Chapter 5
2134 Words
Chapter 4
Mr. Trevor led me down the central hallway towards the back of the house. "Through there is what they call the butler's pantry," he said, pointing into a long, narrow space filled with cupboards and countertops covered with such things as a complete tea service in gleaming silver, large china platters, and domes to put over plates like people in movies have with their hotel room service. "The extra linen is in there as well, should the need arise," he added.
"Okay," I said, not sure what I would need linen for, especially as I was only staying for the weekend.
"Over here is the dining room," he said, pointing to the room on the left side of the hall. The table that dominated the space was massive. It looked like it had been carved from one immense block of solid wood with scraps left over large enough to craft the tall-backed chairs that crowded around it.
I wondered what kind of tree was so large and had wood so dark. It seemed to pull the light out of the air, consuming it voraciously.
The far side of the room was bowed out into the side garden, three separate windows surrounding a padded seat. Ever since I was a kid, I had wanted to curl up in a window seat with a good, long book, but this spot was too dark to look at all inviting.
Perhaps later in the day, the effect would be less severe.
The largest chair was at the head of the table, closest to the hall and directly facing the bay window. Sitting on the table before the chair was a box fashioned from an even darker wood, with brass fastenings that gleamed dully. Something about the box called out to me, and my steps slowed. As Mr. Trevor continued down the hall with a prattle of words I paid no attention to I found myself standing beside that chair.
What was in that box? It was rather low and flat, and I suspected it contained flatware, perhaps silver like the tea service in the pantry. Or maybe it was a particularly fancy tea chest.
"Please don't touch that, Miss Amanda,” Mr. Trevor said. I blinked, and it was like being suddenly awake after dozing off on a hot summer day. I couldn't have been out of it for more than a second or two, just long enough for Mr. Trevor to notice I had lagged behind and to come back for me.
"I wasn't going to open it," I said, wincing inside at the sullen sound of my own voice. What was wrong with me?
"I'm sure you weren't," Mr. Trevor said gently, but then I felt his hand close over mine and realized I had been grasping the front clasp. I had half-lifted that little bronze latch already.
"Oh," I said, snatching my hand back and cradling it close to my chest as if the box had burned me. "I'm so sorry."
"Please don't worry about it," Mr. Trevor said. "I hadn't expected this to be sitting out, or I would have warned you."
"Warned me?" I repeated.
"For the time being, until you have your feet under you, it would be wisest not to touch the things," he said.
"Which things?" I asked.
"To be on the safe side, anything," he said. "But certainly not any of the boxes or flasks or other containers. None of them are empty."
His eyebrows arched up as he said that, as if it were a code, and I should be inferring some meaning from his words, but I had no clue what it could mean that nothing was empty.
But not touching anything was a rule I could follow, so I just nodded.
He picked up the box and set it on the very top of the hutch that stood against the back wall. Then he turned back to me with a smile.
"Let's continue on to the kitchen," he said, this time guiding me to precede him down the hall to the next sunny room on the right. The cabinets and even the table and chairs looked like they had stood there for decades, but the appliances were new. "I've stocked up for the weekend, lots of snacks and beverages to see you through between meals. Please feel free to help yourself to anything, and if there is anything you need, just let me know. I always end up doing a bit of shopping when I'm on my morning walk, so it's really no trouble."
"Thank you," I said, ignoring the sudden growling of my stomach at the mention of food. I didn't want to interrupt the tour, especially as I had inadvertently done so once already.
The kitchen had two doors that opened onto the central hallway. Having gone in one, Mr. Trevor led the way out the other. Directly across from that doorway was a steep, narrow staircase. Mr. Trevor opened the door on his left, the door that stood at the very end of the hallway. The door itself was largely frosted glass, letting in light but too opaque to see details through.
"This is the solarium,” Mr. Trevor said, stepping into the room beyond. It was like being inside a greenhouse with plants on tiered shelves on the three glassed walls, a small cast iron table and chairs sitting against the brick wall that divided this space from the kitchen itself. "Miss Zenobia always took her morning tea here. She loved the smell of her plants and the warmth of the morning sun. It's too late in the day now, but perhaps tomorrow you will see what I mean."
"I'll be sure to check it out," I promised.
"This door leads to the back porch," he said, opening a clear glass door to show me a narrow porch that ended in a short flight of steps that led to a series of stepping stones. Some of the stepping stones led further back through the raised garden beds to a small orchard at the back garden wall. Others curved around the corner of the house to the side garden of flowering plants that clustered around the dining room bay window.
"It's all so lovely," I said. "Even for late September. So much is still blooming, and those dark red blossoms are fascinating."
