Agnes Waterhouse Novels & Stories

Agnes, snapped while I was mopping the floors. Mrs. Agnes was a fifty-year-old grumpy woman, respected by everyone. She had been working as a maid here since she was eighteen, and one look from her could make a new maid cry and a grown man scrub the floor twice as hard. At first, I didn’t even realize she meant me. She never called me for anything—our tasks were always split and structured. “Me?” I pointed to myself. Her frown deepened, and my stomach dropped. I quickly set the mop aside and hurried over, bowing my head.

**** Madame Agnes was amused as she gazed at the pond, finding pleasure in watching the fish gracefully swim about. As she was lost in her thoughts, Butler Mark approached her and delivered the news, "Madame Agnes, I regret to inform you that Celestine has been abducted by Cynthia, the daughter-in-law of the Robertsons."

“Oh, do you happen to have a bottle of some sort? Something small that I can loop a chain through.” Agnes ventured into the pantry, rummaging around for a few seconds before emerging with a tiny, corked vial. It was no bigger than my pinkie toe, and perfect for collecting some blood. “Don’t mention it. As my mother always said, ‘mind the business that pays you,’ and that’s exactly what I plan on doing.” she said with a wink, scooping up a bowl of her own. “If you don’t mind handing those out for me, I’m going to sit down and enjoy my pie.”

Again the ocean lifted her; again she pulled against the bracket. This time she felt it move. The water was up to her chin now. She prepared for a final effort, knowing this was her last chance. As the waves rose, covering her with water, the bracket slid away from the wall with a burst of bubbles. But it was not enough to set her free. *** Agnes Clutterbuck looked at the quiet despair going on all around her. She sat on the floor of the school hall, her back resting against Victorian brickwork, dabbing a tissue on a small scratch over her right eye brow.

I'll also prepare some honey with herbs and vitamins… diluted in a little water so it's easier for her to swallow. Alexander: Thank you, Agnes. I went to my room and gently laid her on the bed to prepare the bathwater. As soon as she left my arms, she started screaming in terror and pain. Her cries tore at my heart, and Agnes came running into the room, thinking she was awake and panicking at the sight of me. I quickly took her in my arms, pressing her face against mine, and she quickly calmed down and her body relaxed. Agnès looked at me with a mixture of surprise and incomprehension.

"Agnes, easy with that; you look like you've seen a ghost," Jerry said to her. "Agnes?" Anna Philips said, walking straight to have a seat, while Grace dropped the bag she carried and sat beside her father. "Mrs. Agnes, let me get you some water," Lucy said, dropping the bag she besides Grace's own. "Aunt Agnes?" Grace asked. Agnes took a sip of the water Lucy brought for her. She tried to arrange her expression, although she was having a bit of trouble achieving that.

He was not about to underestimate another crazy woman with again. “Well, of course. I want to make this clean. Do you know how hard it is to clean blood of these floors? The whole place is so old they just get into places you can’t reach.” Miss. Agnes let out an annoyed sigh. “But. I don’t mind doing it dirty either. I know you and I both don’t want that, right?” She returned to her smile. “Time’s wasting. If I don’t give them the antidote in three hours, they’ll die you know.” Miss Agnes seemed to be losing her patience. She narrowed her eyes as her tone grew heavier. With a deep breath, Anderson nodded his head. Miss. Agnes seemed pleased. She smiled and took a few steps back to allow Ande

“NO, you absolute whore! He has one sister!” Agnes didn’t miss a beat. She tilted her head like she was mentally filing paperwork at a marriage registry. “Well,” she said thoughtfully, “I don’t mind a little... brunch buffet between the thighs if it comes with a seven-figure settlement.” “AGNES!” I shrieked.

“Thank you… for telling me.” She nodded, and I went back to the kitchen, but when I stepped in, I was stunned to see neither Pearl nor Agnes was there. I spun around and rushed back into the hallway, only to see them approaching. “Where did you go?” I asked, trying to keep my voice leveled. Agnes answered. “I needed water, but the water there was only for baking. So I stepped out to get drinkable water. And since you said never to leave Pearl alone, I took her with me.”

“Mrs. Watson, you’ve confessed to ordering multiple crimes, including the fire that killed Amanda’s father and the attempted abduction of her brother. Is there anything else you’d like to tell us before we proceed with formal charges?” Agnes stared at the wall for a long moment. The question hung there, and in that silence, something in her eyes shifted. She looked exhausted, the kind of exhaustion that came not from lack of rest but from years of carrying secrets too heavy to bear. Her voice was faint when she finally spoke. “There is something else,” she said, her tone low and distant. “Another death. One that was never supposed to happen.” The detectives glanced at each other. The younger