“Changing a light bulb,” Riley said. “What are you doing?”
“I just got home from school. Friday’s the last day!”
“That’s nice.” Riley glanced down. “What have you got there?”
Thad grinned and held out his drawing. “I made this today. I want to show Belinda!”
“Very nice tree,” Riley said. “Christmas in June?”
“Yeah! Do you know where she is?” he asked as Cynthia halted beside him.
“That I don’t. Better ask inside.”
“She’s gonna laugh at you, Thaddy-ass!”
“Will not. I’m gonna tell Dad you said a dirty word!”
“What, your name is a dirty word, Thaddy-ass?”
Riley grinned at Thad. “I’d punch her if I were you.”
“I’m gonna tell on you, Riley Doring!” shrieked the sour one.
Riley only laughed and returned to his task.
Cynthia huffed and walked into the house, slamming the door behind her. Thad waited a moment before letting himself into the big bright kitchen. He was happy to see his sister wasn’t still there as he approached the tall dark-haired man in white who stirred something in a large pot on the stove. “Hi, Mr. Stavros,” said Thad.
The chef looked down at him. His green eyes twinkled when he smiled. The maids always called him things like hot, and yummy and the Greek God. Thad assumed they were referring to his cooking which was really good. “Hello, Thad,” he said. “Are you here for your dinner preview?” They did this almost every day after school, and no one ever knew about it. It was like being in a secret club and Thad looked forward to it. He stood on tippy-toes. “What is it?”
“This is your first course. Onion soup.” Mr. Stavros held out a ladle. “It’s hot.”
Thad blew on it and sipped. “Yum! Can I have-”
“Not until dinner.” The cook put the ladle in the sink. “We don’t want to ruin your appetite.”
“But it’s just soup.”
The cook shook his head. “No can do.”
Thad sighed. “Fine. Then I’m not going to show you my Christmas tree.”
“Your Christmas tree?” Stavros cocked a brow in that way that made him look like a bad guy on TV.
Thad held the paper close to his chest and nodded. “Yep.”
“Come on now, don’t be like that. I want to see it.”
Thad shook his head.
“What if I give you one more taste of soup?”
Thad considered; it was really good soup. “Well,” he said, drawing out the word. “I guess.”
Mr. Stavros brandished a clean spoon and gave him another taste, then Thad held his picture up.
“It’s very nice,” said the chef. “Your dad’s going to love it.”
Thad nodded. “I want to show it to Belinda first. Do you know where she is?”
Niko Stavros tipped his head. “Who’s Belinda?”
“Oh,” said Thad. “She’s our new governess. She just started.”
“Ah. Another one already, huh?”
Thad nodded. “Yeah. And she’s real pretty, too.”
“Is she?” The cook smiled.
Thad wondered if Belinda would like Mr. Stavros as much as the maids and other ladies at Ravencrest did.
“I’m going to go find her,” said Thad. “Thanks for letting me taste the soup!”
Mr. Stavros winked and turned back to the stove.
Thad started down the long hall and just about jumped out of his skin when the new maid, Phoebe, came out of the big linen closet halfway down the corridor. “Thad, you scared me!” she exclaimed.
“Me, too!” Thad liked Phoebe. She was nice. “Have you seen Belinda?”
“No, not today. I’d try upstairs.”
“Thanks.” He started walking.
“Thad?” called Phoebe.
He turned. The maid approached and leaned down. “Mrs. Heller was out there just a minute ago.”
“Thanks!” He proceeded with caution; that old witch was the last person he wanted to run into!
He could see the entry hall, sunny and bright, beyond the dark arch, but no sign of Mrs. Heller. Still, he crept forward, keeping to the shadowed edges of the corridor. When he reached the end, he hunkered down behind a big blue and white vase and peered into vast room. It was empty, except for his sister, who was posing in front of a floor-length mirror near the entry doors, putting her hands on her hips and making fish lip faces. Torn between teasing her and sneaking past, he opted for the latter.
