Chapter 26
26
L oughty House’s sprawling immense estate is situated next to the town that popped up to support it when the first Earl of Donegal started construction in the 1700’s. That’s what the plaque on the gates to the town proclaims as we drive through in our black sedan. Clara, the rowing twins, and I are sharing a chartered car on our way to the grand house. I still can’t get over the first class plane flight from London. First class! Champagne and all.
Despite it being December, the Irish countryside remains lush and green. In the distance, sharp cliffs drop off into an unsettled ocean. The air is thick with the smell of the little wharf we’re passing, pushed by a restless breeze that swirls around the car in gusts.
Clara, the twins, and I watch as a quaint Main Street of multi-colored stone buildings rolls past. It’s beyond gorgeous. All my life I’ve wanted to go places and see things. I have to pinch myself, because as much as I’m missing home right now…a winter holiday at a private Irish estate is not an awful place to land.
We wind through another set of stone walls, these with gates that sit closed until our driver makes a phone call. The car passes smoothly through them before the drive turns to cobblestone and we have to slow even further.
“Charming,” Clara says, her voice going up and down as we bounce up the drive. The rowing twins are not so subtle as they watch her chest jiggle up and down in her sweater. I’m still in my coat, and pull it around my shoulders.
She may be sarcastic, but to me it is charming. I’m utterly enchanted. These cobblestones are likely original to the estate, hundreds and hundreds of years old—there’s nothing like that in my town back home. Wild Irish grasses stretch away from the more manicured drive—set intermittently with tended trees and shrubs. Several of the trees reach over the drive and I’m in raptures. They remind me so much of the trees from Game of Thrones. There’s a regal elegance to trees that old. Something you just cannot capture in suburban America. There’s a sense of appreciating the true pleasures of life here: fresh air, well-tended land, construction meant to last centuries, and a love of art. Even the pillars had been carved, not just simple rocks.
The drive winds past several smaller buildings, and I gasp as I catch a glimpse down a hill to our left of acres and acres of horse pasture. Chestnuts and bays graze lazily in the misty afternoon sunshine in front of a gable-roofed stone stable. It’s like something out of a magazine.
Clara seems less impressed. “I’m waiting to see if the house has indoor plumbing before getting excited. I read a whole expose on staying at Scottish castles last year,” she says. “The review wasn’t a compliment.”
I squint. I hardly think that All Souls would bring us all this way to stay in a manor that didn’t have indoor plumbing, and yet. I’ve learned that I don’t understand all the mechanisms at work here. Maybe they want to see if we can rough it with a castle privy. Who knows?
A slight turn to the left brings us within view of a Pemberly-esque manor house. More to the gothic side, it’s several stories high and the size of a small hotel in the United States. Ancient gray stone spires frame the front entry, and Ivy and moss creep up the sides while a bower of roses grows on a trellis over a set of windows to the right of the door, keeping the whole thing from looking too foreboding.
We pull around the circle, and an honest-to-god butler, in literal livery, opens the back door as soon as we roll to a stop. It’s one of those fancy cars with the back door that opens toward the front, and I’m granted a grand view of the house as the twins and Clara climb out.
My pencil skirt makes it hard to get out gracefully, and I’m appreciative that the man in livery offers assistance. Princess Kate always makes this look so easy, but it’s not. I smooth down my buttoned shirt, pencil skirt and straighten my thigh high-knitted stockings. My Oxford shoes seem made for this setting. I’m feeling old-world Hollywood and imagine this being a movie set with little trouble.
“Right this way, I’ll show you to your rooms,” says the man after he shuts the car door.
A man and a woman dressed in matching polo shirts appear as the trunk of the car pops open for them to grab our luggage. I don’t even have to carry my bag. Bliss ! Although given the strict outfit and workout requirements for All Saints, I pity the person who has to drag it up these stone steps.
