Ashes of Roses Page 11
“What a brilliant idea,” Ashley’s blue-gray eyes lit with appreciation. “Just imagine the history contained within. It may take years, as you say, but the time will pass, regardless.”
“That was our thought as well,” Miles said.
“The information discovered so far, has already assisted in solving two mysteries,” I remarked. “We’re curious to know what else we might find.”
“I shall suggest just such an inventory to Lady Carlisle,” Ashley decided. “I can imagine finding information that is of interest not only to the family, but which could be included in the tour, as well.”
“Were the bi-weekly tours one of your ideas?” I asked.
“They were,” Ashley answered. “There’s a good deal of history here that’s worth sharing, and people love the chance to see beyond the gardens. Not only locals, but tourists as well. It helps a bit toward upkeep on the manor. As you must know, keeping a place like this from falling into decay is an ongoing endeavor.”
“When Grandma Polly hired me, I was impressed that aside from the leaking roof in the caretaker’s cottage, there was very little disrepair,” I said. “The estate needed a good cleaning, and the gardens needed an overhaul, but that was about it.”
“The cellar doors also needed replacing,” Miles added, and I almost laughed at the teasing gleam in his eyes. “Other than that, it was well-maintained, as Anika said.”
“That’s wonderful,” Ashley replied. She sounded impressed. “It’s a bit of an ongoing effort, here at the manor. There are many ways in which it could provide for its own upkeep, but one step at a time.”
“We’ve talked about converting parts of our estate into an inn, or museum,” I volunteered. “We have so much space that’s underutilized.”
Ashley’s eyes brightened.
“That has been my idea of late, as well. There are regular inquiries from couples wishing to hold wedding ceremonies in the gardens. Imagine offering a grand reception, and lodging, as well!”
“That sounds great,” I agreed. “Have you suggested it to the Carlisles?”
“Only to Edmund,” Ashley admitted. “When he feels the time is right, he shall suggest it to Lady Carlisle. For now, the tours are a success. That is greater encouragement to expand the manor’s offerings than anything I could say, or Edmund, at this time.”
“Then Lady Carlisle is solely in control of the estate?” I questioned.
“I suppose… Edmund wouldn’t wish to make a decision without his mother’s approval,” Ashley replied.
Lady Carlisle was in sole control of the estate. Not that it mattered, necessarily, but it was the truth.
“Lady Carlisle is very proud of the manor, and the family name,” Ashley added. “She would not wish for either to be cheapened, or exploited.”
“There’s a fine line between sharing one’s home with the public, and losing all sense of home in the process,” Miles acknowledged.
“If we find that line, we’ll be more inclined to move forward with similar plans, ourselves,” I said. “Although, with the Foundation’s many programs, and our growing number of employees, we may find it’s best to keep it available for our own guests, receptions, and seminars.”
“That is a very good point,” Miles acknowledged. “The Lodge isn’t large enough to accommodate the gatherings I foresee in the future, nor would we be willing to cancel prior reservations, in order to accommodate personal guests.”
“Goodness, no,” I agreed.
With the training seminars we had planned for our developing missing persons teams, I could see being very grateful for the space the estate provided. We could have a “thanks for being a valued employee” event there, and have room for all of our employees to attend. The same couldn’t be said for our other properties. I was liking the idea of reserving the estate for our own personal use, more and more. It might be underutilized much of the time, but when we did need it, the space would be invaluable.
I could just imagine the elaborate training scenarios we could put together for our investigators. It was perfect, really.
“…it was a marketing ploy after all, though there were those all too anxious to support it,” Miles said. He was telling the truth—of course—but about what?
“I’m quite sure no such stories have been told about the manor,” Ashley declared, with a slight frown. “I can see how opening up to overnight guests could result in it, merely due to the overactive imaginations of some. There certainly has been no evidence of ghostly activity in the past, nor can I believe there ever shall be.”
Miles was probably referring to Stonecastle Inn, and Katharine, who was accused of setting fire to the Abrams mansion, which later became the Inn, thereby killing her father, and herself. The story was completely made up, and not at all the truth.
