Ashes of Roses

by Melissa R. L. Simonin

  “Just letting my imagination get away with me,” I replied. “I had my eyes closed.”

  “Okay…” Miles said slowly. “Now we’ve reached the stairs, you might want to keep them open.”

  “I’ll do that,” I laughed. “Not that you’d let me fall, either way.”

  “That’s right. The only falling you’re allowed to do, is for me,” he smiled.

  “And that, I did most completely and irrevocably, long ago,” I replied, and stopped the cutest guy that ever lived, so I could kiss him. If anyone happened to be peering at us through one of the many windows and felt like being shocked, they might as well get used to it. Either that, or look the other way.

  “Same here,” Miles smiled. He tucked my hand in his arm again, and we climbed the broad staircase to the massive front doors. I found myself feeling like Alice in Wonderland, as I looked up at them. There was no bell, but there was a knocker on the wall within easy reach, no ladder required.

  Miles reached for the knocker, but instead of knocking it, he pulled.

  “Vintage doorbell,” he explained.

  Several seconds later, we were still waiting for a response.

  “Maybe their vintage doorbell is for decorative purposes only,” I remarked quietly. “Or, maybe the butler has a universal count-to-ten before responding to anything, policy.”

  “He wouldn’t come across as very stately if he raced to the door and threw it open,” Miles replied. “I don’t recall ours being in a huge hurry, either.”

  “I guess not. I didn’t know we even had one,” I frowned a little, but Miles smiled.

  “That was significantly before your time,” he replied.

  There was the thud of rapidly approaching footsteps on the other side of the door.

  “You’re right, that’s not very stately,” I commented softly. “Or maybe he needs a running start, to get these doors open.”

  “Only if he intends to break the frame, and snap the hinges,” Miles remarked, as he moved us back a step.

  The person belonging to the footsteps hit the other side of the door with a thud, and the knob rattled furiously, then turned. It flew open—the normal size door, set within one of the giant double doors—and a man stormed out. He was middle-aged, wore a navy suit, had dark hair, and his gray eyes burned angrily. He slammed the door behind him, and stomped down the nearest set of stairs without so much as a glance in our direction. We watched as he bypassed the driveway, then hurled himself down a side path, and around a hedge. A moment later, an engine roared to life, then revved. With a squeal of tires, it raced some more, then receded into the distance. Either he forged a new road on his way out, or there was more than one.

  “What on earth was that all about?” I wondered for both of us.

  Miles glanced over his shoulder at the Rolls, where Reg was engaged in unloading our luggage. We’d have to yell if we wanted his opinion, and he appeared to be oblivious. It was more likely than not, that he missed the angry man’s rapid exodus, though he’d have to be deaf not to have heard.

  “Your guess is as good as mine,” Miles replied.

  We turned back to the door. Several more seconds elapsed, so Miles pulled the doorbell again.

  And… we waited.

  “Maybe the butler got fed up with being stately,” I remarked.

  “So in a fit of rebellion, he donned a navy suit before leaving half his tire tread behind when he took off for the last time,” Miles pretended to consider.

  “When you put it that way…” I couldn’t help laughing. “So… now what? Third time’s the charm?”

  Miles pulled the doorbell once more, and knocked for good measure. Once again, we waited.

  “It would appear the answer is no,” he finally replied, with a slight frown. “Would you care for a walk, while we wait for the Carlisles to sort out whatever it is they’ve got going on?”

  “Yes, I’d love that,” I agreed. “I’d really like to see the roses.”

  “That’s easy enough to accomplish,” Miles smiled.

  He tucked my hand safely in his arm, and held it for good measure. Superpowers or not, tumbling down the steps wasn’t going to happen, even if I did close my eyes again. But, there was no risk of that. I was far too interested in our present surroundings to bother imagining anything else.

  I couldn’t help feeling a little disappointed when behind us, I heard the door open. Miles and I turned.

  Despite the suspiciously formal attire and solemn expression, the guy who stood there with his hand on the knob didn’t look nearly old enough to be a butler. But, if that really was who tore through the door and vacated the premises just minutes ago, maybe he was the short-notice replacement.

