Sally Gardner; Illustrations by David Roberts
Henry Holt and Co. (BYR)
Mrs. Fosset was on the first-floor landing, duster in hand, when the clock in the hall started to chime.
“Nine o’clock,” she said out loud to the curtains and the chair.
From the window she watched her employer, Sir Walter Cross. He was at the bottom of the garden by the frozen duck pond, feeding his ducks. As always, he was standing by the old weeping willow, which this morning had a layer of frost over its branches. Doughnut, his faithful miniature dachshund, was jumping up and down and barking, the funny little thing.