Chambermaid Dies in Hotel Fire
Island coroner Wilbur Freeman reported on Monday that there was one fatality in the fire that engulfed the third floor and attic of the Hotel Nantucket. Grace Hadley, age nineteen, a chambermaid at the hotel, perished in her bed, a death that went previously unnoticed because no one—not even the hotel’s general manager, Leroy Noonan—realized that Hadley was living in the attic.
“The room she was occupying was an overflow storage closet that she’d managed to outfit with one of the hotel’s cots and was using as a bedroom, unbeknownst to anyone on the staff,” Noonan said. “Had we known Grace was living up there, we would have informed the Nantucket Fire Department immediately so that they might have tried to rescue her. Grace was known for her quick sense of humor, her willingness to take on even the most arduous tasks, and her dedication. We will mourn her loss.”
As reported in our pages last week, the hotel caught fire at two a.m. on Sunday, August 20, following a spirited dinner dance held in the hotel’s ballroom. We have now learned that the cause of the blaze was an “errant cigarette of unknown origin.” Hotel owner Jackson Benedict and his wife, Dahlia, were asleep in their suite at the hotel; however, both the Benedicts escaped without injury.
Miss Hadley was predeceased by both of her parents and her brother, George Hadley, a commercial fisherman.
Wanda shows the article to her mother （who finds Wanda’s interest in Grace’s untimely death a bit disquieting）， then to Louie （who doesn’t understand or care to）， then to Zeke （who indulges Wanda and listens to her read the entire article aloud）， then to Adam （who doesn’t indulge Wanda）， and finally to Edie （who suggests that Wanda write an article that Edie will help her submit to the Nantucket Standard）。
The truth is right there between the lines! Grace thinks. No one realized Grace was living in the attic. （Jack hid her up there!） Grace was known for taking on the most arduous tasks. （Working as Dahlia Benedict’s lady’s maid!） The Benedicts had escaped without injury. （Dahlia set the fire, then ran out of the building!）
Grace is flattered that Mr. Noonan mentioned her sense of humor. And her dedication. She’s dedicated, all right. It’s a hundred years later, and she’s still here.
On July 2, in the darkest hour of the night, the door to the fourth-floor storage closet creaks open, and Grace—who isn’t asleep, who never sleeps, never rests, though it’s all she wants, please, someday—sees Wanda poke her little blond head in.
“Grace?” she whispers.
Oh, for heaven’s sake, Grace thinks. Be careful what you wish for.
“Are you here, Grace?” Wanda asks.
Yes, sweet child, Grace thinks. Now go back to bed.
“Can you give me a sign?” Wanda asks. “Can you…knock?”
Grace considers this. She can knock—but what if this leads to trouble? What if it makes Lizbet actually hire an exorcist? Wanda might think she wants Grace to knock, but when Grace does knock, Wanda might scream, faint, or be scarred for life.
There is, apparently, no one more persistent than an eight-year-old.
“Please, Grace?”
Fine, Grace thinks. She knocks, three short, matter-of-fact raps that cannot be mistaken for anything other than the supernatural.
Wanda drops her pad and pencil and claps her hand over her mouth.
Now I’ve gone and done it, Grace thinks.
Wanda whispers, “I knew it. Thank you, Grace!”
Grace follows Wanda back to her room. Wanda takes the elevator all the way down to the level where the wellness center is and creeps up the back stairs. So this is how she avoids the lobby! Wanda opens the door to suite 114 with the key card she has tucked into her notebook and returns quietly to bed. Tonight she has chosen the lower bunk closest to the door, and Louie is on the upper bunk farthest from the door. Clever girl.
Grace is tempted to pull the covers up over Wanda’s shoulders and tuck her in, but she’s done enough for one night. She whisks out of the suite and down the corridor. In the lobby—oh, hello!—she finds Wanda’s mother, Kimber, leaning over the desk, deep in conversation with Richie. It’s so late that Raoul, the night bellman, has gone home. Richie and Kimber are the only two people awake in the entire hotel; this, Grace can sense. They’re eating bowls of soft-serve ice cream that Richie has obviously brought from the break room.
“Craig told me I was too critical,” Kimber says. “He claimed I was always harping on things that other people—such as my nanny—let ride. Do you know what happens when you let things ride? Mediocrity.” She draws a spoon over the melting ridge of chocolate, then holds the spoon in the air before her mouth. “What about you? Is there a Mrs. Richie?”