Chapter 1 #2
She came to a back hallway that had a small staircase at one end.
She’d already bypassed the grand formal stairs at the front of the house, and knew she had to have somehow missed the reception room.
There was no way they’d have a party this far back in the bowels of the house.
As she made to turn around so she could explore what was on the other side of the main stairs, she caught sight of a tall man dressed in what looked like a very good Regency costume.
Hell yes, the wait staff was dressed up in historical garb! Which probably meant at least some of them were actors. Starving actors, her people, were at the party. He glanced at her, scowled, then turned and went up the back staircase.
She could continue on in search of people and food, or take a peek upstairs.
She crept forward down the dim hall and looked in the stairwell.
There wasn’t a rope or sign explicitly saying not to go up, but it was pretty clear from the lack of light at the top that one wasn’t supposed to go up there.
From what she’d gleaned from listening to Trent over the past several months, people hadn’t actually lived in this house in generations.
It was just closed up one day, exactly as the former owners had left it, then through a series of endowments and legal battles had become the property of a well funded historical society.
“And now they’re rabidly guarding the house’s secrets,” she muttered to herself as she mounted the first stair.
She wanted to find the waiter and check out his costume.
As her hand slid over the smooth old wood of the banister, she paused.
Frowning at the threadbare carpet runner that covered the steps, she bit her lip.
She didn’t want to get in trouble, especially not now that she was finally starting to get recognized for her work, and she certainly didn’t want to embarrass Trent.
She knew deep down that it wasn’t the action movie audition that had changed him, it was the fact that she was no longer the starving artist she’d been when they first met.
How he’d loved being her benefactor, almost like a knight in shining armor, offering her encouragement after a crappy day of failed auditions and teaching children tap dancing.
He didn’t know how to deal with her now that she had a bit of hard earned success.
She remembered the good times they had together, blocking out the past month of his biting comments and hurtful jabs.
It was a transition phase. As she made the decision to work harder at their relationship, the waiter hurried by at the top of the stairs.
Wreathed in shadow, the tails of his coat billowing behind him, he was too much for her to pass up.
And he’d know where the reception room was.
Finally having a practical reason to satisfy her curiosity, she clamored up the stairs as nimbly and quietly as she could on her spiky heels.
A gas light flickered at one end of the hall and she made her way in that direction.
The hallway was crowded with side tables and shelving units, every surface crammed with doodads and knick-knacks, each one probably oozing with historical value.
She leaned over one side table to get a better look at some intriguing cut crystal pieces, and bumped her backside into the table on the opposite side of the narrow hall, causing several things to clatter to the floor.
Swearing quietly to herself, she whirled around to pick everything up, praying she hadn’t broken anything.
She hastily replaced a vase and a picture frame, the hallway too dark and the picture itself too blurry to make out what it was, and stretched under the table to try and grab the last thing that fell, what looked like an old cracked marble on a long brass chain.
As soon as her fingers curled around the marble, she heard an angry throat clearing behind her, causing her to crack the top of her head in her hurry to get up.
The waiter stood above her, looking profoundly disturbed at her presence, but reached out a hand to help her up. Trying to keep what was left of her dignity, she managed to stand without flashing him or falling off her heels.
“Miss, you mustn’t be up here,” the man said in a posh accent, taking her elbow and turning her back in the direction of the stairs.
Leaning closer to him in the poor light she saw his costume was really quite fantastic, much better than she would have thought they’d get for waitstaff. She rubbed the top of her head and winced, sure her sleek ponytail was a mess.
“Is there going to be a show?” she asked, thinking there might be a historical reenactment after dinner.
He stared down at her with disconcerting directness, his silver gray eyes unblinking. He seemed more sure of himself than any actor or waiter and she found herself meekly turning in the direction he pointed her.
“You’ll find what you’re looking for downstairs,” he said, giving her a little shove.
Before she could ask him anything else, he glanced down at a pocket watch he took from his waistcoat, scowled some more and then left, disappearing into a room at the opposite end of the hall.
Bizarre, she thought. And rude. She made her way back to the stairway and realized she still had the brass necklace clutched in her hand.
Bugger, how important could it be that it got put back on the same shelf?
She decided to ditch it on the closest table and go find the shrimp cocktail when she heard a definite crash come from the room the man had entered.
As strange as he’d been, he had helped her up from her foray under the table.
As crowded with junk as the hallway was, she imagined the rooms were equally full of dangers.
She really ought to peek and make sure something hadn’t fallen on him.
She wound her way past the piles toward the darkened end of the hall and knocked lightly on the door.
“Sir?” she called softly.
Knocking again, she nudged open the door and peered around it.
The room was empty save for a dresser. Not even a rug covered the wood floor.
She stepped all the way in and turned in a circle.
An open wardrobe leaned against the opposite wall, also completely empty.
She noticed in the corner near the dresser lay a large brass vase, probably the source of the noise she’d heard.
So, he’d knocked it off the dresser, now where was he?
She strode to the dresser, gasping at the drop in temperature as she knelt by the vase.
The window in the room was covered with thick velvet drapes, and no draft came from that direction, but she felt a chill crawl up her arms as she eyed the wall for a hidden doorway.
“Bloody old houses,” she murmured, feeling a bit spooked and wanting the comfort of her voice.
She laughed at herself for being silly, realizing she must have gone into the wrong room.
She reached out to pick up the vase with the old necklace still wound around her hand and rolled her eyes at herself.
It seemed she was determined to steal the ugly old thing.
Picking up the vase, she was about to drop it in and leave them both on the dresser when the air grew even colder all at once, raising goosebumps on her skin.
She tried to drop the vase and get out of there, back down to people and safety, but was rooted to the spot.
The air shimmered before her eyes, a jolt of pain hit her in the temple and everything disappeared.
The cold receded from her skin, replaced by a sickly sheen of sweat.
She gagged and leaned over, clutching her knees and nearly falling off her high heels.
Wow, she had never come so close to passing out before, and wondered what might have caused her to feel so ill all of a sudden.
She blinked a few times and looked around. And almost fainted again.
The previously nearly empty room was now completely and lushly furnished.
Her heels sank into a thick Persian rug, her hand rested on a shiny walnut dresser, not the dresser that had been there before.
A dim lamp burned on a spindly side table near an elaborate mirror that hung over a washstand.
A four poster bed with green curtains was about two feet away from where she was about to fall over.
She looked down at her hand that still clutched the glass marble pendant. The vase she’d been holding was gone. Not on the floor, not anywhere.
“What in the hell?” she asked out loud in growing terror.
Spots winked in her vision and she staggered to the bed, knocking a heavy silver candle holder to the ground on her way.
The door slid open and a stately older man poked his head around it.
She stood there gaping at him as he took her in from top to toe.
Groaning, he quickly came into the room and shut the door behind him.
“Dear me,” he said with a shake of his head. “Not again.”