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Mrs. Pearson stomped her feet as she escorted Carol up the uncarpeted back stairs. Every step upward, every click of Mrs. Pearson’s sturdy shoes was a rebuke. Even the set of the housekeeper’s shoulders radiated disapproval.
The nursery occupied the bedroom wing of the house, just one flight of steps below the attic and the servants’ rooms, and two flights of stairs above the drawing room. Mrs. Pearson opened a green baize door and, with obvious reluctance, ushered Carol onto the long hallway where wide doorways gave access to the family and guest bedrooms.
“Be careful,” Mrs. Pearson said over her shoulder, “and don’t touch anything.”
Carol allowed herself a secret smile. Mrs. Pearson didn’t know it, but Carol had been here before. On that occasion, her sandals had been damp from the sea, and she had left footprints on the carpet. No doubt some poor maid had been sent with a bucket and brush to clean the floor and to wonder who had been wandering the hallways of Southwold Hall.