The Haunted (Sleeping with Monsters Book 1) Read Online Free

to please not do the dishes again. That is her job, after all. A
servant does like to feel that they’re gainfully employed.”
    “Well
tell her to stay out of my closet then,” Daphne said, flustered.
    “Ma’am?”
Arthur said, eyebrows high in surprise.
    If
Mrs. Dudley was at all like Arthur – and his familiarity and trust in her implied
she was – then – Daphne shook her head at herself. It could have been a
thousand other things. This house was old, it’d settled over time, and maybe
she hadn’t closed the door as strongly as she thought she had this morning,
while still in the grip of her hangover.
    “I’m
sorry Arthur,” she apologized, instantly deflating.
    “Of
course, Ma’am. But there’s nothing to apologize for.” He looked at her like a
baffled dog. “What time would you like breakfast, Ma’am?”
    There’d
been no wine involved in dinner tonight – she wanted to stay well away from it
for now. “Let’s say eight.”
    “Very
good, Ma’am. When we leave, we’ll set the alarm and lock the doors.”
    Daphne
nodded, stood, and pushed in her chair. Firing Mrs. Dudley would have to wait
for another day, if ever.
     
    Alone
in the house, she retreated to her bedroom again. This afternoon’s efforts had
seen it almost half done – Richard’s closet was organized now in a way that she
knew he’d find pleasing upon his return. Her own was nearing completion and
their antique dresser was now full of mated socks and folded underwear.
    She’d
be pleased with her progress, except for the stain the wine had left on the
floor. It’d set by the time she’d gotten up this morning and in her drunkenness
she hadn’t done a thorough job of cleaning it last night. The old wood had
drunk the pinot up and now there was a smeared stain, like a lazy trail of
blood. Maybe she should just pull the bed over three feet to the left, and put
a duster on it. Then no one would ever have to know.
    No
matter. She wouldn’t be drinking in here again – bedroom drinking was how
people became alcoholics, she was sure.
    Daphne
took off her clothing, brushed her teeth, and pulled on a robe and lay down,
completely awake. She wished she had a TV to watch mindlessly – she knew there
was one somewhere in the boxes downstairs, but which one and where it ought to
go after she found it she was unsure of. But it wasn’t fair that she had to
pass all of her time unpacking – and then she remembered the library.
     
    Daphne
shuffled across the house in bare feet, turning lights on along the way,
realizing how exposed and bright the house would look if there were anyone
peeking in from outside. It was a disturbing thought, how open it was, probably
the only light for miles around, but she was too scared to turn the lights back
off. Curtains would definitely be her next priority.
    But
the library felt safe once she reached it. The books smelled of Richard, of
stability and age. And the portrait of the Master looking down – while she
found him pleasantly stern, she thought anyone else would find him threatening.
    She
walked among the hip-high stacks, bending over to scan familiar titles, looking
for something new or something very very old and comfortable to read. She found
two books that she knew she enjoyed, carefully pulled them out, and held them
up.
    “Which
one do you think I should pick?” she asked the man in the painting on a whim. “Lady
Chatterley’s Lover? Or Rebecca?” She waited half-a-second, smirking up at him.
“What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?”
    This
brief moment of control and whimsy realigned her. Made her feel like she was
mistress of the house again, as unfamiliar as it was. She walked out of the
library and back to her room, her robe trailing her like a train.
     
    Daphne
crawled into bed and began reading about Lady Chatterly’s Lover. It wasn’t long
before the book dropped forward on her chest and she began to dream.
    In
it, she rode endlessly riding toward a horizon, rocking