5. VERENA GRAVENHURST #2
Taking a sharp left, I skim the tips of my fingers along the black and purple damask wallpaper as I advance down the second hallway, but my steps falter when a set of double doors comes into view.
They’re left ajar from whomever last entered the room and creak far too loudly as I push them open further, just enough to peek my head inside.
Not a lick of candlelight illuminates the room, but when I stick my lantern through the threshold, I’m at a loss for words.
It seems to be some sort of forgotten library.
Dark, embellished bookshelves line the walls, filled with more books than I’d ever be able to read in this lifetime, though I’m not above trying.
A grand piano is perched in the centre of the space, and an oversized sectional, perfect for curling up on long, gloomy nights, is set up next to a fireplace.
Moonlight pours from the cathedral-style window beyond it, basking the room in a subtle glow.
I’m entirely captivated, imagining myself lounging in here for hours.
I’d challenge myself to indulge in as many stories as possible, allowing myself to get lost within the pages.
I make myself a promise that I’ll thoroughly explore it another night.
As I close the doors, scanning the vacant hallway, I realize what I’ve been looking for all along.
At the very end of the corridor, I spot a door that is undeniably my grandfather’s office.
It’s a deep brown oak, with what I’ve come to know as the Gravenhurst crest engraved into it, the initial of my family’s name a decal in whimsy swirls.
Time seems to slow, a million questions swirling inside my mind.
When I finally remember how to move my legs, I take a step towards it.
“Miss Ren,” a voice that’s far too loud, abruptly calls out.
His voice slashes through the silence of the night like a whip, startling me half to death.
I yelp, my hand flying to my chest where I’m sure my heart is about to leap from, and spin on my heel.
The lantern sways in my hand, and Archie stands there, eyebrows raised with his hands clasped behind his back.
I can’t tell if he’s amused or irritated, but either way, I know I’m fucked.
“Archie! Hi, I—” I stumble over my words like a fool. “I was just looking for the kitchen, hoping to grab a late-night snack.” Guilt washes over me the moment the lie leaves my tongue, but what am I supposed to tell the sweet man? That I’m doing the one thing he asked me not to do? Hard pass.
I watch as his eyes flicker from mine to the office door behind me, a smirk playing under his otherwise professional demeanour. “Is that so?”
I nod, and Archie accepts it as the truth, but I know we’re both aware it’s a lie.
“Very well, Miss Ren. Let me show you the way to the kitchen,” Archie says, spinning on his heel.
Relief washes over me, no longer feeling like a deer caught in headlights as I stalk obediently behind him.
I notice he’s dressed in his usual formal attire—squeaky clean dress shoes and a crisp white dress shirt layered with a deep purple waistcoat. I stifle a laugh.
“Do you ever sleep, Archie?”
“I do, yes. I wake up every morning before dawn,” he informs me proudly, as we reach the staircase to the front foyer. He glances back at me, raising a questioning brow. “Do you ever sleep, Miss Ren?”
I shrug, giving him a soft smile. “Not much, I guess.”
Archie nods, seeming to understand. He leads me down the stairs and through a few short hallways on the main floor before he speaks again.
“Your grandfather was a night owl, much like yourself. I never understood how he would stay up all hours of the night,” he says, chuckling.
I follow him, drinking in his words as he leads me to the kitchen.
“But he would say it was the only time he could think. When the world was quiet, void of any obligations. At night, he could simply be.” Archie reminisces as we come to a stop at a set of large swinging doors.
A flicker of sadness washes over his features.
It was only for a moment, but grief took hold of his heart, leading me to believe he had worked very closely with my grandfather for quite some time.
“How long were you his butler for?”
“Since I was eighteen years young, though, my father worked for your great-grandfather long before then. The Belmonts have been serving the Gravenhursts for decades, Miss Ren. Your grandfather meant a great deal to me, you know. A friend like no other,” he says, voice breaking ever so slightly.
I want to pry for more information about the family Archie seems to know so much about, but I can see the pain behind his eyes, and though I never knew my grandfather, he was clearly family to Archie.
“Thank you for escorting me to the kitchen.” I offer him a warm smile. I want to hug the man, but something tells me he would find that incredibly irritating.
“My pleasure, Miss Ren.” He bows swiftly before walking away, and I stare after him until he’s completely out of sight, leaving me wondering which entity holds more secrets—the Gravenhurst Estate or Archie?
The swinging doors give way to the largest kitchen I’ve ever laid eyes on.
Black marble floors stretch out beneath me, and an assortment of pots hang above one of the prep counters.
A large island made of dark stone sits in the middle of the room, with thick wooden stools tucked neatly around it.
The space feels warm, in a way the rest of the manor isn’t.
A sweet smell wafts around me, urging me to take a seat at the island where a full tray of muffins is calling my name.
I must admit, I’ve worked up quite the appetite from all my sneaking around.