The twins peel off in the entry as another staff member joins us. Clara and I follow the gentleman, who introduces himself as Edmund, up the grand staircase in the center of the foyer and off to the left.
“Services and public rooms are on the main floor,” he tells us as we walk on a stone floor thickly carpeted with a runner down the center. “Library, kitchens, morning room, dining room, ballroom, study, the housekeeper’s room, the game warden’s room, and butler’s quarters. Guest rooms are on the second floor. Here we are, miss Clara.” He holds open one of the wooden doors we’ve come to, and Clara and I peer inside. It’s a comfortable, if slightly small, bedroom. A carved wooden bed dominates the room, floral wallpaper adorns the walls, and a delightful beam of sunlight enters through the window. It’s old-money vintage. European class, but make it effortless.
“You will share the ensuite, between your rooms.”
Clara heads into her room while Edmund holds the next wooden door open for me. My room is like Clara’s, but covered in a vining green wallpaper I love. Her room has a floral garden bent while mine is more English study. The vines in the wallpaper offset the deep fern color of the bedspread and I happily note some antique paintings of racehorses on the wall.
Edmund catches me looking at the paintings and says, “I chose the rooms from your interest profile. We have over thirty guest rooms, if this isn’t to your liking, we can move you.”
I’m startled and blink at him. Kendall’s words about just how deep All Saints digs into people before allowing them full membership ring in my brain again.
“It’s wonderful, thank you.”
He nods. “We have tea and sandwiches downstairs for tea time. Supper is at 7pm, drinks served in the library before and after meal service.” And then I’m left alone. I flop on the bed. The mattress cover is down—deep, soft and cozy, so I stretch out on my back and doze off until there’s a knock at my door.
“Pardon me,” a woman in a polo shirt says as she sticks her head in. “I have your bags. Would you like me to unpack your suitcase for you?”
“Unpack…for me?” I echo, confused.
“Yes, hang up your dresses so they can release any wrinkles. I also have a steamer in the bathroom for your use, and miss Clara. I’m Aoife if you need anything.” She has a wonderful Irish brogue, and I immediately like her round face and dark hair. She, at least, seems friendly.
I repeat her name, which sounds like “Ee-fa,” in my head to myself. “Edmund and Aoife.”
She smiles, then sets about unzipping my luggage, taking my silence as permission.
“You don’t have to—” a knock interrupts me.
Aoife doesn’t let this distract her. She’s a woman on a mission, rather like a modern version of a lady’s maid? It’s borderline questionable in my mind, having never wanted to have a servant, but I assume Aoife is being paid for her job.
I cross to the door and open it. I expect Edmund and instead come face to face with a chest I know well.
Heat flushes my cheeks as my vision goes from the casually buttoned vest and halfway-untied tie up past a crisply turned collar of a white dress shirt and, finally, to meet Kendall’s gaze. As always, I feel a bit off balance when I see him. It doesn’t help that he’s always popping in and out of my life, appearing at the most unexpected of moments.
I step back instinctively, hand at my throat.
“I’ve come to deliver this,” Kendall says, perusing my form first and then the room behind me. His eyes linger on the enormous stone fireplace in one corner, the large green velvet chair, and then on the large four-poster bed. Over his proffered arm lays a black garment bag.
“Oh, um, I brought my own clothes. They sent a packing list,” I say, viscerally remembering the cocktail dress fiasco.
“Everyone receives these,” Kendall says. I can’t get a read on him. He seems nettled. But not by me. By my lodgings. Or maybe Aoife? As always, his energy is chaotic, the energy of someone deeply conflicted.
“Is there something…wrong?” I ask, turning to survey the room.
“This room is small,” he says, snappishly.
I turn to goggle at him. This isn’t palatial, but it’s certainly comfortable. I look to Aoife for help, the standard size of manor bedrooms being entirely out of my wheelhouse.
Her glance darts between Kendall and me. “Is there something wrong with this room choice, sir?”
