Serafina stood in front of the mirror and gazed at herself in amazement. She had worn a fancy dress a few months before, but she had never looked quite like this. She had certainly filled out here and there. And her face…What did she see? Was that confidence? Fear? Determination?
But she couldn’t help but take a hard swallow. She’d never stepped into a room full of high-society ladies and gentlemen without Braeden by her side. But this time she was going to walk right into a snake nest full of them all on her own.
With her long, shiny black hair falling down onto her shoulders instead of bound up in a traditional bun, her large amber eyes, and her sharp, feline cheekbones, she knew she wasn’t going to blend in with the other high-society girls. Essie had colored her cheeks, shadowed her eyes, and done her best to mask the traces of long, jagged scars on her neck and face, but the wounds were still visible. She was pretty sure the gentle folk at dinner were going to take one look at her and grimace a nasty scowl. But even so, standing before the mirror at that moment, it was the first time in a long time that she looked at herself with a strong and steady gaze and thought: This is me. The Guardian of Biltmore Estate.
“Thank you so much, Essie,” she said softly.
“Don’t let none of them fancy folk give you any guff, Miss Serafina.”
“I sure won’t,” she said, nodding with a smile.
She had come down the Grand Staircase hundreds of times, under all sorts of circumstances, but never like this, all washed and polished, her hair brushed and shaped, wearing her beautiful new forest-green gown for all to see. But more than all that, there was something else that had changed. This time she had come with a mission. Mr. Vanderbilt hadn’t said the words out loud, but she knew her purpose: Find the rat.
She wasn’t sure what the fancy folk were going to make of her when she entered the room, but as she crossed through the candlelit Main Hall on her way to dinner, Mr. Pratt and another footman, standing at attention near the house’s front doors, smiled.
“You look good, Miss Serafina,” Mr. Pratt said encouragingly, and her chest filled with a little hope.
The servants of the house didn’t know exactly what her purpose was—rumors had run rampant over the past few months—but more and more, they were getting to know her and see her as one of them.
But as she walked along the wide, formal corridor, past the tropical plants of the Winter Garden, and approached the Banquet Hall, her heart began to thump in her chest, and she could feel the perspiration rising beneath her dress. The footmen, the laundresses, and maids—whether they were brought over from England, or Northerners, or Southern mountain folk—these were her people. But the well-heeled ladies and gentlemen at dinner were some of the richest high hats in all of America—ambassadors to foreign countries, famous writers and painters, lords and ladies from Europe, owners of railroads and steamship companies, wealth and privilege of every ilk and strain. And she knew from experience that she couldn’t trust a single one of them until she caught the devious rat she suspected to be hiding among them.
As she passed the bronze sculpture of Mr. Vanderbilt in the corridor, she whispered, “Wish me luck in there, Mr. V.”
And then she pulled in a deep breath and stepped into the radiant light of the Banquet Hall.
The grand room’s barrel-vaulted ceiling was so high that a flock of Braeden’s crows could have an aerial battle in its heights, and its massive carved stone fireplaces were blazing with great fires, but it was the silk-wearing denizens of this magnificent cave who held her attention.
She seemed to have arrived just at the moment when dinner was about to begin. More than fifty ladies and gentlemen in formal dinner attire were already sitting at the enormously long table. The grand event was set in lavish Vanderbilt style, with silver serving trays, crystal goblets, and fine Biltmore china among vast sprays of flowers, and a silver candelabra rising above, casting it all in a glowing light.
She carefully scanned the dinner guests, one after the other, looking for any signs of danger. And she listened intently as they talked quietly among themselves, many of them whispering in anticipation that their host would soon announce the beginning of the evening’s festivities.
Mr. Kettering, the hunter she’d seen from her window earlier that day, came into the room behind her, looking flustered that he was late. He smiled at her in a friendly, almost nervous manner, and she nodded to him in return.
