Serafina and the Seven Stars

by Robert Beatty

She found her pa on his knees at the base of one of the huge coal-fired, steam heating boilers, his metal-and-wood tools scattered around him.

  “This one’s giving me fits again,” he grumbled as he wrenched on one of the valves.

  She had once heard Mr. Vanderbilt say with pride that Biltmore was one of the first homes in America with a central boiler to provide heat to all its rooms. She had no idea how her pa could make heads or tails of the contraption, with all its twisted tubes and steaming pipes, but that’s what he liked to do, and Mr. V depended on him for it.

  “Pa, I hate to bother you, but I need to ask you somethin’ about this morning,” she said.

  Her pa set down his wrench and looked at her. “What’s on your mind, Sera?”

  She narrowed her eyes, not quite able to read his initial reaction.

  “Did the master…” she began. She wasn’t sure if it was embarrassment or just plain cowardliness, but her words faltered.

  “I can’t hardly believe it none, either,” he said. “It doesn’t seem real, the idea of you actually moving out of the workshop, goin’ on upstairs with the Vanderbilts—doesn’t seem like it could be happening. Is that what you’re battlin’?”

  A wave of relief passed through her.

  “But that’s what Mr. V asked me to do, right?” she asked, just to be sure.

  “White as a haint he was, and wants you up there lickety-split,” her pa said.

  She nodded, satisfied. At least she hadn’t conjured up that part of all this.

  “But we’ll be all right, Sera,” her pa said, his voice getting a smidge grave. “It’s just a flight or two of stairs….” But even as he said the words, his normally strong, gruff voice cracked a little.

  “Aw, Pa,” she said as she moved into his chest and wrapped her arms around his bearlike body.

  “Just a flight of stairs,” he mumbled again, sounding like he was trying to reassure himself as much as her. “You know that I’m real proud of you, Sera, real proud, and I love ya somethin’ fierce.”

  “I love you, too, Pa,” she said, holding him tight.

  After she had reluctantly said good-bye to her pa and walked glumly away, tears wetted her cheeks, but she didn’t let herself sniffle until she was out of his earshot.

  When she stepped into the workshop to gather her belongings and begin her move upstairs, she felt a heaviness in her arms and her legs. She had grown up in this place, slept here, played here, eaten her meals with her pa here. This was where she had started her hunts each night and returned each morning. This workshop was her home.

  As if to make the point, her cat Smoke sat on one of the timber frame beams, staring at her. Ember walked with jaunty steps along the stone ledge above the benches, chirping complaints and looking down at her with her round, feline eyes.

  “What are y’all looking at me like that for?” she asked. “It’s just a flight of stairs!”

  But she could tell by the looks on their faces that they weren’t impressed with her argument.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, “but I’ve got to. Mr. V needs my help.”

  But even saying these words out loud made her feel like a naive little child. How ridiculous it was to think that Mr. Vanderbilt actually needed her. He was the richest, most powerful person she had ever met. Why would a man such as that need her help? With all her eye-flitting, scaredy-cat flinchiness and her strange dreams in the night, could she even be trusted to identify the dangerous visitors among the harmless ones? Was Mr. Vanderbilt asking for her to do this because he genuinely thought she could help protect his family? Or was there something else going on with him that she didn’t understand?

  She walked over to her little bed and picked up the piece of shredded red cloth she’d saved from the gown Braeden had given her more than a year before. It had been torn to pieces during her battle with the Man in the Black Cloak that fateful night in the Angel’s Glade, but she’d always loved that gown.

  And thinking about the gown made her think of Braeden. “You’re here,” he had said to her by the lake, so quietly, but so fiercely, as if that simple fact explained everything. Remembering the sensation of his breath touching her ear when they embraced, a chill ran up her spine.

  Flustered, and seeing Smoke and Ember still looking at her, she said, “Don’t y’all have mice to catch or something? Go make yourselves useful!”

  Pretending to be annoyed by her tone, they dropped down from their perches with soft thumps of their furred feet on the floor, trotted out of the workshop with mildly perturbed meows, and went out to start their day.

