Chapter Twenty-Seven
On her Saturday hunt through basement storage, Sonya ignored the ringing bell, and found a treasure.
“Look at this!” She held up a framed photo she’d unearthed from a broken dresser drawer. “It’s the staff, house staff. A lot of house staff. Oh, this woman, this man? That’s Hobson and Grimes. The head housekeeper, the head butler!”
Cleo reached her first, peered down. “That’s … twenty-three people. I don’t see Molly, so before or after.”
“Take it out,” Trey suggested. “Look on the back. They may have dated it.”
“Let’s hope.”
Owen took a multi-tool out of his pocket. “Let’s see it. Old frame, backing’s wired down.”
“It needs a new one. I can—”
“It’s a good frame.” He continued to work. “Just needs cleaning up.”
He pulled out the backing. On the back of the picture, they found not only the date, but a carefully written list of names.
“January 10, 1933. So after Lissy, before Patricia married Michael Poole Jr. Yes! Mildred Hobson, James Grimes. Look, Cleo, there’s an Eleanor Gruder listed. I wonder if it’s our Eleanor.”
Lynyrd Skynyrd rocked “You Got That Right” from Sonya’s phone.
“Seated row, third from the left.”
Easing the photo out, Sonya scanned across the front row of staff. “There she is! She looks well into her sixties, maybe into her seventies. It’s a really formal shot, so they’re all a little stiff. But she looks happy. They all do, really.”
“I wonder how long she worked here.”
“I Saw Her Standing There” replaced Lynyrd Skynyrd.
“The Beatles say she was just seventeen.” Owen grinned. “Clover’s quick, man. She’s a rocket.”
“All those years in service here,” Sonya murmured. “I think the Pooles were good people to work for. We’ll clean up the frame. It’ll go in the gallery.”
Owen crouched down to examine the drawer. “I can fix this. Hell, Trey, you could fix this.”
“Sounds like damning with faint praise to me. It looks like a nice piece, though.”
“Walnut, probably from the same era as that photo.”
“And since it’s here, it was probably in the servants’ quarters, the men’s section.”
“Most of those rooms came down for the gym, the theater,” Trey told her. “I can’t see you needing bedrooms here.”
“Nope, this whole floor is fun and entertainment. Possibly a place for it on the third floor at some point. Unless you can use it, Owen.”
“No, I … Well.”
“Hesitation is assent!” Sonya wrote Owen on a sticky note, slapped it on the dresser.
In the hunt, they found a collection of crocheted doilies, table runners.
“Beautiful work.” Cleo unfolded piece by piece. “Son, we could frame some of these. You want to pay homage. Since they’re down here, I think it’s a safe bet someone on staff crocheted these.”
“I love it. God knows we’ll have plenty of wall space down here once it’s fixed up.”
“Yarn, thread, whatever it is for making that stuff’s in here. With the needles.”
“Hooks,” Cleo corrected Trey. “I feel a display coming on.”
“A craft or sewing spot, yes. For display, since we don’t sew or craft.” Sonya took a large spool of crochet yarn from Trey. “Just an area of interest, a display cabinet or bookcase.”
“You’d want this in there.” Owen gestured. “It’s a sewing machine thing.”
“Would you look at that! It’s got a big iron pedal thing. You had to pedal the sewing machine. Oh, and it’s a really pretty table. The machine lowers into the table! How cool is that? I wonder if it still works.”
Intrigued, she dragged over a chair, sat. And pushed down the iron pedal.
The needle pumped up and down with a clackety-clack.
With a laugh, Sonya eased off the pedal, leaned in. “We could figure out how to thread it. Maybe even find a manual around here. Set it up, a piece of fabric under here.”
As she started to slide her hand toward the needle, something shoved the pedal down. She barely snatched her hand away before the needle stabbed her.
Trey grabbed her shoulders, pulled her back and up as Clover played “Evil Woman.”
“It didn’t get me. You missed, you vicious bitch! I’m fine. I’m okay.”
The needle pumped up and down faster and faster until it blurred. Then stopped.
The bell rang.
Saying nothing, Trey took Sonya’s uninjured hand to his lips.
“We’re going to do just what we said.” She needed a breath to steady herself. “Frame some of the crochet work, make a display, use the adorable old sewing machine. And, um, whew. We’re bound to find some old cooking tools down here, stuff from the old kitchen. We’ll do a display there, too.”
“They’d have had offices down here, wouldn’t they?” Cleo wondered. “The head housekeeper, butler. They were in charge of the staff, so they’d have needed office space.”
“Desk and chair over that way.” Owen pointed. “The chair’s a beauty. Solid oak, swivel chair. Not a squeak.”
“Desk, chair, maybe an inkwell if you want real old-timey,” Trey suggested. “One of those seals for wax.”
