Agnes Waterhouse Novels & Stories

And he gave me a roof over my head and a comfortable space to live in. A few minutes later, Agnes, house manager, entered the room, carrying a small, silver tray with a cup of soothing tea. Agnes rarely spoke unless directly addressed, and her presence usually signaled a need for instruction. “Miss Bluey,” Agnes said softly, placing the tea on the side table. “I thought you might need this. Chamomile and lavender.” I stared at Agnes, surprised by the unsolicited gesture of kindness. Agnes's face was as placid as ever. “Thank you, Agnes,” I replied, taking a cautious sip. The tea was warm and comforting. “Did... did Kael say anything to you?”

Agnes said, heading to the kitchen for water. As she was filling the glass, her phone rang. Recognizing the number immediately, her stomach dropped. Before working for Peter, she had been employed by Marcus Bartz and his family. The house they now lived in had once been Marcus’s, but he had sold it after tragedy struck, unable to bear the memories. Answering the call, Agnes heard Marcus’s voice, grim and urgent. “Agnes… I need your help.” “Mr. Bartz?” “Police will be arriving soon. You need to receive them, but do not let Mary see them. Take her to rest. She can’t handle this right now.”

I’ve never seen so many stunning men and women in one place. My brow furrows. What do they eat here? Is there magic in the water? I chuckle softly to myself. Maybe it is magic. After all, we met Rose, who is a real witch. Perhaps these are her family’s lands, woven with spells and power. Maybe. I don’t know if I’m trying to convince myself or just clinging to something that feels safe. Turning from the window, I walk over to Agnes and gently shake her shoulder. She stirs, sapphire eyes snapping open in a panic before she realizes it's me.

someone supplies from the far end of the table at top volume. Agnes’ thin lips screw into a scowl. I can’t fault her confusion. My father hasn’t acknowledged me since my dam died. He bailed when she caught the wasting sickness, and then he just stayed gone. “No, I’m sure her name is Fluffa.” Agnes isn’t giving up. “The others just call her that. Her name’s Flora Ritchie.” Brenda goes back to ladling macaroni salad into an empty whipped cream tub, the issue settled.

Before leaving, I changed the passcode to the villa. Agnes had no shortage of places to stay. She had no need of this house. But no sooner had I gone than she staggered up to the villa's door, reeking of alcohol. Her steps were unsteady—she had clearly drunk far too much. Again and again, she punched numbers into the keypad. Each time, the lock flashed back the same response: incorrect password. "Did I… remember it wrong? I've tried every code I could think of…"

Yet I kept chasing the lightning. Agnes finished bandaging my wrists and moved down to my legs, wiping the inside of my thighs with feather-light touches. “I’ll add something stronger for the swelling,” she murmured. “You’ll be okay, ma’am.” I nodded. “Thank you.” She gave a tight smile, then walked toward the bathroom again. The door clicked shut behind her, and I finally let my face fall into the pillow, burying the soft sob that escaped my lips. God. I hated this house.

It was Agnes, her message brief and efficient as always. **Agnes:** *On my way to the office. Let’s go over the game plan one more time before the meeting.* Anderson typed a quick response, setting his phone aside as he leaned back in his chair. He appreciated Agnes’s thoroughness—her attention to detail had been a crucial asset in preparing for this deal. But something about her intensity, her relentless drive, left him feeling slightly off-balance. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but there was a nagging sense that Agnes was holding something back, something he couldn’t see.

The two women had known each other since they were children, playing on the beaches and dunes as WWII bombers and fighter planes courted each other high in the sky. Agnes had been proprietor at the town library for most of her life. In fact, most townsfolk could not remember a time when Agnes hadn’t been the town librarian. She was a slim, wiry woman with a thin nose and grey hair that always seemed to be pulled up into a bun. A small, blue bookies pen was rammed behind her left ear. Rain or shine, she wore a mauve body warmer, but Agnes was known for her malfunctioning hearing aid, an archaic device that often picked up more than the conversations of those about her. Rumour had it that on m

His expression was perpetually hostile, which only served to make those around him feel more uneasy. Wynn's mind kept going back to Doris' face and the emotion she had when she saw him. He wasn't sure if it was because of Riffen or her own actions that her countenance could go from happy to dodging, but he kept recalling it. avoid him like that. The more that Wynn contemplated the situation, the more incensed he grew. After entering the basement, the vehicle continued on to a huge home located near the water. Agnes formerly called this location home while she was recuperating before moving to Brazil to live permanently. However, he has now brought her back to this location.

She was not an ordinary woman but a royal blood vampire! Nonetheless, Agnes donned the dress and dashed out of her room towards the cabin of the owner. "Where is the lady manger? I want to see her right now!" Agnes yelled at a girl who was the assistant there. The innocent girl looked up at her acknowledging that she was the renowned worker there and held a major importance.