe you are jealous, Milrose Munce.”
    Milrose snorted. And then he realized that he was indeed jealous. He was not sure why. It shouldn’t really bother him, should it, that this ghost was friends with Arabella? He changed the topic. “It’s funny, isn’t it, that there are no ghosts on the first floor. Ever thought about that?”
    “There are rumours,” said Arabella.
    “Oh yes?”
    “Yes. On the second floor, they talk about this a lot. It’s not certain what happened, but there are very distinct rumours.”
    “Do tell.”
    “Well, it’s a bit weird. And disconcerting.”
    “Yeah, well, that seems to be a theme today.”
    “What Percival says”—and once again, Milrose felt that utterly inappropriate twang of jealousy—“is that there was an exorcism.”
    “Wow.”
    “Yes. It was once a favourite haunt. So the story goes. But the staff banded together and petitioned the mayor to put up funds for a good exorcist, who came and cleaned it out.”
    “This gives me the creeps.”
    “They’re not too happy about it on the second floor, either. I mean, it’s nothing more than superstition these days, but nobody dead dares set foot on the first floor, for fear of … well, nobody knows what they’re in fear of. But it’s definitely very frightening.”
    Milrose did not feel like thinking about this at the moment. And so, as generally happened by default when he did not wish to think, he thought about food. “What do you think we get for breakfast?”
    “I don’t know. Cold porridge and stale bread? That’s the tradition, isn’t it.”
    Dinner, in fact, had not been that bad. Massimo Natica had left the room briefly, counselling them to avoid touching the cattle prod, and had returned with a tray laden with food. Not great food, but passable.
    He had also brought ridiculous pyjamas—three sets each—so that they might have something ridiculous to wear. I suppose this indicates, Milrose had thought grimly, that we’ll be here for at least three days.
    During the silence following the contemplation of tomorrow’s breakfast, Milrose noted that Arabella had begun to climb the ladder towards his most elevated bed. His heart, which seemed to be doing unexpected things, did a triple back flip with a half gainer.
    He wondered whether she had a birthmark, where it might be, and what it might look like. He could very much imagine her having, for instance, a birthmark on the sole of her foot in the shape of a sneezing gondolier. This wonderment would plague him increasingly, despite his allegiance to Ms. Corduroy’s birthmark. Clearly, thought Milrose, I am capable of pondering two birthmarks at once. I suppose that makes me unfaithful, mentally. And perhaps shallow. But that was okay, as Milrose Munce did not mind being shallow.
    Arabella’s ascent, however, was purely practical. She wished to be much closer to Milrose so thatthey could converse quietly. It was not clear that Massimo Natica was listening in on their conversation, but neither was it clear that he was not.
    Arabella, who was mildly afraid of heights, was happy when her brief climb was complete, and she was lying, heart athump, in the second-highest bed.
    “There is a spring in this mattress,” said Arabella, “which is very slightly less stiff than the other springs. It causes a tiny depression. Which depresses me.”
    “You are ridiculous,”