Clutching his drawing, he tiptoed along the edges of the great hall, pretending he was a spy delivering an important painting to King Arthur, and his sister was a bad guy who wanted to take the painting to her evil boss, Mrs. Heller. He glanced back. She was still stuck on the mirror, running her fingers through her hair and jutting her chest out.
He made it to the back of the hall and took the stairs as fast as he could. On the landing, he looked down and saw Cynthy finally starting toward the staircase. She hadn’t seen him and didn’t see him now. His mission had been successful.
Thad thought he heard music coming from his father’s office as he scurried past on his way to Belinda’s room, but his dad probably just forgot to turn off his stereo; he was rarely back from Manning Memoriam this early and the music was so soft he wasn’t even sure he had heard it.
Once inside the family quarters, he stopped at his room to shuck his backpack then continued on, drawing in hand, to Belinda’s door. He knocked, but there wasn’t any reply. “Belinda? It’s me, Thad. Are you in there?”
She didn’t answer. Maybe I should check and make sure the bad guys haven’t kidnapped her. He put his hand on the knob and started to turn it.
“What are you doing, Thaddeus?”
At the sound of Mrs. Heller’s voice, Thad turned and tried to run, but she caught him in a shoulder pinch. “No running, Thaddeus!”
“Ouch! Let me go!”
“You know the rules, young man.” Mrs. Heller jerked him.
“You’re breaking the rules, not me!”
Mrs. Heller’s grip tightened. Pain shot down Thad’s arm. “Excuse me, young man? What did you say to me?” She shook him and Thad tried to squirm out of her painful clutch.
“Ouch! You’re not even supposed to be here! This is our house!” It was true. This part of the house was for the family only.
Her grip softened but her voice was hard. “I have my reasons, and they’re none of your business.”
Thad moved away from her. He hated looking at her but he felt like he had to. Her eyes were like pools of thick tar. Thad raised his chin. “I’m telling Daddy.”
Her eyebrows rose and her mouth spread into a smile that made Thad feel cold inside. Then she tossed her head back and laughed like the wicked witch from The Wizard of Oz, before glaring at him. “Listen to me, young man.” She stepped closer and Thad stepped back. “I don’t care what you tell your father.” She took another step. “I’ll tell him that you talked back to me.”
“That’s a lie!”
She smirked and crossed her arms. “I’ll also tell him I caught you in your governess’ bedroom.”
“But I wasn’t-”
“Who do you think he’ll believe, Thaddeus?” She cocked her head to one side. “Now run along. I don’t have time for your nonsense.”
Thad turned, ready to leave.
“And Thaddeus?” said Mrs. Heller.
He faced her.
“I won’t say anything to you father. This time.”
Thad nodded. “Yes, Mrs. Heller. Do you know where Belinda is?”
“I believe she went out for a stroll.”
Thad left, walking slower now, turning left, intending to go back downstairs to get milk and cookies. As he reached the landing, he came face-to-face with his sister.
“What are you doing?” Cynthia asked.
He shrugged. “Mrs. Heller’s in our family hall. She’s not supposed to be there, is she?”
“Huh uh. Did she say anything?”
“Uh huh. She said she’d tell Daddy I was in Belinda’s room.”
“Were you?”
“No. I was knocking on her door was all.”
Cynthia nodded. “She’s back mailing you.”
“What’s back mailing?”
“She doesn’t want you to tell Daddy she was there so she said she’d tell on you. She’s getting you back!”
“It’s a lie.”
“It doesn’t matter. She’s a grownup.”
“Hey kids! Home from school already?”
Both turned and ran to their father who bent down and took them in his arms.
“We’re not early,” said Cynthia. You are!”
“Indeed I am. A meeting was cancelled so I came home.”
“You were in your at-home office!” Thad said. “I heard your music!”
“You did. Do you know what it was?”
“Beethoven?” Thad asked, barely wrapping his mouth around the word.
“No. Cynthia? Your best guess?”
“I didn’t hear it.”
“Guess anyway.” He smiled.
“Magic Flute?”
“Close enough. Why don’t we have some refreshments? You can tell me all about school. I know it’s almost over for the summer!”
“Okay,” said Cynthia.