  They’ll probably go to sleep on a windowsill someplace, not a care in the world, Serafina thought.

  Dragging her mind back to the reason she was here, she gathered up the blanket, sheets, and pillow that Mrs. Vanderbilt had given her and prepared to go. She didn’t have much in the way of belongings. She meant to just walk out of the room in a quick-like fashion, and not look back. But the moment caught her. She stood in the middle of the workshop and looked around. It was the place of almost every happy memory she had shared with her pa.

  Finally, she took one last look, pulled in a long, deep breath, and left the room.

  As she made her way up the servants’ stairway carrying the bundle of her bedding and belongings in her arms, she noticed a streak of motion out of the corner of her eye. Startled, she turned quickly to see what it was, but the animal dashed away and was gone before she could get a good look at it.

  Was that a rat? she wondered, but it had moved more like a small cat or woodland critter. It couldn’t have been Smoke or Ember, so maybe it was a little mink or something that had gotten into the house.

  A black-and-white-uniformed maid passed her on the stairway, her arms too full with laundry to say hello. But it jostled Serafina back to attention, and she continued up the stairs.

  In the Main Hall, she noticed Cedric, Mr. Vanderbilt’s Saint Bernard, along with Gidean, Braeden’s Doberman, lying on the floor.

  “At least I’ll have some good company up here with the fancy folk,” she said to the dogs. Creatures of her ilk didn’t usually take too kindly to the canine type, but she had come to know and trust these dogs as good old friends, true of heart and fierce in a fight.

  Her nose itched nervously as she walked through the Main Hall of the house in plain view—right past the butler and maids and all kinds of guests—holding her bundle of belongings in her arms.

  Although she kept her chin low and her gaze lower, so that no one could accuse her of putting on airs, it still felt like she was striding up the wide, sweeping curve of the Grand Staircase to the second floor like she suddenly owned the place.

  The ivory-colored limestone steps of the Grand Staircase blazed in the morning light, with the elegant, deeply filigreed wrought-iron railing on one side and the curving cascade of windows on the other. The staircase spiraled up through all the floors of the house, with a great, multistory wrought-iron chandelier hanging down through the center of the spiral.

  When she reached the second floor, the stairway opened up to a living hall with plush Persian rugs, comfortable places to read and talk near the fireplaces, and fine English tables adorned with many of the small bronze animal sculptures that Mr. Vanderbilt had collected on his trips to Europe. A small alcove led to Mr. Vanderbilt’s bedroom, and then down a short corridor to Mrs. Vanderbilt’s rooms, while the hallway on the left led to baby Cornelia’s nursery, Braeden’s room, and several others.

  It made her feel a bit queasy in the stomach to think she was going to live here, this close to the family, but she had drawn her lot in life, and this was it. She was now an official inhabitant of the second floor.

  She turned and faced the closed white door of the Louis XVI Room.

  Stoking her courage, she drew in a breath, pushed opened the door, and stepped into what was now her new bedroom.

  The first thing she heard was a purr.

  And the first thing she saw was the cats. Her cats!
The soft, gray-furred Smoke, who was keeping watch from the windowsill, gave her a quiet, thoughtful meow, as if he wasn’t quite ready to accept that this was their new home. He had seemed even more guarded and wary of his surroundings than usual for the last couple of days, and she knew the room change wasn’t going to make it any easier for him.

  The not so reserved Ember was stretched out on the large, queen-size bed, happily luxuriating, purring and meowing loudly, as if she were saying, This bed is so much nicer than the old one!

  “How did you two get in here?” Serafina asked in surprise. She had assumed she’d go down to visit them in the basement every once in a while, but here they already were, all moved in. “Well, just because we’re up here now, don’t think you can shirk your duties in the basement,” she told them firmly. “I saw a big old rat or something down there, so keep your eyes peeled for varmints. If you see something, it’s your job to get it.”

  Smoke just stared at her, almost apprehensively. But Serafina knew he was well capable of catching even the largest rat.