“Oh, Serafina,” Mrs. Vanderbilt said as she bustled toward her and guided her gently forward into the room. “Come in, come in. Mr. Vanderbilt told me that you would be joining us. Your seat is just here, my dear.” The mistress of the house gestured toward an empty chair at the table, and then hurried back to help Mr. Kettering find his place.
The embodiment of the perfect hostess, Mrs. Vanderbilt seemed to know all the guests personally, why they were there, and where they should sit.
As Serafina took her seat, she was careful not to pull the tablecloth with her legs or disturb the beautiful place setting in any way. She noticed that a few of the ladies and gentlemen sitting near her were staring at her. They did not appear alarmed or indignant to see her among them, but they seemed keenly interested in her, as if wondering just what sort of exotic creature she was.
Once she took her place at the table, she realized she was sitting in the exact seat in which Braeden normally sat. It felt so wrong, like Braeden had died and now everyone—including her—was just fine with it and going on with their lives. He should be here, she thought fiercely as a pang of lonesomeness swept through her. Somehow, she’d managed to lose track of her best friend, and now she had taken his chair!
“Hello, young lady,” a woman said in a kindly, aristocratic voice tinged with a New York accent.
“Hello,” Serafina said, a little surprised that the woman next to her had turned to speak with her.
She was an elderly, stately woman, in an expensive gown and wearing an elaborate diamond necklace. “My name is Mrs. Ascott. What’s yours?”
“I’m Serafina,” she said, sitting up.
“That’s a very nice name. And from where do you hail?”
Serafina thought it might be a bit melodramatic to say “The basement,” so she said, “Around these parts.”
“Ah!” the woman said, seemingly delighted. “So you’re a local girl.”
“Yes, very local,” Serafina agreed.
In between her comments about the loveliness of the table settings and the particularly breathtaking hue of the Vanderbilts’ candlelight, Mrs. Ascott took a sip from her water glass. Serafina tried to drink from her own glass, but ended up taking too big a gulp, and the water dribbled unceremoniously down her chin as she quickly growled and wiped it away. She despised drinking water that had been sitting still in a glass. She was far more used to drinking straight from the faucet in the utility sink in the basement.
As Serafina tried to focus on the job she’d come for, Mrs. Ascott spoke with her in a polite and pleasant fashion. But Serafina couldn’t help glancing down the length of the long table full of glittering guests. Her ears were keen enough that she could hear almost all of their conversations. The flurry of words came to her in a crisscrossing jumble of traveling stories, hunting tales, and comparisons of the latest clothing styles. But none of them seemed like evil conspiracies or treacherous plots. Despite what she had been imagining in her twitchy mind, everyone here seemed harmless.
Was this where she belonged now? Were these her new people? If she was wearing an extravagant gown, and hobnobbing with the most fashionable members of society, did that make her a civilized person?
At the very end of the table, several gentlemen were talking to Mr. Vanderbilt. Dressed for dinner in an immaculate black tailcoat and white tie, and freshly shaven and prepared for the evening, he looked so different than the bristled, haggard man she’d seen earlier that morning. And she knew she must look so very different to him as well. When he noticed her looking at him, she saw the recogn
ition in his dark eyes, but he did not nod or draw attention to her in any way. This was business. Find the rat.
But then an irksome doubt flitted into her mind like an annoying little bird. What if he hadn’t actually needed her help, but had given her a job and invited her upstairs because he felt sorry for her? Maybe Braeden had asked him to do it, or her pa. Maybe she was just imagining all these dangers and dramas and adventures-in-the-night, just remnants of a past that her troubled mind was having difficulty letting go of. The nerve-racking peace and quiet, she had called it. What if the people who cared for her were even more aware of her problems than she was herself, and they had conspired to help her?
But before she could dwell on it too long, she spotted the furry, dark gray shape of Smoke slinking slowly under the table, right between the feet of an unknowing Mrs. Ascott. And there was Ember madly clawing her way up the rare sixteenth-century Flemish tapestry on the wall. Serafina hissed in exasperation, just loud enough for Ember to hear, letting the little scoundrel know that she better make herself scarce and quick.
