Chapter 7
seven
. . .
peony
Dressed in my new pajamas, curled up under a big comforter with the heat set just right, I sleep like a just-born puppy.
My dreams are fluffy like cotton candy clouds, and I wake up to find a gentle morning sun drifting in my window in long beams. I’m glad that Mr. Castle decided to put me on the south side of the house.
I’ve never spent much time outside the manor, mostly because it’s not in my job description and it’s been a chilly autumn so far. I haven’t even spent much time looking out the windows because Mr. Edgewood seems to prefer keeping the curtains drawn.
From my bedroom window, however, the expansive grounds sprawl behind the manor, and they’re a marvel.
There are multiple gardens organized in semicircles, one with a koi pond so large there’s a bridge crossing over it.
Manicured hedges surround the house, and two big hedge sculptures are growing along the border.
A quaint brick pathway leads away from the manor, through the gardens and into the grass beyond, which has started browning.
It continues until the forest takes over the landscape again, swallowing it up.
I wonder where that path goes, or if Mr. Edgewood ever walks it. Perhaps I’ll spot him sometime from my window when he doesn’t expect me to be watching.
My curiosity about him grows, especially since his notes became… sweeter? Almost flirty? And I don’t know what to make of the gifts he left me last night. They were truly thoughtful and didn’t appear to have any strings attached.
Though you never really know. People hide their true selves, and sometimes the mask can be quite convincing.
I shouldn’t be such a cynic. That wasn’t me, not before. I was always looking ahead, always seeing the best in people. Maybe with enough time away from Andy, that could be me again.
But for now, I need to protect myself.
Given that it’s Saturday morning, I’m not sure if Mr. Castle expects me to show up for work at the usual time. I decide to shower and get dressed just in case.
Inside the bathroom, I find it’s already stocked with everything I need: shampoo, conditioner, body wash, body lotion, even a hair dryer.
It’s like Mr. Castle raided an Ulta and deposited it here.
The shower water is amazingly hot, and all the bath products smell like flowers.
By the time I’m finished, I’m turning pruny all over.
Finally, I emerge from the warm shower and towel off with the most luxurious towel I’ve ever touched.
My few items of clothing, which I squirreled away in the car along with the pillow and blanket, look pathetic inside a single top drawer of the six-drawer dresser.
I wish I could’ve left with more, but it was all I could take without getting caught.
Still, I put on what I have that’s clean, vowing to ask Mr. Castle about using the washer and dryer down in the utility rooms.
I’m here in the manor now, so I might as well see if I can cook breakfast. There are almost always ingredients for pancakes lying around in someone’s pantry, so once I’m in the kitchen, I get to mixing up a batch.
I’ve never cooked breakfast here before, and I’m not sure if Mr. Edgewood will want any, but I make enough for three people, anyway.
The smell of cooking bacon must draw in Mr. Castle, who I’m surprised to find is dressed in a t-shirt and running pants. I gape at him, sure that I’m seeing some kind of ghost. I thought Mr. Castle didn’t wear anything but his usual gray suit with the black tie.
Then he does something even stranger, and grins.
“You know, I do live here, too,” Mr. Castle says, sliding onto one of the stools at the kitchen island. “I just went on a jog.”
He is fit and slender, so I’m not surprised to hear he’s a runner.
“Of course you live here,” I say, trying to recover myself. “I made breakfast. Would you like some?”
“Don’t mind if I do.”
It’s odd to see him so casual, so off-the-clock, but I think I like it. There are fewer barriers between us this way.
“I made some for Mr. Edgewood, too.” I put two pancakes on a plate, slap a pat of butter between each one, and then drizzle some maple syrup on top.
And then, for my final touch, I pull out the nitro canister I found under one of the counters and spray whipped cream on the pile of pancakes in the shape of a heart, with a big, fat strawberry in the middle.
Mr. Castle’s eyes are round as I add some bacon, cover it with a cloche, and hand it to him. Then he disappears, taking Mr. Edgewood his meal, before coming back to chow down.
It’s only after Mr. Castle has finished eating his own plate of pancakes that he speaks to me again.
“I think I could get used to you making breakfast, too,” he says, pushing the empty plate away. “But I’m going to have to run twice as much.”
“I also make croissants, Mr. Castle, so don’t get too comfortable.”
He smirks at this. “Call me Kellen.”
Are we on a first-name basis now? I smile and offer him a hand. “I’m Peony. I know you know, but…”
“It’s good to meet you, Peony.” After shaking my offered hand quickly, Kellen picks up his plate and carries it to the dishwasher, but I try to stop him. “No, let me clean up. It’s not your job today, and I’m grateful that you cooked for us at all.”
