Serafina and the Twisted Staff (The Serafina Series)

by Robert Beatty

  Essie selected the strands of black hair and pulled so hard that it tugged Serafina’s head back.

  ‘Sorry, miss,’ Essie said.

  ‘Keep goin’,’ she said. As Essie worked, Serafina decided to ask a question about what she’d seen earlier that morning. You said you’re fixin’ to be a lady’s maid. Have you served that new girl who’s been visitin’?’

  ‘The English girl,’ Essie groaned, making it pretty clear she was none too keen on her.

  ‘You don’t like her?’ Serafina asked, amused.

  ‘I don’t trust that girl any farther than I can throw her, coming in here with all her fancy high-and-mighty airs and puttin’ a bead on the young master first thing.’

  Serafina wasn’t sure exactly what she meant by all that, but it occurred to her that someone in Essie’s position, working in the rooms on the second and third floors, might see things that she herself did not.

  ‘What about the murder investigator who came in last night?’ she asked. ‘Have you seen him?’

  ‘Not yet, but I heard from one of the footmen that he had all sorts of trunks and cases hauled up to his room, filled with strange instruments of some kind. He’s been giving all the servants orders, demanding this and that.’

  That doesn’t sound good, Serafina thought.

  Having yanked out several chunks of black strands, Essie picked up her brush and started brushing Serafina’s hair in long, pulling strokes. It felt so strange but so oddly pleasant to have someone pull a brush through her hair, the sensation of the drag on her roots, and the detangling of her hair, and the gentle rake of the soft bristles against her scalp. She had to do everything she could to keep from purring.

  ‘Can I ask you a question, miss?’ Essie asked as she brushed. ‘Ya know, Mrs King keeps tellin’ all of us girls to mind our own business, but everyone’s been talkin’ about it all the same. We all want to know what’s goin’ on.’

  ‘Going on with what?’ Serafina asked uncertainly.

  ‘With Mrs V.,’ Essie said. ‘She didn’t come out of her room for breakfast this mornin’, and she’s been feelin’ so poorly lately that we hardly see her. I’m sure she’ll get through it, whatever it is, but I was just wonderin’ if you’ve heard anything.’

  ‘I didn’t realise she was down sick,’ Serafina said as a knot formed slowly in her stomach. That explained why she hadn’t seen her.

  ‘She’s been sick as a dog some days,’ Essie continued. ‘Then other times she perks up for a while. We seen the doctor a-comin’ and a-goin’. We all just want to know if she’s goin’ to be all right.’

  ‘I honestly don’t know, Essie. I’m sorry,’ Serafina said. The news that Mrs Vanderbilt was sick hung heavy in her heart. ‘But when I hear something, I’ll be sure to tell you.’

  ‘I’d be much obliged,’ Essie said, nodding. ‘And I’ll do likewise.’

  Finally, Essie set down the hairbrush. She took Serafina’s hair in her hands, wrapped it round and rolled it up into a loose twist on her head. Then she fastened it in place.

  ‘There you go, miss,’ Essie said. ‘I think that will do ya for a little while.’

  When Serafina looked in the mirror, she saw a new girl staring back at her. Her own face was still there, still looking back at herself, but with the dress Essie had lent her and her hair pulled up, she almost looked presentable.

  Essie smiled, proud of her handiwork. ‘You’re a right proper girl now,’ she said, nodding with satisfaction.

  ‘I think I am,’ Serafina said in astonishment.

  Serafina turned towards Essie and, remembering how she had recoiled from her touch when they first met on the stairs, she reached out and slowly put her hand on Essie’s arm like she had seen other people sometimes do. The gesture felt unnatural to her, to actually be touching someone in this way, and she wasn’t sure it was the right kind of moment for it, but when she did Essie’s face glowed with happiness.

  ‘Aw, miss, it hain’t nothin’ – just helpin’ out another girl, is all.’

  ‘I truly appreciate it, Essie,’ Serafina said. Then Serafina paused and decided to ask one more question before she went. ‘A little bit ago, you said everybody’s got somethin’ that spooks them.’

  ‘I think that’s about right, don’t you?’

  ‘It sounded like you were thinking about something in particular. For you, is it the fear of getting sick like the dairyman’s boy?’

  ‘No, miss.’

