Chapter 4 A Clandestine Event
The echo of the brass bell faded into silence.
Celise shrank away from the castle’s heavy doors, pulling her silk shawl a bit closer about her small form.
Now what?
Behind her, she heard Marcella, Katrina and Heather stumbling out of their carriage, dresses rustling and shoes clip-clopping on the cobbles.
Their arrival was almost a day later than expected. A fallen tree on the rails had delayed their train overnight. So instead of arriving the previous evening, they were reaching the castle by midmorning the next day. Celise didn’t see any other carriages waiting along the front drive.
Marcella was furious, of course.
Perched on a green bluff overlooking a dark pinewood forest, Gravenmere Castle was built in a “T” formation, with wings on three sides.
The gabled roof of the great hall could be seen for miles around.
Pointed, spearlike towers pierced the sky.
A broad curtain wall encircled the castle’s rambling grounds, which encompassed more than a hundred acres of gardens, pavilions and outbuildings.
Celise had never seen such a mammoth-sized estate.
Centuries ago, Gravenmere Province was its own sovereign land, and the Blackwood family was its royal bloodline.
But Gravenmere had been absorbed into the Kingdom of Forsynthia during a previous spawning of the Daemon King.
Now, the province made up almost a quarter of the kingdom and was the largest duchy, or “dukedom,” in the realm.
Gravenmere Castle stood at the center of the province and served as the Blackwood family’s seat of power.
Their wealth funded much of the Forsynthian military, and their bloodline was a close contender for the Forsynthian throne.
As their carriage driver began unloading their bags, Celise hovered on the wide doorstep before a pair of sturdy double doors, unsure of what to do next. Should she ring the bell again? Or did she wait? How long did a proper lady wait at the door?
Just as Marcella reached the top of the front steps with a scowl on her face, the knob turned, the door creaked open, and a butler in smart green livery appeared. The stiff mustache on his upper lip made his speech seem stilted and formal.
“How do you do?” The butler's eyes, fixed with a permanent look of bored disdain, swept over Celise’s plain dress, then past her to focus on Katrina and Heather, who were just climbing the stairs.
Her younger sisters looked stunning in the latest fashion from The Modern Lady’s Wishlist. Their long pagoda sleeves trailed past their elbows, falling in wide, bell-like shapes.
Lace-trimmed undersleeves gathered at their wrists with tiny ribbons.
A modest crinoline added structure to their long blue skirts, though as daywear, the dresses were not nearly as wide as formal gowns.
With matching ribbons in their hair, the two ladies looked youthful and elegant.
Celise’s dress was plain in comparison. Steffie had done her best, but not much could liven up the simple calico cotton that buttoned up to her jaw.
The print was of tiny, nondescript flowers spattered across a faded yellow base.
The hems of her sleeves were not the popular pagoda style but were cut straight and narrow and buttoned at her wrists.
The double-layered fabric and high neckline made the dress itchy and hot.
It was not fashionable in the least. Beneath the stifling dress, she wasn’t used to wearing such a tight corset, and walking in a bustle felt like being hitched to a wagon.
“Lady Dhastel and her two—pardon, three—daughters: Katrina, Heather and Celise,” Marcella declared, pushing past Celise and the butler into the house. “My husband shall arrive shortly with our maid. Our train was delayed. You’ll find our names on the guest list."
“Of course, my lady. Welcome to Gravenmere Castle.”
The butler moved aside with a gracious bow, and the ladies all filed into the ancient stone building through the open front door.
Sunlight flooded the foyer through a star-shaped skylight far overhead.
The entryway was wide and drafty, but every detail was exquisite, from the polished wooden floor to the crown molding to the vivid oil paintings and green damask wallpaper that decorated the anteroom.
Celise was surprised. By the outward appearance of the castle, she had expected a cold, dreary fortress of gray stone, but the main areas of the castle had been refurbished into comfortable living quarters.
It certainly outshone the Dhastel mansion, which, although majestic in its own way, carried an aged ranch-house feeling.
"Excuse me, ladies,” the butler suddenly drew her attention. He indicated a leather-bound guestbook resting on a low table. “Please, if you will sign next to your names,” he said, and offered Marcella a fountain pen.
Celise gulped.
Her stepmother and two half-sisters all signed the guestbook with quick, flourishing gestures.
