door shut. Still, this seemed peculiar to me.
Matilda reached Nanna Ellen’s door and pressed her ear to it.
“She’s still downstairs. Hurry.”
“I’m listening for Baby Richard.”
I closed my eyes and listened, too, envisioning the room on the other side of Nanna Ellen’s door, the tiny space she called home. “He’s sleeping. I can hear his breaths.”
Matilda eyed me for a moment, my claim suspect, before twisting the knob. This door did squeak, and both of us cringed with its retort. Downstairs, both Ma and Thomas laughed at something. My eyes met Matilda’s; if they heard the noise, they thought little of it, there being no break in their conversation. This was followed by the clang of pans. Matilda slipped through the door into the maw of Nanna Ellen’s room, her hooked index finger beckoning me to follow.
* * *
? ? ?
NANNA ELLEN’S room wasn’t large; in fact, it was smaller than mine. Rectangular in shape, with a ceiling that sloped down towards the window, it was no more than ten feet wide by eight feet deep. While I imagined the window looked out over the back fields, I could not be sure because the glass had been covered by a thick blanket, tacked to the frame at all four corners. Light attempted to squeeze around the edges of the blanket, but little penetrated, leaving the space in relative darkness. I could see the outline of Matilda standing over the small crib in which Baby Richard slept. She adjusted his blanket and held a finger to her lips.
I nodded. My eyes adjusted to the lack of light.
Nanna Ellen’s bedroom was sparsely furnished. A wardrobe stood against the back wall. There was a small desk to the right of the crib, upon which rested a few sheets of paper and a quill pen. On the left stood a lone table, with washbasin and towel. Her bed was neatly made, with a night table beside it, bare save for an old oil lamp and a newspaper. Upon closer inspection, I realized the basin was dry as a bone. Dust had gathered at the bottom. “This is odd,” I whispered.
Matilda came over and ran her index finger along the inside edge. “Maybe she washes downstairs?”
I found a bedpan tucked in the far corner beside the basin; it, too, appeared unused. I moved it aside with the toe of my foot, revealing a ring of dust where the base had been. Matilda and I glanced at each other but said nothing. When Matilda tended the bedpans, Nanna Ellen always told Matilda she would see to her own.
It was then that I spotted our footprints on the floor, a simple trail leading from the room’s entrance to where we currently stood. A thin layer of what could only be dirt covered the hardwood, disturbed by our tracks. Although thicker in some spots than in others, it seemed to cover all of Nanna Ellen’s room; filthy, as if the room had not been swept in some time.
“She’ll know we were in here for sure,” I said, more to myself than to Matilda.
“Keep looking; we’ll figure something out.”
“What are we looking for?”
“I don’t know. She has lived here all this time, and we know so little about her.” She reached for the doors of the wardrobe and pulled them open quickly, attempting to surprise whatever awaited her inside. Five dresses hung neatly from hangers, and a small box of undergarments resided at the bottom and to the right. I turned away shyly.
Matilda giggled. “Poor little Bram, afraid of a few pairs of knickers?” She held up a pair and motioned as if tossing them to me. I took a step back, and she dropped them back in the box, then knelt down beside it and began rummaging through the rest of the contents. “A lady always hides her most precious of items amongst her knickers because no man would dare search such a spot.”
A moment later, she stood.
“And what,” I asked, “did you find amongst her knickers?”
“Nothing.”
I walked over to the desk and picked up the topmost sheet of paper.