“It isn’t a marketing technique I would recommend,” Miles said, and I wholeheartedly agreed. It sure backfired on the Lodge’s previous owner, when he tried it!
“It’s a great way to open the door to an uninvited guest,” I half-laughed, and that was all I was going to say about that. “Had Stonecastle’s previous owners not started the stories and kept the lies fed, it never would’ve attracted the attention of those willing to say anything, for a moment’s worth of attention. The current owners are having a blast setting straight those who haven’t yet heard the truth, and who insist on attempting to perpetuate the story.”
“I suspect Morgan and Sarah are disappointed there aren’t more opportunities in which to do so,” Miles smiled, and I laughed. So did Ashley.
“I can imagine so,” she replied. “I am quite certain neither Edmund, nor Lady Carlisle would wish to start such tales. I should certainly warn against it, if they did!”
A gong sounded softly in the distance.
“That’ll be the dinner signal,” Ashley explained. She rose to her feet, so we did too.
She seemed suddenly nervous. I wondered why, but could think of no way to ask, without—well—asking! I really liked Ashley, but we just met. We needed more minutes and shared experiences than this, before it would come across as anything but nosy, otherwise.
“It’s right this way,” she said, and we followed her lead.
Down the corridor we went, through drawing rooms, sitting rooms, and more corridors, to what appeared to be another drawing room. This one, unlike the others, was occupied. Having seen the Carlisles’ photos online, I recognized the man and woman seated within, as the lord and lady of the manor.
Ashley paused in the doorway, so we did, too. While we waited for whatever it was we were waiting for, I studied the two people who invited us here, neither of whom appeared very inviting, at the moment.
Though Lady Carlisle was slight of figure, she had a look of iron about her, as though she’d sooner break, than bend. Her abundant, pale blond hair was perfectly held in place by jeweled combs. I couldn’t help wondering what sort of vitamins she took to acquire such a mass. I’d never seen such a headful! Was it really all hers? One thing was certain; no passage of time, or shared experiences would induce me to ask anyone with eyes so cold, if she was wearing a hairpiece. Or using stuffing, to give the illusion of having more hair than seemed possible for one neck to bear up under. Those pale blue eyes were more appraising than welcoming, as she sat there in her chair that very much resembled a throne, one elbow draped across the arm, while with her other hand, she fingered the long string of pearls around her neck. Her ice blue gown perfectly matched the lack of warmth in her eyes.
Sir Edmund, known as Edmund to some, was seated on the opposite side of the room. His hair was significantly darker than his mother’s, and his eyes a light brown. His chin, like Miles’ father’s and brother’s, was cleft. Like his mother, he, too, looked rather cold. Or was it preoccupied?
“Mr. and Mrs. Bannerman, and Miss Fairgrave,” Solemn Guy the third announced.
Sir Edmund appeared to rouse himself, and stood with a nod of acknowledgement as we entered the room.
The trip, yes…
“It was,” Miles replied.
Sir Edmund’s gaze remained fixed on Miles and I. For someone who was said to be on very friendly terms with Ashley, his lack of acknowledgement was incongruous. The light of gladness in Ashley’s eyes at first sight of him was dimming rapidly, as confusion and apprehension took its place. Lady Carlisle spared her a case of frostbite, and kept her icy glances to herself. What on earth was going on here?
“Monsieur Delacroix, and Countess Grieve,” Solemn Guy the third announced.
A dark-haired guy, probably in his late forties or fifties and graying at the temples, entered the room with a much younger woman. If she was even half his age, I’d be surprised. Her hair was also dark, and wound in a French twist. Her makeup was pale, except for the vivid red lipstick. She wore a loose, sleeveless, above the knee, gold dress of… it looked like lamé. It also looked weird, so weird, it had to be intentional. It flared from shoulder to hem as if outfitted with wires, foiling even the faintest suggestion of curves. I was sure wherever she wore it, pretty much all eyes were on her. It was so awful, it was hard to look away. I wanted it to be better than it was, but it just wasn’t. The Countess however, didn’t seem troubled at all. She looked entirely disinterested, and as if she’d rather be just about anywhere else. With that last sentiment, I could sympathize.
