Leavitt Stafford and the Awful, Terrible, Not Very Nice Plan.

Chapter the Eighth: The Intuition

Fearfully, Marjorie crept across the garden of Magnolia and Montague's household. As she approached the house itself, she felt particularly aware of how Leavitt would return shortly, and how she was placing her post as his maid at risk in order to prevent horrors which she could not prove were afoot. Although, if asked, she could lie and explain that she had almost forgotten to purchase the coals... but this was equally dreadful! What sort of fellow would want a maid who could scarcely remember to purchase bloody coals? She knew that she must do the right thing, though. She could not allow Leavitt to get himself into so much trouble!

The house itself was a fearsome work of architecture, and, as Marjorie gazed upon its jagged turrets, she did not find it difficult to envision Montague, with the assistance of the orphan children, dragging individuals he disliked into its cellar in order to stretch their arms and legs upon torture devices until they screamed. Although, it must be said, Montague was a man of strong moral character, and he would thus view such ghastly behaviour as truly abhorrent. Marjorie, however, almost feared that she would be not long for the grave if she caused him too much inconvenience.

Marjorie raised her right knuckle to the door and knocked. Within the house, the knocks seemed to echo towards the horrors she envisioned in the cellar, and a shiver travelled through her spine. But, once the door opened, Montague did not stand before them. No, a scrawny young girl with blonde pigtails opened the door instead and gazed upon Marjorie with melancholy brown eyes.

"Mr. Montague is very busy," the young girl whispered with utmost despondency.

Marjorie gazed upon the poor girl with sympathetic eyes. It appeared as though Montague had neglected her in favour of the architecture which she had heard so many tales of! Oh, this was a truly dreadful household, and she hoped for this poor child to find a better household soon so that she may lead a more nurturing childhood.

"What is the matter?" mumbled the girl miserably. "You don't appear happy..."

"Oh, nothing is the matter! I'm ever so sorry, but it is of utmost importance that I speak to Montague! I carry grave tidings..."

"I'll tell him now..." The girl trudged away down the corridor and turned around. Somewhere within the bowels of the house, a knock echoed.

Marjorie shifted her weight from one foot to the other as she watched for the peculiar little man. A damp chill blew through the air, causing her to shiver again. Oh, the peculiar behaviour of Leavitt was not the only mystery which she must investigate...

Montague appeared at the end of the corridor, holding an infant by the ankles. As he approached Marjorie, the air seemed to become even more chilly, and she could feel his eyes reach into her very soul. Oh, this man was truly terrifying! Perhaps she should turn back and get to the bottom of what the matter with Leavitt was herself...

"I was doing architecture," Montague informed her in a monotonous tone, continuing to stare into her soul. He leaned uncomfortably close to her in the process.

"W-well, I apologise for interrupting your work! I'm sure it's very important indeed..."

"That is correct."

Marjorie wanted to turn back more than ever, for Montague surely despised her! (He did not, he was merely conveying the truth as it was.)

"What brings you here?" enquired Montague coolly. "Why are you standing before my front door?"

"Well... I apologise for my unethical method of obtaining your address, but I am dreadfully worried about Leavitt, and I feel that you are the only person who shall understand."

Montague furrowed his eyebrows as he continued to stare at her, perusing the circumstance. The infant who he held by the ankles squealed and clapped his hands, and Marjorie psychically attempted to urge the man to hold the child appropriately. Montague himself remained silent for quite some time, continuing to stare at Marjorie in such a manner as though he perused not only her soul, but her entire life history as well. "Very well," he eventually spoke. "Follow me."