Harp's Manor

INSTALLMENT XXIX

September 22, 1928

There is about to be a change in the way things operate here at Harp's Manor, and it will either be for the better or it will completely backfire.

Mr. Harp returned at long last on Sunday. He was greeted at the door by Hansen's minion of destruction, who lets us all know very loudly whenever someone has entered the house. He seemed to find this amusing rather than bothersome, which I believe is testimony to his good humor. "Well, hello there, little chap!" he chuckled, bending down to pat its head. It snapped at his fingers and barked wildly. "Aren't you a feisty one, eh?"

"Mr. Harp!" I exclaimed. "You're back."

I had been keeping Miss Pearce company during her sculpting in the foyer. None of my guesses of what her project is going to be so far have been close to correct, which is truly astonishing, but it has not stopped me from keeping at it. I have at least determined that it is an inanimate object, though that does not provide much elucidation.

"Miss Thornton! How convenient it is that you're sitting right there. I have something I'd like to talk about with you. Thank you, Gardner," he added as the butler swept away with his heavy overcoat.

"What is it?" I asked as he took my arm and began meandering down the hall to the library. My mind immediately flashed to the last time he had visited and spoken to me in private, when he had scolded me for snooping around. Surely he wasn't about to do the same thing? It was hard to tell what he was thinking under his serene, mustachioed demeanor.

"You know, Miss Thornton, I've been keeping up with your articles," he said confidentially, still strolling along. "You've got an eye for drama. You know what the readers want. It's been very clear to me throughout reading them."

"Thank you?"

"You've been doing pretty well, really. It's almost more than I could have hoped for. You know, people are for some reason more drawn to fiction than fact, and I was worried we might have trouble pulling readers. But you've succeeded exceptionally, and that is really fantastic."

"Well, I've had some experience," I said. "But thank you."

"Now, to be clear, there is nothing wrong with your writing, before I really say what's on my mind," Mr. Harp continued. My blood ran cold. "In fact, it's probably the best there is here. I think it has something to do with your being a woman; you're more sensitive to building up extreme drama out of something so insignificant. Connolly's piece was almost bland compared to yours. Too stately and refined. If I wanted to read his writing, I'd pull out a book!"

"Mr. Harp, my writing has been developed for novel form," I said. "I'm as much an author as Connolly."

"Yes, but you're a sensationalist, and that's not really the same thing, is it? Now," he said, before I could interrupt, "what I really wanted to talk about. You've been trying the best you can to keep this whole 'murder' thing going as long as possible, but it became clear to me that this won't do anymore. Inspector Cromwell towed the guilty person away last week, meaning that's last week's news. Nobody wants to keep reading about how paranoid you all are."

"With all due respect, I don't believe the inspector took the right person," I interjected.

"I know that, or at least that that's what you're saying. You know, Miss Thornton, it's probably best not to die on this hill. There's only so much more you can squeeze out of this whole drama, and lying to draw readers and hatching conspiracy theories is just going to eventually fail you. Trust me, Miss Thornton, I'm a man of business, and I know when to sell. And now I'm telling you, let go of this whole assassin thing and sell, sell, sell!"