  “Welcome to Bannerman Manor,” the solemn guy said solemnly. “How may I be of assistance?”

  “Miles and Anika Bannerman, by invitation of Lady Carlisle and Sir Edmund,” Miles said, and handed the guy his card.

  Solemn Guy looked at it briefly, then gave a nod of acknowledgement. He stood aside, and motioned for us to enter.

  The parquet floor glowed softly in the light that flowed through the open door, the window above, the chandelier that hung from the third floor ceiling, and the glowing orbs held by the twin statues stationed on the pedestals at the foot of the massive staircase. As the statues were bronze and of diminished stature, I didn’t eye them too warily. At least I didn’t think I did, but there was amusement in Miles’ eyes when I glanced at him. Apparently he thought so! If he was the one who was once nearly scared to death when he thought a statue came to life, he’d be suspicious, too! I tilted my chin and looked slightly offended, which didn’t fool him any. As Solemn Guy counted to ten, or whatever it was he was doing, I got back to my study of the entryway.

  A dark wood chair rail, baseboard, wainscoting, crown and door molding framed the ivory embossed, damask wallpaper. Above the arched doorways on our left and right, intricately carved medallions stood guard. Narrow strips of white trim outlined evenly-spaced sections of the wall, drawing attention to the elaborate gold-framed portraits contained within. A thick rug of deep red, with gold scrollwork, ivory roses, and pale green leaves and vine filled much of the floor, and flowed up the steps of the stairs that stretched from the center of the large space, to the opposite wall of the room. A row of Victorian parlor chairs stood waiting, beside the front doors on the right. On the left, above the narrow table that held the silver tray upon which Solemn Guy placed Miles’ card, hung a large mirror. Flowers, vines, ribbons, and chubby cherubs—or an artist’s flawed rendition of what constituted a cherubim, anyway—all covered in gold, formed the thick frame that surrounded the beveled glass. On the wall beside it, a row of gold buttons were more modestly framed. Solemn Guy pressed one.

  Within moments, a second guy, dressed in the same manner as the first and sporting the same solemn expression, appeared in the doorway on our right.

  Solemn Guy the first, turned to him.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Miles Bannerman,” he announced.

  Solemn Guy the second gave a nod of acknowledgement, then addressed Miles.

  “Tea will be served in suite, at half-past five. Sir Edmund and Miss Fairgrave will join you in the lounge, at nine and three-quarters. Lady Carlisle will expect you at half-past ten, for dinner.”

  “Very well,” Miles acknowledged.

  “Escort Mr. and Mrs. Bannerman to floor one, west wing, suite twenty-five,” Solemn Guy the second directed. Solemn Guy the first’s brief hesitation, gave away his surprise. So did the flick of his eyebrows.

  “That would be floor one, east wing, number twenty-seven, would it not?” Solemn Guy the first questioned.

  Solemn Guy the second held his gaze steadily, and said no more. Solemn Guy the first nodded smartly, and turned to Miles.

  “Right this way,” he said, then promptly headed for the stairs.

  I found that decidedly puzzling. Our room was on the first floor, yet Solemn Guy the first was intent on climbing to the next?<
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  Apparently so, because that’s what he was doing! Miles didn’t point out the guy’s error, so neither did I. I followed his lead, and we followed the guy.

  On the second landing, Solemn Guy the first took the corridor on our left. The doors had no numbers, not that it mattered. We were on the wrong floor, we were bound to end up in the wrong room, regardless.

  Solemn Guy the first seemed blissfully unaware, but in a solemn way, of course. Halfway down the hall, he came to a stop in front of a door. He opened it, then stood aside, and waited.

  Miles entered, and I followed right behind.

  The room was dark, lit only by the pale sunlight that seeped around the edges of the heavy curtain that guarded the room’s single window. Indistinct shadows gave testament to the furniture, but further details were otherwise too dim to see. Although, the room seemed rather small considering the size of the manor itself. Maybe that was normal. It would make heating the room much easier, as long as there was a working fireplace. At the moment, I was glad I had my coat.

  Suddenly, light burst forth from the ceiling fixture. I closed my eyes tightly, but just for a moment. The light was bright, but only when compared to the previous darkness. It didn’t take long to acclimate, after all.

