Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
JULIET
As the Bentley passes through the magnificent mansion gates, I wonder if the day will come when I don’t feel awe at it.
Franklin pulls up outside the front entrance.
The sun has dipped low enough to paint the white stone facade in soft warm pinks and oranges, the air is golden and still heavy with humidity.
It clings to my skin like a second layer as I step out.
Since Franklin rushes to attend to my shopping bags, there is nothing for me to do but square my shoulders and saunter towards the door the way I imagine Carolyn would after a day out spending thousands of dollars shopping.
The foyer is lovely and cool until Dora materializes suddenly as if she were a ghost.
“Shall I take those up to your room, Madam?” she asks frostily.
“No, no. I’ll take them myself,” I say, grabbing the shopping bags from a surprised Franklin.
The tissue papers inside the bags rustle as I hurry up the stairs.
I feel both of them staring at my departing back with some surprise.
Clearly, Carolyn doesn’t carry her shopping.
Not to worry, Dora and Franklin, in three months, things will all get back to normal.
A thought pops into my mind: poor Freya.
I push it away quickly. It would be stupid to get too close to the girl. This is not my family.
My mind buzzes with the details of the party as I hide all the presents in a closet and lock it. I pop the key into my purse. I pick up the bag with the Hermes scarf in it and go to look for Freya’s grandma.
When I pop over to her quarters, the two maids who are cleaning her room tell me that she is in the conservatory.
I thank them and wander towards the conservatory.
Last time I was there the gardener was there.
The potted ferns and orchids cast long shadows on the flagstone floor of the conservatory.
Frances is having tea at a low wicker table by the French doors.
Her silver hair looks like spun silk in the setting light, and she is holding a delicate bone China cup.
Steam curls up. The only sound is the tick of the grandfather clock.
It is a peaceful, idyllic scene, and it has ‘DO NOT DISTURB’ clearly written all over it.
Taking a deep breath, I join her without waiting for an invite.
She frowns disapprovingly, her cup paused midway to her lips, as I pull out the chair opposite her with a soft scrape and sit down. The sun warms my back through the glass.
“Hi Frances," I say, mustering my confident voice, folding my hands on the table. "I have some ideas for Dora's birthday. Can I tell you about them?" Then, without waiting for her permission I launch into the details of my plan.
She sips thoughtfully while she listens to the words pouring quickly out of me, her blue eyes slightly narrowed over the rim of her cup. She is quiet at first, and it is clear by the faint lift of her brows that she is quite surprised by how much attention I have given the project.
"Go on, Carolyn. I'm listening," she urges, when I stop hesitantly to gauge her reaction.
So, I lay it all out piece by piece until I’ve told her everything. Then, with the plan set, I give her the gift I’ve bought for her to give to Dora. She takes the bag and carefully extricates the distinctive orange Hermes box.
She looks up at me curiously. “You bought Dora a Hermes scarf?”
“Yes. Was it not something you would have given her?” I ask nervously. I was so sure it would be perfect.
Gently, she lifts the acid free tissue paper, and touches the smooth fabric. Then she folds it back neatly and looks up at me. Her voice is quiet, and there is something in her eyes I can’t name. "Thank you, Carolyn. This will do very nicely."
“It was no trouble,” I say with a big, relieved smile. “One last thing before you go. Perhaps we can invite some of Dora’s family and friends. She’s been with your family for decades, so perhaps you have a contact number.”
“I do,” she says slowly. “I will pass it to you over breakfast tomorrow.”
“Excellent. Thank you.”
“Let me run it by you again. I will pretend that I do not feel well, take to bed in my suite, and ask Dora to keep me company. While that's happening, You and Freya will blow up the balloons and hang them up in the music room.”
“Yes, then everyone—the butler, the maids, perhaps Franklin if he's game, and Dora’s immediate family—will gather in the music room with the curtains drawn shut and the lights off to build the suspense.
As soon as everything is ready, Freya will rush up to your room, and claim that her rabbit is lost in the music room and can Dora and you please help her find it.
You’ll come and we'll all jump out of our hiding places behind the piano and settees, with streamers popping from handheld cannons, and shouting, "Surprise!”
Frances’s fingers trace the cup's handle in slow circles, her expression softening just a touch. "It's a kind thought, Carolyn,” she says with a nod. “We'll make it happen."
I grin at her. “We will. It’ll be fabulously fun for Freya, and Dora will never see it coming,”
“No, she won’t,” she says pensively. “No one’s ever thought to do such a wonderful thing for her before. But perhaps you’ll rethink the Elvis singing telegram idea. I don’t think Dora is a fan.”
I grin at her. “Got it.”
“Goodnight, Carolyn.”
“Goodnight, Frances.”
I leave then and head over to Freya's room to give her the brooch. Knocking lightly on the painted door with its curly script sign, I enter. Freya grins at me happily. “Are we going to do our secret midnight bake tonight?”
“No, not tonight.” I hand her the Tiffany box wrapped in robin-egg blue. "It’s Dora’s birthday soon and you and I are going to throw her a surprise birthday party. And this is your present for her."
“A surprise birthday party?” she echoes in wonder, her eyes bright with happiness.
“Yup. We’re going to have a cake, lots of balloons, and even a chocolate fountain.”
“Oh wow!”
“Go on, open the present and see whether you like it. If you don’t, we can go out and find something different to give her.”
I watch her open the gift, the gold ladybug brooch sparkling in her palm like captured sunlight.
“It’s so beautiful, Carolyn,” she says and hugs me tight, her arms squeezing around my shoulder. Her curls tickle my chin as she whispers, "Thank you." The moment is sweet and simple, and it makes me feel all glowy and happy inside.
“You’ll give it to her on her birthday, okay? But remember to keep it all a secret. You can’t tell her even by accident.”
“I will,” she says, a huge smile on her face.