“Oh, are you all right?” Mrs. Ascott asked her, seeming to think that she had choked on her drink again.
“I’m all right, thank you,” Serafina muttered, trying to avoid sounding and looking like a wild, snarling, yellow-eyed beast.
But glancing quickly at the people around her, she was relieved to see that most of them were far too occupied with chatting with their neighbors and drinking their wine to notice anything else.
All except one.
The dark-haired girl named Jess was sitting right across from her, and the girl’s sapphire-blue eyes were staring straight at her.
Serafina wanted to confront Jess right then and there, to ask her what she’d been talking about earlier, and why she was always watching her so intently. But just as Serafina opened her mouth to speak, Mrs. Vanderbilt rose to her feet.
Gathering everyone’s attention, the lady of the house stood beside her husband and began to address all of her guests.
“If everyone would please stand,” Mrs. Vanderbilt said. “George will be saying grace for us.”
Murmurs of quiet approval and respect ran through the crowd as Mr. Vanderbilt nodded. “Thank you, Edith,” he said, “And thank you for arranging this wonderful gathering here for all of us tonight.”
Enthusiastic cheers of agreement exploded from the crowd, everyone thanking Mrs. Vanderbilt, who beamed in modest gratitude.
Serafina could see from his soft smile that it pleased Mr. Vanderbilt that everyone loved his wife. But then he turned more serious, and a contemplative expression came over his face as he folded his hands in front of him and bowed his head in prayer.
When all the guests around the table bowed their heads, Serafina lowered her head with them as Mr. Vanderbilt said grace.
“Amen,” everyone said in unison when he finished.
A handsome young man wearing the dark blue-and-gold dress uniform of a United States cavalry officer rose to his feet and held up his glass.
“If I may have everyone’s attention,” he said, his voice as soothing as a cup of warm autumn cider. “There’s one more thing to do before we begin our dinner.”
“Oh, it’s Lieutenant Kinsley,” Mrs. Ascott said excitedly as she leaned toward Serafina. “Such a lovely boy.”
He looked surprisingly young to be an officer, fresh-faced and neatly kept, with wavy blond hair swept to the side, soft gray eyes, a cleft chin, and a well-trimmed blond mustache. He stood with the erect posture of a fencer, and wore a cavalry saber belted at his side. And it was clear from his sly but good-natured smile that he knew he was standing among welcoming company.
“If you would please raise your glasses,” he said as he lifted his crystal wine goblet, and everyone around the table followed his request. His smile and his eyes were almost sparkling when he turned toward Mr. and Mrs. Vanderbilt with obvious affection. “I would like to propose a toast to our grand and admirable hosts, George and Edith. May Biltmore always reign!”
“Hear, hear!” everyone cheered. “Hear, hear!”
They all raised their glasses, smiling and nodding, as they looked upon Mr. and Mrs. Vanderbilt, who smiled back in return. And then, together, everyone drank from their glasses.
“You are too kind,” Mrs. Vanderbilt said graciously.
“And one last toast,” Lieutenant Kinsley said, raising his glass once again as he looked at the people gathered around the table. “We have come down to these Southern mountains to be with our good friends, both new and old, in this year of 1900, the start of a bold new century. As you all know, it is tradition in our families to come together at this time of year to spend the hunting season with one another. And I, too, look forward to our ‘time in the woods,’ for the challenge and the camaraderie it brings. I would ask that we hunt with honor and respect, not just for the beautiful hunting grounds that our generous hosts have provided us, but for the natural world we are about to enter. For it is in the mystery of these forests that we begin to find our true selves. So, finally, I would like to propose a toast to everyone here tonight. May all of our hunts be bountiful, all of our card games be exciting, and all of our teatimes be…” Here he seemed to be unable to find a suitable elegant phrase. “Full of tea!” he said finally, laughing, and everyone laughed with him. “And most importantly,” he said, turning more heartfelt now, “may our time with our beloved friends and family be fulfilling to our souls.”
“Bravo!” many of the guests shouted, nodding warmly.