Celise hesitated, fumbling a bit to hold the pen.
She had never learned Forsynthian high script or practiced a signature.
After studying the other looping letters and little squiggles in the book, she invented one on the spot.
She whipped down a few loops and swirls and something that looked like a “C” and a “D.” She was proud of her creativity, but the butler didn’t seem to care.
The butler took their coats and Celise’s parasol, with a promise to deliver the items to their rooms. Two more servants arrived to carry their bags and trunks. Soon they were alone in the anteroom, waiting for something, but Celise wasn’t sure what.
Or whom?
Suddenly, a bit of movement caught Celise’s eye. A narrow hallway led away from the foyer, running parallel to the front of the house. It was a servants’ passage, not one the guests would use. As she turned to look, she caught a glimpse of a dark shadow sweeping down the corridor.
As curious as a cat, Celise leaned a bit to gaze down the narrow passage. She caught another glimpse of the shadow—it was rather tall. She saw the slope of broad shoulders, a dark jacket and a wave of black hair.
The man turned to the side. For a moment, she saw a tantalizing outline of a masculine jaw.
Then he opened a door at the end of the hallway, slipped through and was gone.
Celise’s fingers clutched at the rough fabric of her skirt. The man didn’t strike her as a servant. His posture was very straight. Even at a glimpse, his wide shoulders and tilted head held an air of authority.
A strange sense of intrigue stirred within her, very unlike her usual self.
Who was that? she wondered.
She wanted to follow after him, if only to escape the awkward silence of the foyer.
A very slow minute stretched as the three women stood in the anteroom.
Marcella was obviously waiting for someone other than the butler to come and greet them.
Celise found herself turning away from the servants' passage and stifling a yawn in her sleeve.
She tried to hide it from Marcella—she was pretty sure "yawning" was on the list of things a lady couldn't do.
Then Katrina said in hushed awe, “Look! It’s all shined!”
She pointed to an entryway table along the left wall.
A handful of bright enamel urns and ceramic vases filled with flowers covered the table.
A portrait of the Blackwood family hung above it.
Celise’s eyes combed over the portrait, wondering which child was the Mad Dog.
She counted two brothers and a sister dressed in formal attire: the girl wore a white chiffon dress, while the boys wore little green waistcoats. None of the children were smiling.
“Have you ever seen so many shined objects, Mother? They must cost a fortune,” Katrina whispered, approaching the table curiously.
“Mind your gifts,” her mother said with a strained voice and a bright smile. “Just because they’re shined doesn’t mean they’re for your use.”
“This is just like the Skydust Museum in Astravelle,” Heather whispered, awed. “I think that mirror is shined as well!”
Celise’s eyes traveled to the opposite wall, where a gilt mirror inlaid with roses and curling leaf motifs hung next to a doorway.
“Unfortunately, the mirror is just solid gold, not shined or enhanced in any way,” a booming voice reached them. “Allow me to welcome you personally to Gravenmere Castle, Lady Marcella Dhastel.”
Celise stiffened. Her stepsisters whirled about. Katrina and Heather quickly dipped into graceful curtsies, their skirts lifting gently as they bowed. Celise dipped as well, though more like a bird pecking at a worm in the grass.
Lord Cornelius Blackwood descended the staircase at a stately pace, his steward following on his coattails.
Celise recognized the bristly man from the oil portrait.
Stout, bow-legged, with gray mutton chops and a dignified cane, something about the old duke reminded her of a bulldog.
Celise couldn’t help but notice the gold buttons on his black coat and cuffs.
Beneath his velvet coat, he wore a green brocade vest and a starched white shirt.
His clothing was as rich as the house’s decor.
This would be the Mad Dog’s father.
His steward caught her attention as well, who followed the old duke down the staircase.
The fellow wore a suit of dark green livery and a top hat, but his wavy hair held a subtle lavender color, like the wisteria in the front drive, and his skin was a rich brown tone, warm and smooth.
His eyes were hazel. Celise blinked twice.
Although the Kingdoms of Bratzia and Forsynthia were staunch allies, she hadn’t seen a Bratzian man for many years.
The minerals in their mountain kingdom gave their people’s hair an unusual silver-lavender color.
She glanced away before the Bratzian steward noticed her stare.