Lady Carlisle stood.
An older man, tall, thin, silver-haired and in formal dress, entered the room through a second door. If I had to guess, I’d say he was Mr. Giles, the butler.
“Dinner is now served,” he announced somberly.
“Sir Edmund, escort Countess Grieve, if you please,” ordered Lady Carlisle. Because that was not a request.
Sir Edmund nodded stiffly, in acknowledgement.
Ashley’s expression was now pensive, as she looked on. I wondered what in the world was the matter with the guy. If they had a falling out, clearly it was news to her.
“Monsieur Delacroix, you will escort Mrs. Bannerman,” Lady Carlisle directed.
I’m sure I looked startled, because I was. My grip on Miles’ arm tightened.
“With all due respect, your customs are not ours,” Miles said politely, but firmly, as he squeezed my hand reassuringly. “It is well you should know that to suggest a man’s wife be escorted and attended by another, whether it be to dinner or at any other time, is considered an insult to both.”
If there was a pin, and someone dropped it, the sound would ring out loud and clear. Everyone seemed rather stunned. Even the Countess looked slightly interested.
“I do beg your pardon,” Lady Carlisle found her voice, at last. There was a glimmer of respect in her eyes.
“I am sure no offense was intended,” Miles replied graciously. “You have my pardon.”
I wouldn’t say there was warmth in the woman’s eyes, but there was definite respect, mixed with curiosity. Maybe she wasn’t used to being stood up to. Or maybe she realized she met someone stronger than herself. She might as well give up.
“You are most kind,” Lady Carlisle said. “Mr. Bannerman, if you will escort Mrs. Bannerman.”
Miles gave a nod of acknowledgement.
“Monsieur Delacroix, if you will escort Miss Fairgrave,” Lady Carlisle said, and the man offered her his arm.
Ashley took it, without a word. She no longer sought a glance from Sir Edmund, who offered the Countess his arm.
At first the Countess gave it a look like she couldn’t imagine what he expected her to do with it. Then it seemed to dawn on her what the rest of us were doing. She shifted slightly, causing her bizarre outfit to shimmy awkwardly. Kind of like jello. Whoever designed the thing must have a serious case of hatred against women, that was all I could come up with. She took his arm, which forced her to stretch out her own. Even so, her skirt was short on space, and tilted oddly. The Countess paid it no mind, and returned to looking disinterested.
Sir Edmund led the way through the doorway and into the dining room as best he could, with the Countess’ wired hem bouncing rather firmly against the side of his leg at each step, and we followed.
Along the white, ornamentally plastered ceiling, three chandeliers were spaced evenly. A long table was centered beneath, though judging by the size of the room, fewer leaves were in use, than not. Fresh floral arrangements of blue delphiniums and white rosebuds stretched the length of the heavy white cloth, and candlelight from the four silver candelabras glinted off the silver tableware. I rapidly surveyed the many pieces, and felt satisfaction. I recognized each one, though it was a first to see such a variety gathered for a single meal. In my opinion it cluttered up the table, but clearly different standards were practiced here. While at the House of Bannerman understated elegance was the norm, Bannerman Manor preferred the over-the-top ostentatious.
They seemed fond of coming between husbands and wives, too! Separate bedrooms, shuffling couples at dinner—I could only imagine what would’ve come next, if Miles hadn’t put an end to it.
But of course, he did. I smiled up at him, and he smiled back, as he pulled out the chair at the place indicated by Lady Carlisle, and I had a seat, along with the rest of the women. The men followed suit.
At the head of the table, sat Lady Carlisle. Ashley was seated on her left, beside Monsieur Delacroix. Countess Grieve was seated beside him—after much maneuvering on the part of her dress, which wasn’t designed for sitting. She finally hiked the back of it over the back of the chair, which kept it from flying up in the air like an old-fashioned hoop-skirt. It also left Sir Edmund uncertain as to how to go about scooting her chair in. He gave up after a moment’s hesitation, and took his place on her left, at the foot of the table. Miles was on Lady Carlisle’s right, and I on his.