“Hear! Hear!” others called as they raised their glasses and drank.
She wasn’t sure if she belonged among these ladies and gentlemen or not, but watching what Mrs. Ascott, Mr. Kettering, and the others did with their glasses, Serafina raised her water glass and participated in the toasts with everyone else. There was something that she liked about this simple gesture of honoring the people around her, sharing in that moment with them. It made her feel as if she was one of them, part of their family. And she marveled at the bold young lieutenant, the way he was so relaxed and charming in front of everyone. She had been so nervous to even attend the dinner. She couldn’t even imagine standing up in front of all these people and speaking to them. And she had to admit that, despite what else was going on, the lieutenant’s toast had made her feel at home, as if things were going to be all right after all.
And as Lieutenant Kinsley sat down, his gray eyes looked across the table at her and he smiled kindly.
Serafina thought for a moment that he might try to speak with her, but as the footmen around the table began to serve the first course, a loud, overbearing voice at the other end of the table broke in.
“Well, I will tell you this,” the man bellowed to those around him. “It’s not the gun, but the hunter pulling the trigger that makes the difference in the kill.”
The man reminded her of an old, musclebound bull, with a swollen chest and bulging shoulders. He had a square jaw, a blockish head, and deeply tanned, weathered skin, like he’d spent years of his life outdoors.
“But since you’re asking the question,” the man continued, his booming voice filled with self-importance, “I do my hunting with the most effective weapon that has ever existed, the venerable 1873 Winchester Henry Repeating Rifle.” As he talked, he sat with his chest stuck out like a rooster showing off for hens, which in this case were the men and women gathered around him at the table, listening excitedly to his stories. “You see, the Henry Repeating Rifle is known as the Gun that Won the West. I fought with it in the Indian Wars and I’ve hunted with it all through North America, South America, and Africa.”
Many of the people around the loudmouthed hunter seemed enthralled with him, but Serafina noticed that Lieutenant Kinsley, who was trying to eat his soup, glanced at the man with a flicker of distaste. The lieutenant didn’t seem to like the man any more than she did.
“And what do you make of Africa, Colonel Braddick?” one of the ladies asked, filled with starry-
eyed admiration for a man who had traveled to such distant places.
“Oh, the hunting there is marvelous,” the colonel said. “I’m proud to say that I bagged all of the Big Five: Cape buffalo, black rhinoceros, African lion, elephant, and leopard—the five game animals renowned for being the most difficult and dangerous to hunt on foot. But I wasn’t done there. I went on to kill every species the safari continent has to offer: Thomson’s gazelle, hippopotamus, warthog, greater kudu, springbok, impala, eland, zebra, serval cat, caracal cat, cheetah—You name it, I shot it.”
Serafina felt her gut tightening as she listened to this man bragging about his trophies. She had taken pride in doing her job as Chief Rat Catcher, so she understood the thrill of the chase, but it seemed so wrong to go around hunting all those beautiful animals. They weren’t harming anyone, and he didn’t need them for food. He just wanted to kill them for killing’s sake.
She couldn’t understand why Mr. Vanderbilt had invited people like this into his home to go out into the forest and kill its animals. It seemed so wrong. Why was he allowing this?
“With all your honors and success, Colonel, what keeps you going at it?” a wealthy gentleman named Mr. Suttleston asked. “I mean, it can’t be easy trekking through the wilds of Africa.”
“It’s the challenge of it all, really,” the colonel replied philosophically. “I love the idea of using my abilities to track down an animal. Perhaps it’s the most powerful, or it has the largest rack of antlers, or it’s the rarest and most beautiful of animals—doesn’t really matter—it’s the challenge I love. The trophy head on the wall isn’t just a record of a killing; it’s a badge of honor, a remembrance of personal skill and experience coming together into a single striking moment.”
“With all you have done, you must find the hunting in North Carolina to be rather tame by comparison,” said a rotund, bearded Southern gentleman as he thirstily drank his wine.
Serafina and the Seven Stars Page 6