“Are they all costumed parties?”
Sonia shook her head. “We book out several of these in the high season, but parties that book the entire house may choose anything they wish. We had a two-week costumed party last fall that required us to shut off all amenities invented post 1820. We did everything by candlelight and had to spread druggets under the dining room table.”
Isabel understood. I did not.
Sonia smiled at me. “Huge drop cloths—as they requested we not use the vacuum. It was that or sweep the carpet each day, which was what we had to do anyway in every other room.”
I nudged Isabel. “Don’t even think about it. This is authentic enough.” I imagined poor Sonia sweeping carpets and Clara missing her iPad—and me, my Wi-Fi.
Chapter 10
When the Muellers started peppering Isabel with more questions, I drifted away to wander the house. I didn’t want to stand by and witness any more cold comments or implied disdain.
I suspected it was my fault. The Isabella Thorpe comparison had hit its mark on Friday, and I’d gotten annoyed and followed it up today. It was unkind of me. But when she suggested Emma’s sycophants for me rather than a real character, a leading lady, I felt again all the reasons I’d refused the invitation in the first place.
Even so, I hadn’t been wrong in the comparison—and tonight proved it. Isabella Thorpe was coy, charming, and often manipulative. Isabel could be all those things. Both women also had shades of kindness, loyalty, and vulnerability—even brokenness. They were certainly both fighters. When backed into those painful places, they came out swinging.
I wondered, as I crossed through the front hall, if I needed to offer another apology to put us back on an even keel.
Braithwaite House was laid out along a central hallway on the first floor, stretching from the front door to a large set of paneled windows at the back. Small side hallways led me to the smaller, more intimate rooms such as the Day Room, the library, and what I suspected was a gentleman’s sitting room. It was all brown and deep red, with horses pursuing foxes across the upholstered armchairs.
I passed from room to room through a web of connecting doors. I also came across many with closed doors. Isabel and I had opened a few that afternoon, but nighttime made the trespassing feel more intrusive—I left them shut and headed back to the front stairs.
The upstairs was designed along the long gallery at the front of the house with two main hallways dividing it toward the back like a squared-off U. I suspected the guest rooms were on the outer sections of the U, allowing each to have an exterior wall and lots of windows. Those facing the sides of the house would enjoy views of the hedgerow maze on one side and the terraced gardens on the other. But guests in the back rooms would get the best views of all. I walked to the end of one of the hallways and could make out the formal gardens in the deepening gray. There were rows upon rows of rosebushes and sculpted hedges. I envied guests who visited during the high season, as Sonia had called it.
At the end of the gallery I found a flight of narrow stairs. The door was painted the same color as the wall and when shut would make the passage invisible. At the moment it was cracked open and very inviting. I looked up and down. The stairs were lit by the same Edison vintage bulbs I used in my living room. I loved the look of the exposed filament and the yellow to orange light they produced—and I loved the mystery of a set of secret stairs.
I wandered down and soon found myself in a long, narrow hallway. Cupboards lined its entire expanse. There were at least fifty small doors, unmarked, on each side.
I opened one. Linens and lightbulbs. Another, china. The next, silver. I shut the cupboard and turned around, finally recognizing there might be limits to “nothing is off limits.”
“Mary? Are you lost too?” Clara had entered by a door I hadn’t noticed.
“Hey . . . I’m not lost. I’m . . .” Being rude and rummaging through their closets. “Are you lost?”
“Daddy finally said I could explore.” Clara opened a cupboard. “This one has lots of glasses in it.” She shut it and moved on to another. “I’m lost on purpose. Gertrude said I could go anywhere and even gave me a torch, but it’s not working.” She rattled the offending flashlight.
“May I see it?”
She handed it to me, and I led her to the hallway’s end, where we found a broad window ledge. She scooted onto it. Her legs dangled, and the heels of her Mary Janes tapped the wall.
I unscrewed her flashlight and dropped the batteries into my hand. “How is it you speak English with hardly any accent?”
“Momma is American, like you, but she sounds different. Daddy is from France, but he went to college in the States. That’s where they met.”
The batteries looked fine. I tapped my phone and shot its light down her flashlight’s barrel. There was oxidation on the coils. “Give me a second . . . Besides English, how many languages do you speak?”
“I can’t count Italian yet. I just started this term.” She counted on her fingers. “English, German, and French. We learn them all in school.”
“Only those?” I lifted a brow and she smiled. She was missing the teeth on either side of her front two. “Wait till you see this.” I pulled at the hem of my camisole and used it to rub the coil until it shone. I replaced the batteries and handed it back to her. “Now try.”
Clara pushed the button, and bright-white light hit me in the eyes. “You made it work. Thank you.” She hopped down and hugged me at the waist.
“Do you want to see something else cool?”
She nodded and I dashed back to the third cupboard on the left. It wasn’t what I expected. I opened another, but they all looked the same and I couldn’t remember. I opened silver, cleaning products, candles, and china before I found it. “Lightbulbs.”
I grabbed a lightbulb and walked back to her, pulling two of my homemade “rings” from my elaborate hairdo and loosening a slew of bobby pins in the process. I pulled a third piece of wire from my back pocket. “Can I borrow your flashlight again?”
She handed it to me without question. I dropped out the batteries, unraveled the wire ponytail holders, and attached one from the battery to the lightbulb. Then I pulled out my key and attached it to the lightbulb with another wire. “Watch this.” The final one completed the circuit. The lightbulb glowed.
“Can I try?”
At my nod, she reached, then paused.
“The current isn’t strong enough to hurt you. I promise.”
She made the connection, and her smile was brighter than the bulb.
“Can I show my parents?”
“Of course, but I’m not sure running through the house with a lightbulb is a great idea. How about I carry it and come with you?”
We disconnected our project, and she grabbed my hand to drag me from the hallway.
“I can’t wait to see their faces.”
I let myself be pulled. “I can’t wait to explain what we’ve been up to.”