  A string swung gently from the fixture above. I’d have to congratulate Miles later, for finding it. Solemn Guy the first stepped past us, and carefully slid the curtains open. The room really was small, although larger than the bedroom in the caretaker’s cottage at the estate. A heavily carved wardrobe filled most of one pale green, papered wall. Opposite the wardrobe was a small fireplace. A comfortable looking upholstered chair sat in a corner beside the window, and in the other, resided a curtained bed. Either people used to be a lot smaller back then, or a bed of such diminished size made no sense! The Carlisles had no idea our cats sandwiched us in every night. We often joked that a twin bed was all we needed. It looked like tonight we’d find out if that was the truth, because if it was any bigger than that, it wasn’t by much.

  Aside from the chill in the air, and the room’s diminutive bed and limited proportions, the space was outfitted luxuriously. The rug was thick underfoot, and bore no signs of traffic. The curtains and drapery of heavy, two-tone ivy-patterned brocade, complemented the design embossed on the wallpaper. The mantle, as finely carved and polished as the furniture, held a coordinating flower and stem arrangement at each end, and a large gold framed mirror—though minus the cherubs—was centered on the wall, between.

  It was a beautiful room, but less flowery and feminine than I expected, after seeing the décor in the entryway and corridor. Even the flowers themselves were all in shades of pale green, without a hint of pink or purple, or any other color. Maybe this room was Edwardian, in style. I knew very little about that, but it certainly didn’t fit what I knew of Victorian era décor.

  It did have a bathroom, I was glad to see. Either that, or a closet in addition to the wardrobe beside it, which wouldn’t make much sense. There was also a radiator, which Solemn Guy the first was fiddling with. It hissed angrily, in response. I don’t know what it said, but with a polite nod, Solemn Guy the first left, and closed the door behind him.

  “Too tired to engage the help in conversation?” Miles asked, as he hugged me, and I leaned into him wearily.

  “Yes,” I admitted. “It’s been a very long day.”

  “And it’s not over yet,” Miles replied sympathetically.

  “I’d like to know why we’re on the second floor instead of the first, though,” I said.

  “In America, we would be. But here, we’re on the first. Previously, we were on the ground floor,” Miles explained. “That’s just one of the many things Grandma Polly told me to expect, when we spoke yesterday afternoon.”

  “Oh,” I said in surprise, then sighed and rested my cheek against his chest. “That feels like so long ago.”

  “We should have a couple of free hours after tea is delivered,” Miles pointed out.”

  “I second your motion of a nap,” I said. “In fact, I’d vote to skip tea and get straight to it, given the option. Do you suppose the Carlisles are putting off meeting us out of consideration, until we’ve had a chance to settle in?”

  “I’m extending the benefit of the doubt, so yes,” Miles answered, as he removed his phone from his pocket. “I’ll text and let Xander know our room number.”

  “The more ways to contact us, the better,” I approved. “What was up with the room assignment? Solemn Guy the first acted awfully surprised by it.”

  “They were rather solemn, weren’t they,” Miles smiled. “Maybe he knew this is a single room, and wondered at the choice.”

  “He’s not the only one,” I said, as I turned to open the wardrobe. It was empty. “What do you suppose they did with our luggage?”

  Miles took the three easy steps needed to cross the room, and pulled aside the bed curtains.

  “They’re not here, so maybe they’re in there,” he suggested, with a nod at the partially open door on the other side of the wardrobe. “Either that, or… they’re somewhere else, entirely.”

  I laughed at that statement of the obvious, then pushed the door open, and glanced inside. The wardrobe blocked the dim light of the window, and that of the ceiling fixture, but I saw enough to know it was a bathroom. I felt of the wall, and found nothing but… wall.

  “I hope tea includes a candle and matches, because I can’t find a light switch, anywhere,” I frowned.

  Miles joined me, but he had no greater luck. He stepped inside the dark space, and I followed.

  There was the click of a pull chain, and a small bathroom appeared in the light of the single bulb. A claw foot tub, small sink, and toilet were all the sliver of space could hold.