Properly chastised, I leave him to tidy up the mess I made.
“If you want to help, though, you can get Mr. Edgewood’s plate,” he says. “He leaves it outside his door.”
Task in hand, I wander down to the east hall, where the color scheme is darker and moodier. Sure enough, the silver plate with the cloche sits on a table outside the door to his quarters. Underneath the cloche is the note I expected—and perhaps hoped—to find.
What an unexpected treat. I hope the bed was to your taste. Please, take the day off today and tomorrow. The grounds are lovely for a stroll.
-R
A rush of pleasure travels through me. He liked the food, and he’s making sure that I’m not working over the weekend. It’s such an odd feeling to have anyone else looking out for me that I’m not sure what to do with it.
I tuck the note away to add to the pile I’ve been accumulating, then return the plate to the kitchen where Kellen’s already dealt with most of my mess.
“Are you the one who cooks?” I’ve been wondering ever since I arrived who stocked this place with high-end vinegars and olive oils. There’s even nitro for homemade whipped cream.
The question appears to confuse him. “I don’t cook, no.” He seems a little ashamed of it.
“Then who used this kitchen before me? They stockpiled some interesting things.”
“Mr. Edgewood.” Mr. Castle pauses, as if weighing how much to say. “He cooks from time to time. And when he did, he was quite good at it.”
This takes me by surprise. The reclusive billionaire can cook, can he?
“Why does he need me?” I ask.
Kellen sighs and dries his hands off on a towel. “Even when I am the only one here, Mr. Edgewood rarely emerges. Before, at least at night, he would sometimes come down and cook a meal. But it has been… a steady decline.”
I understand. He must have some condition that prevents him from wanting to leave the safety of his rooms, and it’s getting worse with time.
“He really must come out,” I say. “As long as he remains entrenched in his habits, nothing will change. Nothing will improve.”
Kellen shrugs. “He does not want to change or improve.”
I shoot him a sharp look. “That is what he wants, yes. But you’re his friend, too, aren’t you?”
Kellen watches me steadily. After a moment, he begrudgingly nods. “Yes. I would count him among my friends.”
“Then it’s your job to push him out of his comfort zone. To keep him connected with the world so that he doesn’t disappear completely.”
His brows go up in surprise. “My job? I’m the butler. I can’t make Mr. Edgewood do anything he doesn’t want to do. You don’t know how stubborn he is.”
I think about this while Kellen finishes up. Before he leaves, though, I stop him.
“Perhaps we could work together,” I suggest. “Maybe if we combine our efforts, we could convince Mr. Edgewood to come out. I really, truly think it would be good for him. It will slow the decline, as you put it.”
I bite my lip, wondering if I’ve pushed too far. But Kellen actually seems to consider it, rubbing his chin.
“All right. If you can come up with a plan, I’ll try to help you. But that’s the most I can do.” A little smile pulls at the edge of his mouth. “I think you’ll find your efforts to be far more effective than mine, so I’ll do my best to support you.”
With that, he salutes me and heads off, leaving me alone in the kitchen to ponder what he means.
rupert
The whipped cream heart will be forever imprinted on my memory. It had begun to melt on top of the hot pancakes, but it was still distinctly there, with a rather large strawberry sitting upon another mound of whipped cream in the middle.
I wonder what it means.
It’s the most delicious and decadent breakfast I’ve had in a long time.
The pancakes were light and fluffy and thick but still cooked all the way through.
What did she do to aerate them? Perhaps she separated the whites and whipped them before mixing the batter together, as one does with Belgian waffles.
After a week of her meals, I am certain now that Ms. Austin is not just a housekeeper. She has a hidden history, one that includes cooking professionally, and I wish I could learn it. She is wonderfully intriguing, and I do hope that she appreciated my gifts and didn’t think them peculiar.
I wish there was a way I could speak with her without showing myself.
I would love to get to know her, to learn more about her.
Frankly, I would enjoy simply hearing her voice.
I suppose now that she’s living at the manor, she does have a landline.
But she may view it as an intrusion on her privacy if I use it to contact her on a weekend.
Perhaps on Monday. It would be easier than communicating with one-sided notes.
A baser part of me has settled knowing she’s here under my protection and won’t have to climb into her rickety car to go home.
She’s safe, warm, and hopefully, comfortable.
But now Ms. Austin is also much closer, and it’s as if I can already pick up her scent on the air.
She is only on the other side of the manor.
All I would need to do is walk to her room, and I could see her up close, with my own eyes.
I know what would happen, though. I know how she would scream. I know how she would run, horrified by me, and never return.
And I know I couldn’t bear it.