Miss Trevelyan’s house had been designed by an architect who had been inspired by both Gaudi and Frank Lloyd Wright but lacked the technical skill and imagination of both. There were four floors above ground and three below ground and the rooms were intended to have an organic aesthetic about them. Large windows opened onto a subterranean garden on the second basement floor: an eternally gloomy, damp mushroom grotto of despair that housed a rare colony of albino toads whose presence meant that a preservation order had been slapped on the garden and no improvements or renovations could be effected without planning permission from all of seven different government agencies. An ingenious cantilever moved the third above-ground floor out from the main column so that its glass floors could look down on the world below. Since the planning authorities were adamant that the house could not extend over the road it had to extend over the neighbouring property instead, whose owners had promptly retaliated by installing a glass roof to look back up at anyone on the third floor. The third floor had been intended to be a bathroom, sauna and bedroom area and this had caused some embarrassment and Miss Trevelyan was still embroiled in a law-suit regarding indecent exposure.
The housekeeper led Bill and Ben, gentlemen thieves posing as the Feng Shui police, into a lounge on the ground floor. It was roughly oval in shape and painted in shades of red and orange that felt intestinal; this was part of the Gaudi elements that the architect had dreamt up. The couch was lozenge shaped, tilted slightly forwards, and lacked a back, forcing visitors to sit awkwardly on the edge of it, stiffening their spines to remain seated. There was a wooden chair in one corner that, given manacles and an electric cord, would have looked right at home in an American execution chamber and a television on the wall with a cracked screen.
“Bloody hell,” said Bill with feeling. He looked around as though expecting to be sprayed with stomach acid at any moment. “Is Miss Trevelyan a serial killer then?”
“No!” The housekeeper’s eyes widened with horror. “This is the Gastric Lounge! It’s famous.”
Ben nudged Bill with an elbow to silence him. “Indeed,” he said, grinning like a Cheshire Cat about to do a vanishing act. “However, it’s also a listed part of a listed property, so there’s nothing we can change in here, you know. We’re the Feng Shui police, you see, so we definitely can’t break the law. And we have to be aware of all the laws we can’t break too.”
The housekeeper looked disappointed, almost as though someone had told her an immediate family member was terminally ill. “Are you sure?” she said. “Only of all the rooms in the house—“
“Very sure,” said Ben quickly. “And,” he pulled his Feng Shui meter out of his pocket and tapped at the screen, “as you can see here --“ he flashed the device at the housekeeper too rapidly for her to read the number on the screen “— this room isn’t the problem room at all. We’re too low.”
“Too low?”
“Yes, your madamling,” said Bill. Still no reaction from the housekeeper and he was starting to wonder if she had selective hearing. “Too low. There must be an upper storey to the house, we could see it from the outside.”
Ben glared at him. When the housekeeper looked upwards as though wondering to herself if there were more floors above them he slashed a hand across his throat swiftly. Bill winked.
“Yes, of course,” she said. She sounded bemused. “But they’re off limits to guests.”
“We’re not guests,” said Bill helpfully. “We’re the police.”
“And you’re not a guest,” said Ben. “So as long as we’re with you, we’re fine.”
“Miss Trevelyan wouldn’t like it,” murmured the housekeeper, but she was sounding tired. Bill slipped an arm around her shoulders.
“Bad feng shui can affect you as well,” he said comfortingly. “I can see that you’re already feeling tired, and I suspect that everything seems a bit confusing. When the Earth dragon gets chained to the ground and the Dragons of Wind and Fire are at cross-purposes, people get caught in the cross-fire. I bet you’ve had a lot of minor illnesses recently? Things you haven’t wanted to bother Miss Trevelyan with? Things that matter, but you’ve put a brave face on because someone has to look after the place, and it’d go to pieces really quickly if you weren’t here to look after it all? I bet you’re not appreciated for everything you do, either, are you?”
Ben slipped out of the room as silently as a shadow fleeing the sun while the housekeeper swayed on her feet, unaware that Bill was gently rocking her back and forth. “I have been a bit under the weather,” she said. “Now that you bring it up. I wouldn’t want to complain.”
“Oh but you should,” said Bill. He lowered the pitch of his voice by half an octave so that he almost sounded like he was purring. "If you don’t complain about the things that are unfair, who else is going to? Everyone else is always looking out for themselves, am I right? You keep looking after them and no-one looks after you. Am I right?”
“Well,” said the housekeeper. She found herself sitting down on the couch, perching on the edge of it to keep her balance. Bill stood next to her, resting his hand on her shoulder, unobtrusively holding her in place. “Well, I don’t want to sound like I’m doing everything all the time—“
“But you are, right?” Bill sounded encouraging.
“Well, no,” said the housekeeper, honesty warring with the desire to have someone listen to her list of grievances. “Maybe not all the time, you know. It’s just that sometimes, when I’m here on my own—“
“And Miss Trevelyan hasn’t told you when she’ll be returning, again?”
“I mean, would it kill her to be a little bit more considerate? I don’t want to complain about her, she’s a very understanding woman in her own way, but sometimes I think she treats me like furniture.”
“That’s why the Feng Shui affects you so much,” said Bill.
“What?” The housekeeper shook her head from side to side. “Are you saying I’m furniture too?” She tried to rise, but Bill’s hand was like a lead weight on her shoulder.
“Oh no,” said Bill. “Definitely not. I’m saying that because Miss Trevelyan treats you like furniture you’re getting more ill. The Feng Shui is affecting you much more than it would affect her. That’s probably why it’s taken us so long to find you and come and investigate.”
“Oh,” said the housekeeper. “That… doesn’t… make sense?”
Ben stepped back into the room, edging around the wall until he was behind the housekeeper.
“Well, if you’re not happy with us being here, we’ll leave,” said Bill taking his hand off her shoulder. “I mean, we’re only here because you’re letting us in, and we’ve said that we can’t do anything in this room.”
“I think you should leave,” said the housekeeper, standing up and looking about her. “And where’s — oh there you are.”
Ben waved a hand. “Checking the walls for the Dragon of Damp,” he said cheerily. “I think you’ll need a certified Feng Shui plumber to be honest, miss.”
“Your mademoiselle-let,” said Bill, still pushing for a reaction.
“You need to leave,” said the housekeeper, making her mind up. “You shouldn’t have come in at all.”
“Fair enough, missy,” said Bill. For a moment he thought she was going to retort, but then a sullen intransigence crossed her face and she shooed them before her to the front door like naughty children.
“Don’t come back,” she said as she closed the door firmly.
“Don’t need to,” murmured Ben. Bill looked at him. “Got it,” he smirked.
