Read Online Nine Buck's Row by Jennifer Wilde - Free Book Online

put away my things in the bureau and the large white wardrobe. She chattered merrily all the while, and I soon felt I had known her forever. My earlier discomfort vanished, as though by sorcery, and Maggie did, indeed, work a strange sort of magic. She made the drab, humdrum tasks seem festive and gay. I was soon smiling.
    â€œYou have a dazzling smile!” Maggie cried. “Twenty years ago I’d have hated you on sight, but now I can tolerate beauty in others. Would you believe I used to set the men on fire?”
    â€œI’m sure you did.”
    â€œMy first husband—he stole me away from the bosom of my family. They were horrified that I’d eloped with such an obvious bounder. My father disinherited me, and my mother had vapors for a solid year. Ted was unbelievably handsome, but, alas, a perfect cad! He brought me here to London and soon deserted me. Killed in a duel, he was, and I was a widow at twenty! Without a penny, mind you, absolutely destitute. I could have gone back to my parents, the prodigal daughter, but I was much too stubborn.”
    â€œWhat did you do?”
    â€œI looked for another husband, preferably a rich one. I found Bobby James. Not at all rich, but the sweetest man alive. He bought this building for me and ran a grocery store downstairs where the shop is now. Bobby died when I was forty. I converted the grocery store into a hat shop, and I’ve been supporting myself ever since.”
    â€œYour nephew—” I began.
    â€œHe’s my only living relative. I’m his great-aunt—he’s my sister’s son’s boy. When his parents died he inherited my brother-in-law’s fortune. Unlike me, Tulla married a staunch, sober businessman. He established the paper factory and bought that spectacular house in the country—I believe Queen Elizabeth was supposed to have slept there. Nicky and I are the only ones left in the family, and he’s rolling in wealth, although he despises it. Makes him feel guilty to have so much. I suppose that’s why he spends so much time doing these reports—he wants to contribute something instead of just living the life of landed gentry.”
    Maggie smiled, cheeks dimpling prettily. “I’m rather fond of my nephew. He’s had a shockingly untidy life—scrapes in school, bachelor dissipations in London, a disastrous marriage, a scandalous divorce—but he’s very kind to his old auntie. The only one of the family ever to come visit me, even though his parents disapproved. When he received his inheritance, he begged me to come live in the country, but I refused. This is my life—the house, the shop, the neighborhood—I couldn’t leave it after all these years.”
    We finished unpacking and carried the empty luggage across the hall to the closet, really a vast storage room that ran the length of the house. It was dark, only a few rays of sunlight seeping in through the tiny windows set high up near the eaves, and there were cobwebs everywhere, stretching from the corners to the piles of boxes, draping the dusty, broken furniture that cluttered the room. The air was clammy and fetid, and there was a horrible sour odor. I shuddered, looking around at the dark, shadowy corners. The room was so large, so unpleasant. A person could easily hide here, I thought, strangely apprehensive.
    â€œWretched place,” Maggie said as we dragged the trunk in, “but since the attics were converted into a studio, I had to have some place to store things. Gives me the willies, it does! Dark and spooky. Colleen says she hears things in here—funny noises. You couldn’t get her to come in here, not for a million.”
    When the crash sounded overhead, Maggie threw her hand over her heart and gave a shrill little cry of alarm.
    There were footsteps above us and then a loud squeak as though someone had sat down on a sofa with broken springs. Maggie smiled, the color coming back