  Ember, on the other paw, closed her eyes and flexed her claws in and out, piercing the fine silk fabric of the bedspread, as if she was more than happy to pounce on some scurrying little thing.

  “And there’ll be none of that on the silk, Miss Ember,” Serafina scolded. “Keep your claws in your paws or Mrs. V will kick us out for sure.”

  When Ember complained with raspy, chirping meows, Serafina said, “Hush up now. I don’t wanna hear no sass.”

  But regardless of her firm tone with little Ember, she was secretly relieved that they had found their way up here and that she wasn’t going to be alone.

  Finally, she turned away from her feline companions and took a good long look at her new room.

  She’d been in this room several times before, but the morning sunlight pouring in through the open windows basked the Louis XVI with a grace that made her sigh. It was a lavishly appointed, oval-shaped bedchamber with a gently domed cream ceiling and elegantly curved walls—the wallpaper, draperies, pillows, and even the upholstery on the gold-leafed, French-style furniture, all done in a fine silk fabric of red peony flowers.

  There was a cushioned chaise lounge for relaxing and a sitting area with a low table for morning breakfast and afternoon tea. If Braeden was here, that’s where we’d sit and have our meals, she thought wistfully, but then the bad thoughts started creeping into her head again. She still didn’t know if he’d returned to New York, or was in trouble and needed her help, or had never come back to begin with.

  She felt so helpless. She wanted to spring out her claws and tear something. She wanted to find an enemy and fight it. But she had looked all over for Braeden and he had just disappeared. When the heating register in her new room ticked, she flinched wildly and spun toward it before she could stop herself.

  Just get hold of yourself, she thought. One way or another, you’ll figure this out.

  Trying to calm down, she turned and looked at the other side of the room.

  There was a canopied bed with a red silk bedspread and a makeup table with delicately curved legs and a gold-leafed mirror. She could smell the scent of silk and freshly laundered linens, but it was the red roses in the vase on the mantel of the white marble fireplace that filled the room.

  It seemed to her that Mr. Vanderbilt couldn’t possibly have picked a room more different than her dark little corner down in the workshop with its rough-hewn stone walls, its greasy tools, and its smell of oil. Up here on the second floor, she would have probably felt more at home curled up in the back of a dark closet or maybe inside a cabinet rather than this luxurious bedchamber. But here she was, a denizen of the basement and a devout creature of the night, swimming in a world of silk and gold and blazing light.

  But just as she began to doubt Mr. Vanderbilt’s judgment, she stepped over to the window and saw the view it provided her of the front courtyard. Even now, at this very moment, she spotted Mr. Kettering, one of the gentlemen guests, walking up the Esplanade toward the stables. Dressed in his tan-colored hunting coat and carrying a rifle over his shoulder, he looked tired, but satisfied. Another hunter walked with him, and their servants followed with the carcasses of two antlered bucks. Their early morning hunt had been successful.

  The room Mr. V had picked for her didn’t just provide the perfect position to guard the stair’s entry point onto the second floor; it was also an ideal spot from which to observe the front courtyard, and all the comings and goings of the house. It was a stark and welcome reminder that she wasn’t on the second floor because she was a cherished member of the family or an honored guest. She was a guardian. And that suited her just fine. It was a job she understood, a job she wanted. She just hoped she could do it. What use would she be if she couldn’t tell the difference between what was real and what wasn’t? What use would she be if she flinched at every sound?

  As she looked around at the opulence of the room, it was still hard to believe she was here. Even this felt like a dream. How was it possible that a little rat-catching girl from the basement was suddenly living in a beautiful bedroom on the second floor?

  “But this is real,” she told herself firmly. “And you have a job to do.”

  A rap on the open door behind her startled her out of her thoughts.

  “Y’all look like three kittens in a basket up here,” Essie said as she entered the room, looking at Serafina, Smoke, and Ember with a warm and happy smile. Essie was wearing her usual black-and-white maid’s uniform, her cheeks beaming, her dark hair stuffed under her white cap. By training, a maid was supposed to remain formal, quiet, and restrained, but Essie was just a couple of years older than Serafina, and they knew each other far too well for all that nonsense.