Thad nodded. “Will you tell us a story?”
“Certainly. What’s that in your hand, Thad?”
“My painting. You want to see?”
“Yes, but let’s get settled first. No, no, keep it turned around. I want it to be a surprise.” He stood up. “Shall we go downstairs?”
“No,” Thad said. “Can we go to the TV room?”
“Of course. Much cozier.” He led them back to the family wing and into the room. It was probably Thad’s favorite place in the whole house. There were big comfy sofas and chairs, a monster-sized TV on the wall and a huge coffee table you could set stuff on and not get yelled at.
As soon as they were in, Daddy called Grant and asked for tea and milk and cookies for three. They got comfortable and in just a couple of minutes, Grant came in the open door and set a silver tray down. “Anything else?” he asked.
Their daddy cocked his eyebrow and smiled. “Only two cookies apiece?”
“Mr. Stavros doesn’t want you spoiling your dinner, sir.” He smiled back.
“A wise man.”
Grant turned to leave and Thad yelled, “Wait, Grant. I want you to see my picture, too!”
“Very well.” He joined them and Thad stood up and turned the picture around, his smile broad. “The teacher said to paint our favorite thing in the whole world. Mine’s a Christmas tree.”
“Spoken like a true Manning,” his daddy said. “It’s very nice, Thad.”
“It is,” Grant agreed. “Have you shown it to Belinda yet? She’ll be very impressed.”
“I wanted to, but I couldn’t find her and Mrs. Heller said she went for a walk.”
Grant’s eyebrow rose. “A walk? I didn’t see her leave.”
“It’s a big house, you probably just missed her,” Daddy said. “After spending the whole getting her office ready and your schoolbooks ordered, she likely needed to get some fresh air.”
Grant nodded. “I’ll leave you to your refreshments.” He left the room, shutting the door behind him.
***
Eric Manning had been feeling guilty about seeing so little of his kids. He’d barely spoken to them outside of meals of late because of the demands of Manning Memoriam. When a client rescheduled at the last minute, he took it as an opportunity to make up for lost time.
“Daddy?” Thad wiped away a milk mustache. “Do you think my Christmas tree looks like the one Prudence and Parnell had?”
“I’d imagine so,” Eric said. “In 1788, no one anywhere near London had a Christmas tree except the Mannings.”
“Why?” asked Thad, though he knew.
“Their grandmother, Johanna, was from Strasbourg, Germany, and she brought the tradition with her to England when she married Charles Manning. The Manning Christmas parties were the most popular in England because of those trees. Everyone thought it was a grand idea to see a tree inside a house.” He paused. “This house.”
“Tell us the story, Daddy!” Cynthia cried.
“In June?”
“Yes!” they chorused.
He sipped his tea and looked from one to the other. Cynthia would be a beauty, a strong-willed one, no doubt, and little Thad had the Manning looks and already showed the beginnings of a strong backbone. Eric only wished their mother, Isobel, were alive to see them now. You would be so proud of them. With his wavy blond hair, Thad was the very image of Eric’s direct ancestor, perfumier Thomas Manning, who had remained in London when Edward Manning and his son, Parnell, came to America. Someday, perhaps, he would tell Thad more details about Sir Thomas’ life, but not today. In fact, today, he would only tell his children the appropriate parts of the tale, though as always, he would remember the stories he had been told in vast, terrible detail.
London: The Frost Fair of 1788
December 10
“May we have gingerbread, Papa?” Six-year-old Prudence looked up at her father, her blond ringlets peeking out of her fur-lined red hood, her cheeks pink with cold.
Alice Manning smiled as her husband, Edward, picked his daughter up. “It will freeze before you’ve eaten it,” he said.
“No, Papa, I shall hurry!” She pulled one small hand out of her muff to touch the brim of his black tricorne hat.
“Careful, Daughter, or you’ll freeze your hand and my ears!”
She giggled, and he bent to scoop up her twin brother, Parnell. The little boy, trapped in a thick wool overcoat, could scarcely put his arms around his father’s neck.
“Gingerbread?” he asked. “Please, Papa?”