"I choose the plantings carefully," Mr. Trevor said, and he couldn't hide the pride in his smile although I sensed he was generally a rather humble person. "I like to have something in bloom from the earliest of spring to the latest of autumn."
"I'll have to take a walk around if I have the time," I said.
"We'll take the main stairs up to the second floor," Mr. Trevor said, leading me back down the hall past the dining room to the stairs I had passed without noticing when I had come out of the parlor. These stairs were not so steep as the back stairs, only going up five steps at a time before reaching a landing and making a turn. Three turns to go up one level, and I could see at least two more levels above, although the light fixture that hung down from the top of the house dazzled my eyes when I tried to look up to the top floor.
"The library and Miss Zenobia's office are on this level," Mr. Trevor said as we stepped off the staircase. The low roof over the front porch made sense now as I looked out on the high-walled porch that stood over it. Small trees in massive urns stood at regular intervals around the curve of the porch, and a few more cast iron chairs were scattered around.
Then we were in the library, and my breath caught. My hometown had a public library, and I had spent many endless hours there as a kid, enjoying the one thing I didn't need any pocket change to get access to. I had thought so many times about how that little building contained more than I could ever hope to read in a thousand years.
Miss Zenobia's library was three times as large. Shelves ran from the floor to the ceiling high above, row after row of shelves. At the center of the room was another table of heavy, dark wood, narrower but longer than the dining room table. Chairs were drawn up neatly all around it, and four of those places had their own little lights, the brass kind with green glass that directed the light straight down for optimal reading.
"I didn't know charm schools had so much reading," I said, resisting the temptation to run my fingers along the spines. Books could contain things the same as boxes or flasks.
"Miss Zenobia's school was quite singular," Mr. Trevor said. The light in the library was dim, but I could swear his cheeks were flushing. He cleared his throat and looked around for some distraction. "Ah, yes. There are many artifacts in this room, on the shelves and in the storage spaces under the window seats. Best not to touch any of them, for now."
"All right," I agreed. It occurred to me that was the second time he had implied I would be touching things later.
When I got my feet under me. What did that mean?
"The rooms at the end of the hall are mine," he said, indicating the closed door with a wave of his hand. "And this is Miss Zenobia's office. Best to avoid that as well."
I peeked into the room as we walked back towards the stairs. Her office was directly over the dining room. Behind the desk and chair was another matching bay window. I could see the branches of a tree close enough to scratch at the glass if there had been a breeze.
The room was stuffed full with objects. Something that looked like a cauldron was sitting before a fireplace. It appeared to be full of gemstones and crystals. The mantel was cluttered with little brass machines like antique versions of office toys.
A carpet was rolled up and leaning in one corner. What was that all about?
Mr. Trevor, standing with one foot on the staircase up, cleared his throat and I hurried to his side.
"There is one more level, but that's just the attic space."
"Full of things not to be touched?" I guessed.
"Right in one," he said with a grin. "Miss Zenobia's room is here on the left, overlooking the front lawn. No need to go in there."
"Of course," I agreed.
"This here is the bathroom. I'm afraid there's just the one. It is a very old house," he said.
"I'm sure it will be fine," I said as we walked past a room on the left done all in green and gold, and another on the right done in cream and rose with a bay window. The tree was even fuller at this height, thick branches seeming to hug the side of the house.
"I've put you in here if that's all right," he said, opening the door at the very end of the hall. "It overlooks the back garden."
"Lovely," I said, barely more than a whisper.
Or perhaps it was the immensity of the space swallowing up my voice. My entire apartment back home wasn't as big as this room. The bedspread, carpet, and wallpaper were all blue and silver, and the furniture was carved from some type of honey-colored wood.
"It's really lovely," I said again.
"I'll leave you to settle in then," Mr. Trevor said. "I ring the bell for dinner at precisely 6:30. Oh, and the wifi password is on the card on the nightstand."
"Thank you so much," I said.
Mr. Trevor gave me one last welcoming smile then hastened to join Cynthia downstairs. I looked around the room at the antique furniture; the elaborate rug spread out before the fireplace, the lushly thick bedspread.
Even the little bench at the foot of the bed looked like something that should be in a museum. Far too fine of a piece of furniture for the likes of my bag. The bag I had used through every year of high school to carry my books, now repurposed to be my one piece of luggage on the only trip I'd taken out of my hometown since high school.
I didn't fit in here at all.
But there was hope yet. I didn't know a thing about the others that Cynthia had summoned to also attend the reading of the will, but surely at least one of them would feel as out of place as I did.
A little bell at the end of the hall started ringing. Was that the doorbell?
Forgetting both my hunger and my need for a nap, I left my bag there on the hardwood floor and went back to the top of the stairs.
I had to get a look at who was at the door now.
- Writer
