Sherlock Holmes Housekeeper Novels & Stories

Anyway. "Hey, young lady!" I came back to my senses when the Housekeeper raised her voice as she snapped her fingers. She looked like she's in her 60's but she still seem full of energy. The Housekeeper is a senior female servant in the mansion, responsible for oversight of all other female staff. And she is to be respected, of course, because she's higher than we are. She was the one whom Mr. Bertrand called and he only talks to her regarding the performances of the servants. The Housekeeper has the authority to fire someone as well. And no one in this house can ever change her mind, not even Mr. Bertrand and his family, because only she knows how capable someone is in the work. That's how

Like she did not belong. Before she could even touch the big wooden front doors, they opened. A tall woman in a stiff black uniform stepped out onto the porch. Her gray hair was pulled back so tight it pulled her skin back too. Clara stood straight, her shoulders tense as the woman looked down at her with a sharp, cold stare. "You must be Clara," the woman said, her voice flat and cold like ice in a glass. There was no warmth. No smile. "I am Mrs. Gable, the head housekeeper. Mr. Blackwood wants perfect order and time in this house. Follow me."

The housekeeper was a bit surprised but didn't pay attention to it. All the objects inside were precious gems and expensive crystals that Gemma loved, but nothing was left intact. The housekeeper also found a bit of dried red liquid on the floor. She immediately understood that the liquid was blood. Perhaps Gemma couldn't bear such a big shock and went insane, destroying everything without noticing the broken crystals cutting her feet. "Madam... it's time to take your medicine." The housekeeper called softly, working for the Thompson family and experiencing many big and small events, but she had never been so worried that her hands would tremble when holding the medicine bowl.

He's showing his best cards to play and win this game. Claire pondered over it. Before she could be coaxed into believing that Hunter knew anything about her, Thea crossed her mind. The loyal Housekeeper who worked in Hunter's mansion. "Don't let the momos distract you. It's probably Thea, our Housekeeper who helped him. Otherwise Hunter can't even tell my favorite color even though most of my wardrobe is filled with it. He knows nothing. He never cared." Claire retorted, turning around. She was done with this conversation, and Penelope wasn't interested in stretching it further. She went back to her room and Claire was left alone. The air of loneliness engulfed her. She plopped down on the

"At least make it believable. This maid has been mooching off our family for months, and now she's broken into my estate." Lucas raised an eyebrow. "Your estate? And who's your mother?" "My mother is Alice Hayes!" Lucas paused — then gave her a thin, contemptuous smile. "Alice?" "Isn't that the boss's housekeeper?"

"One minute." I found a robe in the closet. Silk. Black. His, probably. It drowns me. I belt it tight and walk into the living room. The housekeeper is a woman in her fifties with gray hair pulled back in a neat bun. She holds a bucket and a mop, and she greets me with the practiced blankness of someone who has witnessed everything and learned not to flinch. "Good morning. I'll start in the kitchen." "Okay." She hesitates. Her eyes drop to my throat, to the mark on my collarbone. Then they jump away. "There's breakfast in the refrigerator. Mr. Croft arranged it before he left this morning."

Back at home, it was me or Harmony who did the house chore. "Uhm...Miss...there is no need-", I began too embarrassed by such a thing but she interrupted me, "I am the housekeeper of this manor m'lady. My name is Beth Jones, I am responsible for cleaning the Master's chamber", her monotonous voice had an edge to it and her eyes did not even attempt to conceal the disapproval.

The realization that I was not alone after all resonated within me and I've been conscious of that fact and I like that. It made me feel at peace. But then, whoever the mole in my house is, must leave today. Dropping my bag on the couch, I rang for the bell that was supposed to call for them. Soon enough, they started coming in. And there were about five of them. “Good evening, Miss. Is there a reason why you have called us all here at this time?” The housekeeper, who was a little older, asked. The woman looked strict. She never took rubbish or sucked up to anyone in this house since I joined. Her facial features almost looked like that of maleficent. And from what I know, she's been working

She asked in return. “Ah, not that much,” I answered truthfully. She chuckled as she shook her head. “His and Dr. Watson’s address was 221b Baker Street,” she said and my mouth formed an ‘o’ as I understood the reference. Her flat’s address when she took the second one on the second floor is 2-21b, similar to that of the famous London detective. The elevator opened and she led the way. We stopped in front of a door with a number two. She took her key out but before she put it in the keyhole, she paused.

"Damage control." A soft knock interrupted my eavesdropping. "Mrs. Savage? May I come in?" An older woman entered—gray-haired, stern-faced, wearing the kind of crisp uniform that suggested long service to wealthy families. She carried a breakfast tray and moved with the efficient grace of someone accustomed to invisible service. "I'm Mrs. Henderson, the head housekeeper. I hope you slept well. Dr. Chen said you might be groggy when you wake up." "Where am I?" I asked, though part of me already knew. The ocean view, the old-money elegance, the isolation, this had to be the Hamptons estate Wakes had mentioned once or twice over the years.