  “Tickled fine to see you, Miss Serafina!” Essie said, her Southern mountain accent sounding warm and familiar.

  “Good to see you, too, Essie!” Serafina said, walking straight toward her and abruptly hugging her.

  “Oh my,” Essie said in surprise, flustered at her show of emotion. “Thank you, miss, thank you.”

  And this is real, Serafina thought as she tightened her arms around Essie.

  “You reckon you’re all right, miss? Has somethin’ hard-gone happened?” Essie asked.

  “I’m fine, Essie,” Serafina said quietly, “just happy to see you is all.”

  “Well, I danced my own little jig when I heard the kitchen all a-gossiping about y’all movin’ upstairs,” Essie said.

  “It came as quite a jolt to me as well,” Serafina admitted.

  “And now we gotta get workin’ like it’s harvest day, right?”

  Serafina nodded. “Mr. V wants me ready by dinner tonight.”

  “Oh Lordy, these men with all their ideas! They have no conception of what goes on to put a lady in a dress and a proper pair of shoes!”

  Over the next few hours, Serafina got out of her old clothes, took a bath, and worked through the process of getting ready. Essie helped her wash her long black hair and brush it smooth, and then sat her down at the little table and applied various kinds of makeup to her face in what she called “the style of the day,” which Serafina didn’t quite understand, since dinner began at eight o’clock.

  Just as they were finishing up with all their preparations, there was a knock at the door. Mr. Pratt, a tall, handsome footman in formal black-and-white livery, entered the room with a dark green dinner gown held gently in his white-gloved hands.

  “Thank you, Mr. Pratt,” Serafina said, happy to see her old colleague. He was a lean but not quite gangly bachelor in his mid-twenties, with a sharp-looking face and slicked-back dark hair. It amused her how he was the quintessence of formal reserve and stately decorum when he was upstairs in view of the Vanderbilts and their guests, but quite the boisterous rogue when he was downstairs in the kitchens.

  “You’re most welcome, Miss Serafina,” he said, gave her a hidden smile, and bowed out of the room.

  Once he had gone, Essie helped
her climb her way into the new dress and buttoned up the back for her. After applying a few more flourishes to her shoes, her ears, her neck, and her hair, Essie stepped back and looked at her. For several long seconds, she just stared at her and did not say a word, but then she finally spoke.

  “I sure do wish the young master could come a-jumpin’ back home and see how beautiful you look.”

  “You’re being very kind,” Serafina said.

  “No, I am not. If I could wish upon a star, I’d bring him right back from that school up there. He doesn’t need all that Northern bunk. I reckon he’s a proper Southern gent now, don’t you?”

  “You got that right,” Serafina said, smiling, but then turned more serious. “You haven’t heard any news about Master Braeden, have you?”

  “Aw, you really miss him somethin’ awful, don’t you?” Essie said. “I’m sure he’s fine up there, otherwise we would’ve heard about it.”

  Serafina nodded, hoping Essie was right. “I’m afraid my company tonight is going to be far less agreeable than Master Braeden.”

  “Oh, yessin,” Essie agreed. “And have ya heard about the thief in the house?”

  “The thief? What are you talking about?”

  “Things goin’ missin’,” Essie said, “Everybody’s on about it.”

  “What kind of things?”

  “I don’t know what all, but I heard that some of Mr. V’s expensive bronze animal sculptures have disappeared, for one.”

  “That is peculiar,” Serafina said, wondering. But over the last few months of peace and quiet, the convolutions of her mind had snagged on so many wicked snares, and she had startled at so many empty shadows, that she didn’t know what to trust anymore, whether it was backstairs gossip or the odd comment of a newly arrived guest. All she knew for sure was that the master of the house wanted his rat catcher at dinner tonight.

  When she finished fastening up the gown and straightening out the fall of its skirt, Essie touched Serafina’s shoulders and gently rotated her toward the full-length mirror.

  “Whoo-eee! Take a look at that, why don’t ya,” Essie said, seeming at least as proud of her own handiwork as she was of Serafina.