“No. It’s fine.” Kendall raises a hand and pinches the bridge of his nose. It almost looks like he’s giving himself a pep talk. When he drops his hand, his face is carefully blank. “Everything is fine. I am here to deliver your dress for the event tomorrow night. Please leave it hanging in the closet so that it doesn’t wrinkle. We’ll be delivering your accessory tomorrow night just before the event.”
He doesn’t meet my eyes, simply holds out the garment bag. It’s shockingly light. He pivots on his heel and marches toward a rolling cart with other garment bags sitting at the end of the hall.
I watch for a moment, as he grabs another bag and approaches Clara’s door before I close my own. Aoife is there in a blink, taking the garment bag from me. She glances at the door for a long moment, then pastes a smile on her face, ever the consummate professional.
“This isn’t your first rodeo.”
She gives me a startled look. “…rodeo?”
“Ah. Right. Sorry. This isn’t your first time dealing with….” I wave my hand to encompass Kendall.
She snorts in universal woman language, then she schools her face again. “I get the pleasure of working with all sorts in my job.”
I raise my eyebrows. “I bet. Are there guests here often?”
She chats about her job as she puts away my luggage, and I’m horrified to find that I love this. I lay across the bed, watching all of my carefully crafted outfits go into the neat wooden wardrobe. The kind of wardrobe I once would have wondered about leading to Narnia, but now hope doesn’t lead to some sort of secret dungeon. I remind myself to check the back of the wardrobe once she’s gone.
“Will you be wanting a shower, or can I get you anything else? Tea service?We have a golf cart I can call if you’d like to visit the estate. I think you have time before dinner.”
Feeling very much like I’ve gone back in time to a historical novel I nod. “I’d love a tour. And then, yes, probably a shower.”
I see a folio on my bedside table, and open it up. “I guess it will have to be a quick tour. I didn’t realize we had a meeting tonight before dinner. And a function afterward. And tomorrow looks quite full too.” Tomorrow night’s event starts at ten PM. Why all the late night stuff? Doesn’t anyone like to do secret society business in daylight?
There’s a knock on my door, this one lighter, which turns out to belong to Clara.
“Have you seen the bathroom? The rooms may be small, but that thing is palatial . I’m pretty sure one end of it is a steam shower.”
“Guess that answers your question about indoor plumbing,” I say, giving her a conspiratorial smile.
“I came to see if you wanted to wander down to the library together, or maybe find a place to do yoga. My app says I still have to do it today.”
“I was thinking of going on a tour, or a walk?”
She thinks. “Hm. I wasn’t thinking outside. Maybe you go do your walk and then find me in the library? There’s a fireplace in there.” She looks around. “All this stonework is gorgeous but I’m cold.”
“Okay, will do.”
I hadn’t brought too many casual outdoorsy options, but Aoife helps me pick out a pair of slim legged black trousers that I pull knee-high boots up over. Leaning into the equestrian feel, I go for layering a printed shirt under a blazer, and finally pull out my emerald green coat. I hesitate, thinking of Dominic, feeling that familiar pull of what my life could be without All Saints. But. I’ve chosen to come here. I’ve overcome everything Kendall has done to try to scare me off. I belong here just as much as any of the other pledges. And right now, the part of my life that the green coat represents is on hold. And so, I carefully hang the green coat back up before grabbing a slimmer black trench coat. It’s not as lovely as the green, but the black is perfect for the current Helena. I guess I’m in my villain era.
Five minutes later, I’m being chauffeured down the drive by Edmund in the golf cart, headed for the horse barn. The driveway is considerably more bumpy in the cart, and I have to hang onto the handles for dear life. Noting my posture, Edmund zips to the side when he can. Even so, when we arrive at the stables, I climb out gratefully. I decline his offer to pick me up, stating I’d rather walk, thanks.
