Sherlock Holmes Housekeeper Novels & Stories

It wasn't from the De Jagers, though, but the woman who'd introduced herself as Cecilia, the housekeeper. "Mr Hawthorne, you shouldn't have come. You know how upsetting it is for the madam to see you. The last time you were here, the doctor had to sedate her," she said, running a hand through her salt and pepper hair, the frown in her tired dark eyes as gloomy as the starched black and white uniform she wore.

Like the walls are waiting to see what I’ll do next. I push open the door to the master suite. And immediately stop breathing. The room is immaculate. My packed luggage is gone. For a second, I just stand there, trying to process what I’m looking at. Then I notice movement in the hallway. The housekeeper is lingering by the doorframe. She’s trying to look neutral, but there’s a small, ugly smile twisting her thin lips. Her eyes gleam with the unmistakable satisfaction of someone who believes they’ve just witnessed a small but meaningful victory.

It was a lady, and she looked quite familiar. "Good morning," I greeted as opened the door, and she smiled so brightly at me. I wondered who she was. "Oh dear. You are so beautiful," she complimented as she made her way inside, and she noticed the puzzled look on my face, "I am Ms. Davison, the housekeeper here," she finally explained. Although she tried to dissuade me from helping her, I joined in the cleaning of everything since I had nothing to do. It was quite easy doing it together, and we had succeeded in cleaning almost everywhere in an hour.

His piercing blue eyes were observant, always scanning his surroundings, making you feel safe under his watchful gaze. In his tailored dark suits, Greg looked every bit the professional. He didn't seem like someone you'd want to mess with, but he also gave off an air of reliability and trustworthiness. There was a distinguished and peculiar scent I perceived from him. It wasn't human. He had the same striking scent as Landon but only subtle and less overwhelming. It was clear that the team was well-disciplined and meticulously chosen to serve their respective roles in the household. "This is Emily Sanchez, the Head of Housekeepers," he introduced me to her. She was a striking figure in her l

Every single one of them greeted me the same way. “My lady.” “My lady.” “My lady.” It felt weird. Very fucking weird. A tall woman approached us near the staircase. She looked to be in her fifties maybe, dressed in a sharp black uniform with her silver hair pulled into a tight bun. “The new mistress,” she said calmly, studying me. I straightened automatically. “Yes…?” She nodded once. “I am Mrs. Whitmore, the housekeeper.” Oh. Okay. She didn’t smile but she didn’t look mean either. Just very… organized.

she said. “Excellent,” Ethan said as he sighed in relief. The housekeeper disappeared up the stairs as the Cook went back to the kitchen. Pleased now that there is at least a form of progress, Ethan proceeded to take a sip from his coffee. “You wanted to see me,” Alice said behind Ethan. He did not expect her to arrive so early; he hadn’t even finished his small cup of coffee! Anyway, Ethan is beyond impressed. He ought to do something nice for that housekeeper for being so efficient, he thought, but then she is only doing her job.

This one said: power, permanence… and a particular kind of cold. The Audi rolled to a stop. Welma stepped out first and opened her door. A line of servants stood waiting. “Welcome home, Madam.” Their voices were perfectly synchronized though their eyes were not. Curiosity. Calculation. Judgment. Welcome home? The words rang strange. She had no home. Not anymore. At the front stood a woman in a sharply pressed dark uniform. Her posture was immaculate, her expression even more so. “I am Sable, the head housekeeper,” she said. “I have been instructed to assist you settle in, Madam.”

Blaine looked back at the housekeeper. Maybe it was just a mannerism. Some domestic staff always found it difficult to maintain eye contact with their bosses, although it did not make sense why her eyes only strayed to that window spot instead of anywhere else. “And?” he prodded, urging her to continue with the story. “She never returned.” Blaine frowned, “What do you mean she never returned?” The housekeeper shook her head, “She never came back to tell me whether the new mistress needed anything or not.” She frowned, looking down at her hands for the first time, and Blaine could clearly see she was hesitating.

AMBER HART POV The silence in the room was suffocating. Kalix didn't blink. He just stood there by his desk, looking at me like I was a bug he wanted to crush under his expensive shoes. My hands started shaking, so I locked them behind my back. "I’m Amber, sir. The new housekeeper. Mrs. Gable recommended me to Martha." Kalix looked at the broken lamp on the floor, then back at me. A harsh, humorless laugh escaped his lips. "The new housekeeper. And you’ve been here for what, ten minutes? You already managed to destroy property."

She was impatient to find out if the occupants could provide any clues that would help her connect the dots in her case. Within some seconds, Kamala walked through the tall wooden doors of the mansion, her footsteps echoing softly on the polished floor. The air smelled of lavender, and the beauty of the space was immediately shown as it had high ceilings, and its walls were decorated with Victorian paintings. A woman approached her, dressed in a neat black dress with a white apron tied around her waist. Her hair was pinned back into a bun, and a look at her one could tell that she was a housekeeper. “Good morning,” the housekeeper said with a calm and polite voice. “Can I help you with somet