  ‘Then, what is it? What spooks you?’

  ‘Well, I ain’t too keen on haints, of course – don’t suppose anyone is, people comin’ back from the dead and all that – but what sends me a-runnin’ are the stories my papaw used to tell round the fire at night to scare us little ones.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘Oh, you know, how when a wind kicks up on a calm day and blows somethin’ over, or you find an animal dead in the woods for no good reason, people always say, “It’s just the old man of the forest playin’ his tricks again”.’

  Serafina felt her lips getting dry as she listened to Essie’s story. She could hear the fear creeping into the girl’s voice. ‘What old man?’ Serafina asked.

  ‘I’m sure you’ve heard the stories same as me, an old man with a walking stick wandering the shadows of the forest, driftin’ in and out of the mist, leading folk off the road and getting them lost in the swamps. Sometimes they say he causes mischief around the cabin, curdled milk and dead chickens in the yard. My papaw used to love tellin’ stories, but them ones scared me half to death. Still do, truth be told.’

  ‘But who is the old man in the stories? Where’d he come from? What’s he want?’ Serafina asked, mystified.

  Essie shook her head and shrugged. ‘Knock me cold if I know!’ She laughed. ‘It’s just some old stupid story, but for some reason it scares the livin’ daylights out me like nothin’ else. If I find myself out in the woods at night and hear the break of a stick or a gust of wind, half time I just run on home as fast as I can. I’m so bad awful scared of the dark it ain’t even funny! That’s why I love it here.’

  ‘Here? Why?’ Serafina asked, unable to fathom the mysterious connection.

  ‘Indoor plumbing,’ Essie said, laughing. ‘Ain’t gotta go out to the outhouse every night in the dark!’

  Serafina smiled. Her new companion was a daytime girl through and through, but there was something about Essie Walker that she was growing mighty fond of.

  ‘But truly, miss,’ Essie said, turning more serious. ‘You’ve gotta get goin’ back downstairs, and I gotta get back to work. If we stay holed up in here like a couple of treed raccoons much longer, they’re gonna send the dogs out for us.’

  ‘The dogs?’ Serafina said in alarm.

  ‘You know, the bloodhounds, the raccoon dogs. It’s just an expression.’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ Serafina said, realising that, like Essie, there were maybe more than a few things in the world that spooked her.

  As Serafina said goodbye, she was sorry to go, especially to what awaited her downstairs, but she was glad to have made a new friend.

  Serafina flew down the stairway, barely touching every fifth step, one flight, two flights, three flights down. Hitting the main floor, she dashed past a startled footman at the butler’s pantry door, then headed down the narrow passage through another door, across the Breakfast Room, then another corridor and finally stopped, took a breath and stepped calmly into the Winter Garden.

  Tall, dangling palms, ficus trees and other exotic plants filled the room. Sunshine poured down through the arched dome of ornate beams that held the Winter Garden’s glass ceiling aloft. Fine pieces of ceramic art were displayed on small viewing stands throughout the tiled room, and French rattan furniture provided places for the fancy folk to lounge.

  She’d come here to this central room in the house hoping to meet Braeden before being questioned by the investigator, but she felt so vulnerable walking openly into this grand place where once she had only
prowled.

  She kept checking for places to hide, her muscles pulsing, first this way, then that, as if she’d need to flee at any moment. Then she spotted Braeden and the English girl standing together. Serafina hesitated. Her body tensed.

  The two citizens of the upstairs had changed out of their riding outfits – he into his afternoon black coat, trousers and tie, and she into a sky-blue dress with a narrow-waist corset, capped puffy sleeves, and silk chiffon covering her forearms. The girl’s chestnut-red tresses were piled high on her head, swept back in soft, neat waves, held in place by a twined wooden shawl pin, then spilling down on one side in twisted rolls, sausage curls so tight and perfectly formed they reminded Serafina of coiled springs in her pa’s workshop. Whoever they had assigned to be the girl’s lady’s maid that afternoon must have spent hours curling her hair with a fire-heated curling iron. Serafina had guessed before that the girl was about fourteen years old, but she could see now that she was clearly trying to act older. She wore finely wrought, dangling silver earrings and a black velvet ribbon choker necklace with a cameo pendant. Serafina had to admit that she was an elegant-looking girl, with striking eyes the colour of the forest.

