The maid continued toward the stairway and then paused to say, "I don't have all day."

I hurried along, gazing at the paintings on the walls, glimpsing the richly furnished sitting room to my left and the large dining room down on my right. I just managed to catch sight of the table that looked like it went on into the next state.

The maid started up the thickly carpeted steps. Along them ran the dark gray marble balustrade and above us was a huge crystal chandelier. I was taking in everything so quickly and with such big visual gulps that I stumbled on a step and nearly fell flat on my face.

"Watch your step," the maid said in a mechanical voice. She sounded as if she was programmed to say it. There wasn't the slightest sense of real concern for my welfare. I straightened up quickly and hurried to catch up, but she didn't wait for me when she reached the landing of the second floor. She acted like she wanted to get all this over with as quickly as possible.

The hallway was wide and also furnished with antique chairs and tables, beautiful vases, a bronze statue of a cherub, and oil paintings on every available wall space. Most of the pictures were of colonial scenes, some simply of men and women who had that aristocratic, superior glare as if they were looking down upon the artist who painted them. I felt as if I was walking through a museum.

The maid stopped in a doorway.

"This is your room," she declared and stepped back. I turned and gazed in at a room the size of our apartment back in D.C. There were two windows facing the east and two facing the south. The bed was a large canopy with thick carved posts and a pink and white spread bordered in lace. Everything in the room looked brand new, from the light pink, marshmallow carpet to the vanity table and mirror, the curtains on the windows and the desk on the right. I saw there was a walk-in closet on the left and just past that a bathroom.

My own bathroom!

The look on my face finally brought a reaction from the maid. She nearly smiled, gazed at the room herself and then turned to me.

"This used to be Miss Megan's room," she said. "Mrs. Hudson told me. So take good care, y'hear?"

My mother's room. How appropriate, I thought. The driver came up behind us.

"Where is Mrs. Hudson?" I asked.

"She's not up to meeting anyone yet," the maid said. "She told me to get you settled in your room and get you some lunch. I got some chicken salad prepared. If you want anything else, you'll have to wait."

"Chicken salad is fine," I said. "Thank you. Is she sick?" I asked.

She stared at me for a moment.

"I don't talk about people. I just do my job," she remarked with a twist in her lips. "You got everything you need in the bathroom," she added. "When you're ready, come down to the dining room and I'll serve lunch."

"Excuse me," I said as she started away.

She turned, her eyelids fluttering with confusion.

"Yes?"

"What's your name?"

"I'm Merilyn," she said.

"You're the cook and the maid?" I followed.

She did smile this time, but it wasn't a warm grimace. It was more like I had asked a stupid question.

"There's only me and Mrs. Hudson," she said, "and now you. I don't think we need anyone else unless you're going to be a lot of trouble," she added dryly as she turned away.

If you're an unhappy person yourself, I thought, you can't help but make everyone around you feel unhappy, too. If I had any room left in my suitcase of sympathy, I'd pack some pity in it for her as well as myself, I thought, but right now, I couldn't fit in another tear.

The driver placed my luggage on the floor and left to get the rest of my things. I watched him and Merilyn descend the stairs and then I entered my room, took a deep breath, and swallowed down my anxieties like a child forced to eat something horrible, but told it would do her a world of good.

After all my things had been brought up, I unpacked my clothing and put everything away in the dresser and in the walk-in. Even with all my mother had bought for me, my wardrobe looked pathetic, barely taking up a tenth of the space available. It would take a fortune to stock this place, I thought.

The mattress of my bed was firm, but my pillows were gigantic and as fluffy as clouds. I ran my palms over the soft comforter. Everything smelled new and fresh. Had it all just been bought for me or had it been here forever and ever?

I looked in the bathroom and found the hair dryer, the make-up mirror, the large pink tub and stall shower, everything scrubbed spotlessly. The towels even looked brand new. I realized I had an electric toothbrush and when I opened the cabinet, I saw it had been stocked with everything from Band-Aids to shampoo and conditioner.

It was the same at the vanity table. There were new brushes and combs, scissors and tweezers, creams and perfume. When I smelled an open bottle, I recognized the scent as the one my mother had been wearing. It couldn't have been left here from when she lived here. Either she or my grandmother had bought it, but how did either of them know whether or not I would like it? Perfume is so personal, I thought.

Tags: V.C. Andrews Hudson
Source: readsnovelonline.net