“So, why did you tell her I was just a classmate? Wouldn't it be more believable if I was your girlfriend? Who else would put up with a guy making her play a game like that?”
Markus clucked his tongue and turned to look at her, or rather at the top of her head.
“You’re too tall for me. I prefer more petite girls. It’s cuter.”
“I’m only a little taller than average. You’re just short.”
A look of annoyance passed over his face and he stood on his toes so he could see over her head.
“I’m still 17. I have a couple more inches left in me.”
“Not likely.”
She looked down at her loafers. So he’s hung up on his height? How cute. That was probably why he never provided her with high heels.
“The scion of the Marcellinus family shouldn’t need height or looks to get a girl.”
“Oh, saucy today, aren’t we? I’ll have you know that I’m devastatingly handsome and dashingly charming to boot.”
He turned and resumed his leisurely walk.
“And besides, if it’s just a classmate and not a girlfriend coming back home with me, it means she’s interested and I’m not.”
He shrugged, holding the corner of the game box between his index and middle fingers, not caring who saw it. He spoke with an unaccountable confidence that dazzled the listener and made them want to believe what he was saying, even if it was bullshit. She reminded herself that no, he was not devastatingly handsome, though… maybe he wasn’t bad to look at either.
They continued past the fainting couch at the top of the stairs and into a hallway, its plush burgundy carpet sinking underfoot. They turned right and headed into the long hallway that stretched the length of the east wing. On one side were tall mahogany doors with gilded baroque mouldings. These doors were evenly spaced like ornamental soldiers, interspersed with console tables draped with embroidered napery. On the tables stood alabaster sculptures of tastefully naked women, gleaming fresco-painted vases, and on the walls were picturesque landscapes in huge frames so gorgeous they seemed to be trying to outshine the very paintings they were meant to accentuate.
Opposite the doors, a row of elegant curtained windows overlooked the front courtyard, which boasted marble and granite tiles, stone vases, and a huge fountain. Around it ran a circular drive, wide enough to accommodate three cars abreast. It was an entrance that would suit a world-famous luxury hotel, the sort that kings and dignitaries might condescend to frequent on holiday.
To Alexia, it all amounted to the same thing; wealth to the point of obscenity. Yet another thing to take in stride. She did her best not to think too hard about it.
Markus suddenly stopped in the middle of the long hallway, his ears perking up. He turned, examined a vase and said:
“Oh, it’s gotten dusty! Alexia, find something to wipe it off with. And if anyone asks, you haven’t seen me today!”
He then lifted the tablecloth and crawled underneath. Alexia watched him disappear, and, unable to restrain her instinct as a maid, straightened it out. Soon enough she heard what Markus had- muted but purposeful footfalls approaching from ahead.
Maxwell rounded the corner and his eyes lit up when he saw Alexia. He jogged to her and said,
“Alexia! Just who I wanted to see. Where is the young master?”
Maxwell wore a kind smile, though he looked out of breath. Alexia liked Maxwell. He was energetic and hard-working and had never shown an ounce of prejudice against her for her background. She hesitated, but there was only one thing to do.
“I… haven’t seen him today. But he’s left me orders to dust the vases in this hallway.”
Maxwell looked at the gleaming, spotless surface of the vase, which was resting right over Markus’s head at that moment. His smile broadened.
“Excellent work as always Alexia. They’ve been polished to perfection.”
This just made her feel even worse, so she added,
“I’m sure he’ll be back soon. I believe he bought a new game to play today, so he’ll-.”
Maxwell’s smile faded as he exclaimed, “I knew it!” and balled his hand into a fist.
“Oh– I’ll be sure to tell him to see you at once– when I find him.”
He returned to his kind smile and splayed his fingers, “Oh no, no! It’s only the most trivial matter, I’ll see him when I see him! No need to-”
He looked up and down the hallway to make sure no one was there, then leaned in closer and whispered,
“No need to give him advance warning.”
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He winked, gave his parting greetings and continued down the hallway. Once Maxwell was out of sight, as if on cue, Markus emerged from his hiding place.
“Yes, excellent work as always, Alexia.” he said, grinning at his own wit.
She glowered at him for a moment and then said, “Maxwell is looking for you.”
“Oh, is that advance warning? I’m glad to know where your loyalties lie.”
“You’re a bit of a bastard, Markus. What have you done to him?”
“Nothing that won’t work itself out by the end of the day. And I’m no bastard, I know full well who both my parents are.”
Though having said this, he hesitated and searched her expression to see if an apology was in order. Alexia closed her eyes and sighed.
“So do I. They’re just dead is all.”
Not wanting to continue any further down that line of conversation, she moved ahead.
“Right. Onward to Lord Alfred’s room and your pervy game.”
After a few more turns they arrived at the third guest room. Markus rapped on the door with the back of his knuckles.
“Uncle Alfred? It’s Markus. Are you still alive?”
When there was no answer he tried the door. Finding it locked, he produced his student ID and carded it open. The room was dark, illuminated only by thin rays of sun poking through cracks in the drawn curtains. In the middle of the room was a huge four-poster bed, and laying on top of the comforter was a figure in an evening robe. The face was wrapped in white elastic bandages, exposing only the nose, ears and a few tufts of dark hair at the temples. His hands laid over his chest, the fingers steepled together.