  As Serafina stepped closer to them, her heart pounded far harder than if she’d been entering a battle with the wolfhounds. Out of habit, she walked silently. Neither of the humans noticed her. But Gidean’s sharply pointed black ears perked up, then dropped down in relief when he recognised her. He wagged his tail nub excitedly. Serafina smiled, warmed by the dog’s enthusiasm.

  The English girl was facing in Serafina’s direction, but she didn’t take notice of her until it became quite obvious that Serafina was walking straight towards them. The girl was clearly startled by Serafina’s appearance. Her eyes widened and she tilted her head. She looked almost scared. But as Serafina came closer, the girl seemed to compose herself more firmly. She looked at Serafina with a withering gaze, as if to say, Why in the world is someone dressed like you walking towards someone dressed like me?

  If you don’t like this, you should have seen what I was going to wear, Serafina thought.

  Pausing just short of them, Serafina stood between the bronze fountain in the centre of the room and a beautiful blue and white Ming vase on a small wooden table beneath a collection of graceful palms. Serafina remembered overhearing that Mr Vanderbilt had purchased the vase on his travels to the Orient, that it was over four hundred years old and one of the most valuable works of art in the house. Serafina stood so still and out in the open that for a moment she almost felt like one of the pieces of furniture.

  When Braeden finally turned and saw her there, his face lit up, and he smiled. ‘Hello, Serafina!’ he said without hesitation.

  Serafina’s body filled with a wave of relief and happiness. ‘Hello, Braeden,’ she said, hoping she sounded at least somewhat normal.

  Even though he should have been expecting her, Braeden seemed so surprised and happy to see her there. Had he been worried about her? Or was it simply because she so seldom visited the main floor in the daytime?

  ‘I . . .’ she began, not sure how to say it properly. ‘I am in receipt of your note,’ she said, trying to sound as sophisticated as possible but wanting to make it clear she understood the seriousness of the interrogation.

  He nodded knowingly, stepped towards her and spoke to her in a low voice. ‘I don’t know what we’re walking into here, but I think we need to be very careful.’

  ‘What’s the investigator’s name?’ she asked. ‘Where does he come from?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Braeden said. ‘He came in late last night.’

  ‘And what does your uncle say about all this?’

  ‘If the authorities determine that Mr Thorne was murdered, then the murderer will be hanged.’

  ‘He actually said that?’ Serafina asked, taken aback, but even as she and Braeden talked she felt the air bristling around her. When Braeden first saw her and greeted her with such warmth, she had noticed that the English girl stepped back a little, her chin raised and her face tense with uncertainty. Now she was just standing there, waiting quietly. The situation was becoming increasingly awkward for her. Braeden should have been introducing her, but he wasn’t. He seemed to have forgotten her. Serafina couldn’t imagine that was a pleasant feeling.

  It dawned on her that the girl might be as uncomfortable with her surroundings at Biltmore as Serafina was. The girl was a newcomer, still trying to find her place to fit in, and now here was the one boy she knew whispering with some strange, shaggy-haired, tooth-marked vagrant. Despite the sharpness Serafina had felt for the girl the first time she saw her, she almost felt sorry for her.

  ‘Oh yes,’ Braeden said, seeming to read Serafina’s mind and suddenly remember his responsibilities. ‘Serafina, this is –’

  But at that moment, Mrs Vanderbilt came sweeping down the steps into the Winter Garden. ‘Ah, I see that you’re all here. Good. I’ll take you down to the library to speak with Mr Vanderbilt and the detective.’

  The lady of the house wore a handsome afternoon dress, and she was putting on a good front, but Serafina could see she did indeed look a bit peaked. Her cheeks were pale, but her brow was flushed. She seemed to be trying to soldier on through her day with a positive attitude despite her poor health.

  ‘Serafina, before we go down, I would like you to meet someone,’ Mrs Vanderbilt said, bringing her with a soft gesture of her hand towards the English girl. ‘I would like to present Lady Rowena Fox-Pemberton, who is visiting us from very far away. I hope the two of you can become good friends during her time here at Biltmore. We must do all we can to make her feel as if Biltmore is her home.’

  ‘It’s good to meet you, miss,’ Serafina said politely to the girl.