“Okay, brilliant. Yes, all of that.” The ideas, the possibilities had Sonya’s nerves leveling again. “Bringing it back to life, top to bottom. That’s what she hates.”
“Only makes me love it more.” Cleo put her hands on her hips. “Let’s keep going, make her crazy.”
“Too late,” Owen added. “She’s already there.”
They hunted, gathered, carried out, carried up, shifted.
Sonya took another long look at the future game room.
“It’s going to be great. It’s going to work. In fact…”
“I hear my back whining.”
She gave Trey a hug. “We’ll help. But if we could get the pieces we’ve earmarked in here, it’ll be great. And piss her off.”
“It’s that part that makes me want to,” Owen admitted.
“And once we do that, I’m ordering the big-ass TV, the pool table, deciding on the jukebox from the sellers the guy you know provided. I need the right lights, too. So putting stuff in helps me see it.”
It took the weekend to move, adjust, consider, and decide on purchases.
Having so much to look forward to started Sonya’s week on a high note. A meeting with Maddy about the website kept that going.
By the end of the week, she’d created a new mood board and started work for her newest client. She had lights, an enormous wall screen ordered, and an electrician lined up. Since Owen wanted one, she ordered a foosball table, and selected the original versions of classic board games.
In a nod to Collin and Deuce, she added a chess table to the mix.
September rolled on toward October. Anticipating, Sonya and Cleo gathered the last of the flowers from their garden. And Cleo, following her grand-mère’s advice, froze chopped fresh herbs in ice cube trays.
Sonya woke to a fire simmering, and the first frost.
Cleo gave herself an hour each day for her autumn painting of the tree as Poole’s Bay rioted with fall color.
Despite threats from Dobbs, Sonya took time for a walk every afternoon. Nothing would make her miss fall at the manor, its whippy breezes carrying the scent of the sea and woodsmoke. The dazzling color that peaked into the breathtaking.
“It’s another kind of claiming, Yoda.” He pranced along beside her as she glanced up at the windows of the Gold Room. “I know she knows I’m out here. I know she’d love to hurt me, but I have to show her, show her every single day, she won’t push me out.”
She looked down at his adorable face. “It’s practically October now, Yoda. I think it’s time to pull out the Halloween decorations, buy us some pumpkins. No way you live in a haunted manor if you don’t go all out for Halloween.”
Her hand shot into her pocket and her head shot up when she heard a window open.
But Cleo called out of the studio: “Hey, when you finish your walk, if you’re not too busy, can you come up?”
“Sure.”
“I want to show you the book illustrations. I think I’m done, but…”
“Give me ten. I’m grabbing a Coke when I come in. Do you want one?”
“Might as well, thanks. God, it’s gorgeous out there. I need to get out. Later.”
She walked Yoda around the house. It didn’t make her as sad as she’d anticipated to see the gardens put to bed. Thanks to Jerome.
Turn, turn, turn, she thought, thinking of one of her father’s favorite songs.
She knew they’d bloom again. They’d plant more, learn more.
“And look at our woods. The pines so dark and green, and the hardwoods—whatever they are—just so rich. That’s a blooming, too. We’re so lucky, Yoda. I need to pay it all back. I need to find the rings and earn all this.”
She turned toward the house, and inside, gave Yoda a treat before grabbing Cokes.
When she walked by the music room, she paused.
“Where are you, Astrid? Where’s your portrait? You’re the next step. I know it.”
As she walked upstairs, the servants’ door slapped open. She closed it on the sound of the ringing bell.
Except for Cleo’s music, something with a lot of harps and strings, the third floor held quiet.
She found her friend at her desk, the cat perched on the top of her cat tree. But the painting drew her forward.
“You finished the tree!”
“This morning, before I started work. It was all but done.”
“The colors, Cleo. Not really gold, not really orange, but a beautiful mix of both. And I love it just bursts against a broody sky.”
“Three seasons down, one to go. It’s the actual work that has me on edge. You read the book. It’s so out of my comfort zone. I know it’s important. Major author. I thought, once I committed to it, I was confident. I’m not.”
“I’m happy to help there. You’ve run these by the author, the publisher.”
“Yeah, the drafts, of course. But…”
Sonya picked up the stack of drawings. “I’m taking these over to the sofa.”
“I’m going to pace. Oh, shut the hell up,” she snapped when Dobbs banged against the wall. “You’re nothing against possibly screwing up a major job.”
“There’s no screwing it up, because if these don’t hit the mark, you’ll fix them.”
“That’s the thing. I’m out of ideas on how to fix them. Monsters, terrified teens, evil teens, teens battling monsters or each other?
“Not my comfort zone.”
Sonya sat, sipped her Coke. Then set it aside and began.