Alexia hesitated on the threshold, a sense of unease bubbling up from the pit of her stomach. He wasn’t moving. She could feel the hairs on the back of her neck stand up, and her mind started running through worst-case scenarios. What if he really was dead, an apparent suicide carried out in rebellion against his bleak circumstances? She imagined finding the body cold to the touch, and a note scrawled on the nightstand with his own version of ‘goodbye cruel world’. The police were already here, and a dead lord would serve as their pretense to ransack the entire house. The staff would be questioned, backgrounds checked. Who was this ‘Alexia’ and why were there no official records of her? She fought the urge to flee the room and find somewhere out of the way where she could pretend that she had never seen nor heard anything at all.
While Alexia stood frozen, Markus walked past her and casually flicked on the electric lights. The figure stirred and leaned his head to look at them. His eyes of that familiar Marcellinus blue stared out from between the bandages. “Oh!” he said, in a faint, rasping voice that sounded too weary to be surprised.
Alexia breathed a sigh of relief and followed Markus inside. She knew she shouldn’t just assume the worst, but anxiety was one of the hardest emotions to unlearn. She envied Markus’s natural optimism.
“Markus, dear boy! So good to see you again.” Lord Alfred spoke in a hoarse voice.
“Morning, uncle!” came the cheery reply. “Rise and shine! Time to get up and stop feeling sorry for yourself!”
Markus threw the curtains open, brightening the room enough so that all three squinted.
“Yes… I suppose you’re right. Life must go on.”
Alfred began to raise himself up out of bed, though even this much effort taxed his strength.
“How did you manage to fall into such bad shape just from being cooped up in your room all the time?”
“Oh, I’ve nearly lost my voice from screaming into the phone all night. But I think the matter has reached its conclusion. He no longer answers my calls. I suspect he’s gone and changed his phone number- the rat bastard! –Oh! Pardon my language, young lady!”
“Not at all, Lord Alfred.” said Alexia, with a slight bow.
“Screaming at night, never seen during the day, and the perpetually locked door! Soon they’ll be calling you the phantom of the east wing. Your mummy wrappings will add to the mystique if you let them catch a glimpse. Oh, wouldn’t it be fun to live in a haunted gothic mansion! Do give it a go, uncle.”
“Oh these?” said Alfred, gesturing towards his bandaged face.
“The last vestiges of my pride, not to be seen in my current state…. But I suppose I must accept my fate.”
Markus’s mood was as infectious as always, and Alfred’s weary demeanor was starting to turn more cheerful. He drew the long sleeve of his robe across his face in a theatrical dracula-esque gesture.
“Perhaps I should have a proper face mask made. Shall I go with sock or buskin?”
“As much as I would love to hear your rendition of ‘Music of the Night’, it may be too early to give up hope of a better outcome.”
Alfred shot to his feet. His weakness vanished like mist in the morning sun, and his powerful voice boomed through the room.
“What? Then-! You’ve gotten it already?!”
“Voilà!” Markus presented his copy of Pretty Maid Dress-up 2. Alfred looked at it in confusion.
“Markus, I’m afraid I don’t share your… hobbies.”
“It’s the thing you requested– inside.”
Alfred snatched the game and pried the case open. From under his bandages, his face lit up, and hope began to flow back into his eyes.
“Oh Markus! You’re an angel!”
He tucked the box away inside his robe, then pulled Markus into a quick hug.
“This is wonderful! But I must ask you to leave me to my devices for a bit; I’ll have that old crook begging me to let him fix me up!”
“Ahem!”
Markus rubbed his thumb and forefinger together.
“Ah, but of course.”
Alfred pulled a $50 bill from his pocket and pressed it into Markus’s hand.
“Hmm, I’m afraid my expenses were a bit more…”
Alfred stared hard at Markus’s face for a moment as if searching for something, but then smiled.
“Ah, yes, I see.”
With a bit of hesitation, Alfred handed over another $50 bill, producing a huge smile from Markus.
Markus attempted to persuade his uncle to let him borrow his TV, but he hustled him out of the room. Alexia followed after with a polite bow and a “Take care, Lord Alfred.”
Finding himself back in the hallway once again, Markus slumped his shoulders and said,
“I guess we’ll have to settle for my room after all.”
“Markus… what did you give to Lord Alfred?”
Markus pulled a small memory disc from his pocket, and Alexia was treated to a miniature view of the skimpy cat-eared maid once more, proving that he still had the game itself.
“To put it simply– dirt, probably on the plastic surgeon. Uncle Alfred has connections, but not the type that can stroll into a noble’s mansion. He needed me to be the go-between, in exchange for some pocket change.” He said, a twinkle in his eye.
“Ah…I see. And if anyone asks, I should say…?”
“Oh, who knew that uncle Alfred was such a game enthusiast? To think he should pay me $100 to go buy it for him, and be so eager to play it that he turned us out at once. Not that I can fault him on taste, of course.”
“Right….”