“There’s a gingerbread stand just there.” Alice Manning pointed toward a line of Frost Fair tents not twenty feet away. “I can smell it.” She tucked a loose strand of sable hair back into the hood of her blue cloak. “I fancy a piece myself.”
“Very well, then.”
“Gingerbread!” called the kids.
“You shall have it, children, patience.” He glanced around. “Where has Miss Harlow gotten to?”
Alice sighed. “She so often disappears when we need her.”
“Well, I dare say, that is inappropriate behavior for a nanny.”
“Indeed. But she does have the children reading quite well.” Even as she defended Carmilla Harlow, she wondered why she did so. Carmilla was educated and had the manners of gentry though she was lowborn. Alice didn’t quite trust the nanny but wasn’t certain why. Was it her beauty? Her composure? The children respected her and learned well from her, even if they did not seem fond of her. Perhaps, came the thought she most hated, it was Miss Harlow’s cool composure when Alice and Edward’s infant daughter, Celia, had been stolen from them on that cold February night last year. The thought of her lost babe made Alice feel faint but she steadied herself before Edward could notice. He had been so worried about her then. With effort, she pushed all thoughts of Celia from her mind.
“Gingerbread, please, Papa?” Prudence tipped his hat and, this time, it tumbled from his head and slid across the ice. He set the children down and gave chase, trying not to lose his balance. The hat came to rest in front of a pair of heavy black leather boots, polished and gleaming despite the slush and mud.
Thomas Manning, in a fur-lined overcoat similar to Edward’s, bent and fetched up the hat with one gloved hand. He brushed some ice crystals off with the other. “Here you are, Brother. Good as new.”
“Thank you.” Edward donned the hat, his chilled ears and scalp most grateful.
“Uncle Thomas! Uncle Thomas!”
Prudence and Parnell ran up, throwing their arms around their uncle’s waist.
“Careful, young master,” said Thomas, tousling his nephew’s hair. “Y
ou nearly knocked me over.”
At the sound of Sir Thomas Manning’s voice, Alice blushed and looked away. Edward’s younger brother looked so much like her handsome husband that, save for the blond hair, they might have been identical. Unlike her husband, however, Thomas was a vulgar young man, a gambler and a womanizer. Despite this, there was an air of danger and excitement about him that Alice was loath to admit she was drawn to, and had been since the day she’d met Edward’s younger brother.
“A good day to you, Lady Alice.” Thomas smiled, a quick flash of white teeth, then removed his feathered tricorne and gave her a rakish bow.
To her displeasure, his brilliant smile and the merry twinkle in his eye made her heart beat a little faster. She hated him for it. Alice raised her jaw. “I am well,” she said. “And you?”
“Splendid, dearest sister. Splendid.”
“We’re going to the gingerbread shop!” Prudence announced. She took her father’s hand and tugged. Parnell did the same with his uncle’s. Alice followed as the men let themselves be led twenty feet across the dirty ice to the tent. They stopped in front of the fragrant gingerbread shop and Thomas insisted on paying. This irritated Alice.
Her brother-in-law had inherited plenty of money and he’d put it all into his perfumery. For the first two years, he had seemed poor as a pauper. He’d refused Edward’s offers to help him out and Alice respected that, though she’d expected him to lose his fortune on the venture and end up back at Ravencrest. But she was wrong. Within three years, he became a perfumier to the royal court, and a Knight of the Order of Bath and was able to afford a shop on Jermyn Street almost across from Floris’ famous perfumery. And instead of living in just a few rooms of the Manning townhouse on St. James, he now had the entire mansion open and fully staffed. When they arrived yesterday, Alice had gasped at the opulence Sir Thomas, just twenty-five, could afford. Like his brother and the Mannings before him, Thomas had a head for business.
Edward had surprised her by supporting young Thomas’ desire to leave the traditional Manning business - monument makers to royalty for nearly three hundred years - to open his own business. His going left Edward with too much to do and he’d had to hire managers to help. But Edward hadn’t minded.
The Ghosts of Ravencrest (The Ravencrest Saga Book 1) Page 10