Our vantage point offered an unobstructed view of our fellow diners. I kept a curious eye on them, as the butler and solemn guys first, third, and fourth, unobtrusively placed the soup course in front of each guest. One of the many crystal glasses waiting at each place along with the impressive array of silver, were also filled. I was quite sure the reddish liquid was alcohol of some kind, and just as certain my glass would be every bit as full when it was later taken away. I had a personal aversion to acquiring a taste for the repulsive, and the very smell was enough to turn my stomach. I had an even greater aversion to ingesting anything that would dull my wits, reason, and reaction time. The death of my friend, as a result of drinking and driving, was a grim object lesson I wouldn’t soon forget. I was thankful Miles shared my views on the subject.
Everyone waited politely until Lady Carlisle lifted her spoon, then dinner began.
“Welcome to Bannerman Manor,” Lady Carlisle addressed Miles and me. “It has been with great anticipation that Sir Edmund and I have looked forward to your visit.”
That was true, despite the initially frigid reception.
“Thank you,” Miles replied. “My wife and I have, as well. We are pleased to make the acquaintance of family, however distant the relation may be.”
“Indeed,” Lady Carlisle responded. “I gather the Bannerman branch of our shared family tree is as sparse as that of the Carlisles.”
I couldn’t say I had a Red Alert feeling upon hearing that, but after our experiences with Alfred Sullivan and George Frank and their calculated plans to destroy the Bannerman family and take over the estate, I was instantly on the alert. I studied Lady Carlisle carefully, but… I detected no darkness. Sir Edmund looked tense and rather brooding, but there was no darkness surrounding him, either. Not the kind I could see. An examination of Monsieur Delacroix and the Countess proved free of darkness as well.
I returned to the conversation, and the second course, which unobtrusively took the place of the first while I was lost in scrutinizing those around us. I was pleased to see it was free of mushrooms. And oysters. The second glass to be put to use, filled with white wine by the look of it,
I regarded with resignation. With all those glasses sitting in front of us waiting to be filled, we’d have enough to stock a bar, by the time dinner was through.
“… must have quite the head for business,” Monsieur Delacroix said with interest. I was surprised by the lack of a French accent. If there was any at all, it was very faint.
“As did my father, and grandfather, and so on,” Miles answered. “Anika is invaluable to me, as well. She is an exceptional judge of character.”
“As are you, yourself,” I said, and for a moment I had that weird, out-of-body, or more like out-of-time, feel. The room shimmered slightly, but I gripped the napkin on my lap and the fork in my hand, and it passed. I didn’t think anyone noticed.
“Thank you, dear,” Miles smiled. “We complement each other perfectly, I should say.”
Oh boy, the room was shimmering again. I fought to speak as I normally would, and not as though it was a hundred years ago!
“I’m really glad you feel that way, because so do I,” I replied, and the shimmering stopped.
Miles reached for my hand as the third course arrived, and I smiled and squeezed back reassuringly. The faint relief he allowed me to see, told me he understood. I’d have to tell him later that it wasn’t his fault. I was pretty sure I was the one responsible for starting it, whatever it was.
“I must admit I am intrigued by your success,” Monsieur Delacroix said. He was telling the truth. “As nearly as I can gather, your business and financial assets have grown significantly since assuming the role of trustee only twenty-three months ago.”
I checked for darkness. There was none.
Miles raised an eyebrow slightly as he set aside one piece of silver, and selected another.
“You appear to have done your homework,” he remarked.
“Indeed, I am always on the lookout for a worthy investment,” Monsieur Delacroix replied. “As well as you’ve done on your own, imagine the possibilities if you were to go public.”
“Your imagination is greater than mine, if you can envision a way in which it would be of benefit to ourselves and our employees,” Miles half-smiled.