  ‘My lady,’ Lady Rowena said as she looked Serafina up and down in surprise.

  ‘Excuse me?’ Serafina asked, genuinely confused.

  ‘You are to address me not as “miss”, but as “my lady”,’ Lady Rowena corrected Serafina in her formal English accent.

  ‘I see,’ Serafina said. ‘Is that how they do it in England? And will you be addressing me as “my lady” also, then?’

  ‘Of course not!’ the girl said in astonishment as colour rose to her cheeks.

  ‘All right,’ Mrs Vanderbilt said, reaching out and touching each of the girls with an open hand in an attempt to smooth over the situation. ‘I’m sure we’ll get the English–American relations sorted out . . .’

  But as Mrs Vanderbilt reached gently towards her, Serafina reflexively stepped back and felt the brush of a tall, dangling palm frond against her cheek. The palm leaf seemed to actually move of its own accord and get tangled in her hair. Startled, Serafina reached up and spun quickly to brush it away, thinking that it must be a tree snake or something, for that was exactly how it felt. She snapped round so fast that she bumped into the furniture behind her.

  ‘Oh, do be careful there, Serafina!’ Mrs Vanderbilt cried out in panicked dismay, reaching towards the thing behind Serafina.

  That was when Serafina realised that her sudden movement had bumped the small wooden stand that held the Ming vase. The vase tipped off the stand and fell. Serafina watched in horror as the priceless piece of art plummeted towards the hard tiled floor. She tried to reach for it, but she was too late. It hit the floor with a crash and shattered into a thousand pieces. The sight of the exploding porcelain took Serafina’s breath away. The sound of it echoing through the house churned a sickness in her stomach.

  Everyone stared at the shattered vase in shock and then looked at her.

  Serafina’s cheeks burned with heat, and her eyes filled with tears. ‘I’m so, so sorry, Mrs Vanderbilt,’ she said, moving towards her. ‘I did not mean to do that. I’m so sorry.’

  ‘Maybe we can glue it,’ Braeden said, dropping to his knees and trying to pick up the shards as Lady Rowena Fox-Pemberton stared balefully at Serafina and shook her head as if to say, I knew you didn’t belong in the hou
se.

  ‘George is going to be heartbroken,’ Mrs Vanderbilt muttered to herself, her hand over her mouth as she stared in stunned disbelief at the broken pieces on the floor. ‘It was one of his favourites . . .’

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ Serafina said again, her heart filled with an aching, shameful pain. ‘I don’t know what happened. The plant attacked me.’ But even as the words slipped out, she knew how immature they sounded. Lady Rowena just stared at her, taking it all in, too smart and well poised to actually smile, but seeming to be on the edge of it. Serafina looked around her at the plants and the other objects in the room. She didn’t understand it. She had spent her whole life prowling in this house, ducking and darting, and never once had she ever knocked over or broken anything. And now, just as she was starting to come out into the upstairs world, just as she was wanting to show Mrs Vanderbilt how much she appreciated her friendship, she did this horrible, stupid, clumsy thing. She wanted to run back down to the basement and cry. It took every ounce of her courage to remain standing there in her shame.

  Finally, Mrs Vanderbilt looked at her nephew on the floor, trying to clean up the mess. ‘Braeden,’ she said, ‘I’m afraid it’s not going to work.’

  Sensing the gravity of his aunt’s mood, Braeden slowly stopped his efforts.

  ‘You do not have time for this,’ Mrs Vanderbilt said. ‘You and Serafina are expected to speak with Detective Grathan.’

  Serafina had never seen Mrs Vanderbilt act so cold and businesslike to Braeden or anyone else, and it was totally her fault.

  ‘I’ll take Lady Rowena for a walk to the conservatory,’ Mrs Vanderbilt said. ‘You and Serafina go down to the library immediately.’

  Mrs King, the head housekeeper, entered the Winter Garden and spoke directly to Mrs Vanderbilt. ‘I’ve asked a maid to get a broom and dustpan to clean up the broken vase,’ she said, her voice level and professional. As the highest-ranking servant at Biltmore, the matron possessed a commanding presence. Wearing a practical olive-green dress with mother-of-pearl buttons and a sash round her waist, she kept her hair pulled back in a tightly controlled bun behind her head.