It’s peaceful and deeply green here, even with the bite in the air. Like everything is rich and luxurious, right down to the air that smells of distant rain. The horses grazing in the field flick their tails slowly. It even seems like it’s not super buggy despite the humidity and lushness.
I’m pretty sure I’m not allowed to just climb the fence and approach the horses, so I turn to the little gray stone barn. I say little barn, but it’s bigger than any back-yard barn I have ever seen in my neighborhood. You have to drive down near the Colorado Horse Park, which we did when I took lessons as a kid, to see this level of stable digs. The floor is made of the same cobble, but there is a thick rubber mat running down the center of it, muffling my footfalls as I wander down the sunny aisle.
The stalls are all empty, save for one.
“Sunset Run,” I murmur, reading the plaque on his stall. I glance in and I’m met with a large, intelligent eye. “Well, you certainly are a beauty,” I murmur, appreciating his long legs, elegant head, and swiveling ears.
“You have good taste,” a voice comes from the other end of the aisle. A figure approaches, and I squint against the brighter light, unable to make it out. For a wild moment, I think Kendall has found me, but instead, it’s his father.
“I’m so sorry. Should I not be in here?”
He ables up as if we’ve known each other forever. I bristle a little as he leans against the stall next to me, our arms brushing. He doesn’t answer my question but nods to the horse in the stall. “His sire was an Eclipse Award winner.”
I turn to appraise the horse in the stall. “So an American-bred Thoroughbred? I thought that was sacrilege to the Irish.”
Kendall’s father turns to appraise me. “Sometimes the Irish have a taste for foreign delights.” His eyes flick down to my blazer and back up. They’re calculating. “You ride, correct?”
“I do—did. When I was younger, I don’t so much anymore.”
Augustine nods. “It’s a noble sport. I’m glad to hear you were raised with an eye to tradition, Helena.”
The way he says my name is intimate, again like we’re longtime friends having a chat. Like he says my name all the time, and it’s unsettling. I know he’s the head of our little organization, but…alarm bells are ringing in my head. Kendall has said his father specifically chose me to be here. To test Kendall. And I’m not even sure what that means. “My grandfather raised racehorses,” I answer.
There’s an odd light in his eyes when he responds. “Ah, yes. I recall that. So you appreciate the Sport of Kings?” He turns to look at the horse. “What do you think of this one, given your background? It would be an honor to hear from the granddaughter of an esteemed breeder such as your grandfather. Pity your father didn’t carry on the family…business.”
There’s a barb running deep in that conversation, and I decide to sidestep it completely lest I fall in a deep end of a pool I can’t get out of, conversationally.
I turn to appraise the horse in the stall. "Well, he certainly looks like an athlete. Well built, a little high in the croup, but I assume he's going through a growth spurt. Deep chest, clean legs. A little light in bone in the joints for my taste." I shrug. "Looks aren't everything though, so much of it comes down to heart. One of my grandfather's best broodmares had crooked back legs and a long back. But when she ran, she didn't care if she wasn't as well built. Mean as a bull, that one. She scared everyone else on the field into running slower than her."
“Indeed,'“ he says after a pause. “Very well stated.”
He doesn't seem in a hurry to leave, so I shuffle my feet. “Well, I was going to continue on my walk, so...”
“Ah, excellent, I'll join you. Out to see the others?”
The look I toss his direction must convey some of my hesitancy.
“The horses are my favorite thing here, I visit every time I'm here too. Unless you'd prefer to be alone, I have determined to spend a little time with each candidate this trip. A part of the interview process to see how you are coming along. How you are experiencing our organization,” he says on a shrug. “This works for me if it works for you.”
Ah yes, Clara stated he met with her after the underground party. I still don't feel settled but nod. “Okay.”
Because of Kendall’s warnings, I just don’t trust this man. But he holds out an elbow, and I have no choice but to loop my arm through his. “Lead the way,” I say, though I'm not sure if he's leading me straight into something I'm going to regret.