  “I was not expecting that,” I said, with a glance at the light switch alternative hanging from the ceiling. “I wasn’t expecting it to be this tiny, either.”

  “It is small, but I’m thankful to have one at all,” Miles commented.

  “So am I. This does explain why the bedroom isn’t very big,” I remarked.

  “The space had to be accommodated from somewhere,” he said, as he glanced over his shoulder, then glanced again.

  “What?” I asked. Miles turned, and pushed open the narrow, wallpaper-covered door behind him. My eyes widened in surprise. “Oh my goodness—I really hope that’s a closet!”

  “Instead of someone else’s room,” Miles finished for me. “If it is a closet, I do wonder why space for the bathroom was borrowed from the bedroom with the huge wardrobe… and why this one contains three windows.”

  I hesitated. I had tight hold of Miles’ coat, so he did too.

  “The door wasn’t latched,” I reasoned uncertainly.

  “No, it wasn’t,” Miles said. “If you want my coat, you can have it, but I’m going in.”

  “Well… it’s freezing in here. I may. But fine,” I replied. I didn’t let go, but I did let him move forward. I stuck close behind. There was something incredibly creepy about the dark room, the darker furniture—I assumed that’s what those shapes were, anyway—and the faint daylight outlining the curtains. It was even creepier when the outline dimmed, and thunder rumbled. We moved forward slowly, because who knew what we might run into.

  “If the light is on a pull chain in the middle of the room, I think that would put it right about… here,” Miles commented, and there was a click. I blinked a few times, then looked around.

  “I say we trade,” I declared, because nice as the other room was, this was by far, my favorite! I found the colorful floral fabrics to be restful, in an interesting way. The vanity was amazing, and similar to the one in our own room, at home. In fact, this was the kind of room that could be found at the estate. It wasn’t as large, but it was certainly bigger than the green room. So was the bed!

  “How… peculiar,” Miles said. He looked like he was thinking. As rain pelted against the window panes, there was a brief rap at the door, and it o
pened. Good thing we weren’t indisposed in some way, shape, or form! Not that we were even supposed to be in here, or… were we?

  A tea cart entered the room, followed by Solemn Guy the third. How many of them were there, anyway? At least four, because another entered right behind, carrying my suitcases. The fourth lay them on top of the cedar chest, while the third wheeled the cart to the coffee table positioned near the fireplace, between two Victorian chairs.

  “Will there be anything else, sir?” the third asked.

  “Thank you, this will do,” Miles replied.

  Only if we intended to spend our time between now and dinner, replacing Miles’ wardrobe! Where were his suitcases?

  “You’ll find your luggage in your room, sir,” the fourth said with a brief bow, and that astonishing individual left. The third followed in his wake, closing the door behind them.

  “Your room?” I repeated in disbelief.

  “It would appear so,” Miles replied.

  All I could do was stare. For a second, anyway.

  “Why?” I exclaimed. “And why don’t you seem as baffled as I am? Did Grandma Polly warn you about this, too? The second floor is the first, and couples are reduced to singles. I’m seeing a pattern here! I can only imagine what they’d do with anyone unfortunate enough to be a second twin.”

  There was laughter in Miles’ eyes, and he smiled.

  “That’s an intriguing association you’ve made. Maybe you’re right, there is a conspiracy against the number two, in favor of one. If we happen across any twins, we’ll be sure and warn them. You are right that I’m not baffled, but it isn’t due to enlightenment by Grandma Polly. While my family didn’t adopt the practice, I recall that separate bedrooms were the norm during certain eras, such as the Edwardian. The Bannermans who built this house apparently subscribed to that.”

  “You have got to be kidding,” I said in astonishment. “But you’re not kidding! You’re telling the truth.”

  “It was considered normal by the wealthier class, at that time,” Miles half-shrugged, as he led me to the tea cart.

  “Then I’d much rather be less wealthy,” I declared, as we both sat, and began lifting covers from their corresponding trays. They were filled with delectable looking sandwiches and pastries. The cart also held tea leaves, sugar, cream, and the obligatory teapot filled with steaming water. “Although… the very idea of marrying a stranger, makes me want my own room. And a stack of two-by-fours, a hammer, and nails.”