by Ellery Adams
“You okay?” Lachlan asked.
“I just want to get to our hotel,” she said.
A green road sign ahead indicated that their journey was nearly over. Jane relaxed her grip on the steering wheel.
Most of the drive had taken them up and down mountain roads. These curving, fog-covered rises and descents were unpredictable. It had been a harrowing trip, and Jane was ready for it to be over.
Lachlan helped her navigate around Asheville. She took the Biltmore exit, and he directed her to Village Lane.
“I still don’t understand why we didn’t book rooms on the estate grounds,” Lachlan said as Jane pulled into a gravel lot facing a four-story Tudor Revival structure made of pale brick.
“I don’t want to use Biltmore’s Wi-Fi or have Templar eyes on us.”
Lachlan grunted in approval. Any remaining doubt dissipated when he realized that the hotel was a series of apartments lacking a front desk or any visible staff.
After checking her text messages for the access codes, Jane opened the outside door. She and Lachlan ascended to the second floor, and Jane used the second code to unlock the apartment door. Inside, there was a living room, a dining area, a full kitchen, and two bedrooms with en-suite bathrooms.
Jane’s bedroom overlooked a small patio garden, but she ignored the rain-soaked café tables, the lush greenery, and the bubbling fountain. Instead, her eyes traveled to where she knew the chateau sat, perched like a king on a high throne, atop a rise in the distance.
“I’m coming, Edwin,” she whispered.
* * *
Though Jane had been to Biltmore as a young girl, the sight of the magnificent building still took her breath away.
Lachlan was also gazing over the main lawn toward the house. He frowned and said, “It’ll be a challenge to find a human needle in that massive haystack.”
“Ernest Hemingway warned that we should never confuse movement with action. We don’t have time to waste moving around the estate without purpose.”
Jane took out her phone and reread the text message Julian Douglas had sent ten minutes ago. “Mr. Douglas promised us a behind-the-scenes tour. Now is when your interest in roof pitches and drainage comes into play. You get to the attic, and I’ll work on the basements.”
“Got it.”
After handing their tickets to a Biltmore employee stationed at the front doors, Jane and Lachlan entered the house along with dozens of tourists.
It had been years since Jane had last seen Julian Douglas, but there was no mistaking the round-cheeked, round-bellied gentleman with the silver hair standing in the Winter Garden Room. Julian watched the passersby with friendly interest, but when he saw Jane, his mouth curved into a broad smile.
“Ms. Steward! It’s an honor to have you grace these halls.” He pumped her hand enthusiastically. “I understand you’re interested in a peek behind the scenes.”
After introducing Lachlan, Jane said, “That would be lovely. It’ll be fascinating to compare notes between Biltmore and Storyton Hall. We have secret passages and rooms, though not as many as this house, I’m sure.”
“Those hidden doors and corridors never fail to intrigue,” Julian said. “I can’t tell you how many guests have ducked under our velvet ropes or dashed through closed doors clearly marked with STAFF ONLY signs to search for a secret hideaway they read about in a book or on the Internet, which can be as wildly fantastical as any novel.”
“Personally, I like the informal spaces,” Jane said. “The butler’s pantries, laundry rooms, root cellars. These places aren’t pretty, but they hold so much energy. I can imagine teams of servants bustling around the kitchen, hanging sheets up to dry, or rushing to answer a bell.”
Julian beamed at her. “I also enjoy the inner workings of large houses. What about you, Mr. Lachlan?”
Lachlan pretended to hedge. It was only after Julian assured him that another guide could be called should his interests depart from Jane’s that Lachlan said that he’d like to visit Biltmore’s tallest points.
“Ah, a man who wants to conspire with the grotesques!” Julian exclaimed cheerfully and pulled a small walkie-talkie from the breast pocket of his suit coat.
He called for another tour guide, and a slender man with a ginger-colored beard arrived a few minutes later. After introducing himself to Lachlan, the two men ascended the stairs.
Julian’s private tour took Jane through Vanderbilt’s library, den, and the tapestry room. As they began their descent to the basement, Jane asked questions about the arrangement of the lower rooms. Julian supplied her with many facts and figures, but since he steered clear of rumor and supposition, it was impossible to ferret out Biltmore’s best-kept secrets.
Of course, Julian might be unaware of a Templar presence. The secret society hardly advertised itself, and its members wouldn’t betray themselves to anyone. In light of this, Jane tried to use her own powers of observation to search for clues. She had to keep reminding herself that she wasn’t a tourist. She was the manager of Storyton Hall, a single mother of two, and Guardian of the secret library and its treasures. Her role as Edwin Alcott’s lover had been last on her list. Until now. Now, Jane was putting the other parts of her life on hold until she found Edwin.
Julian showed her the kitchens, the laundry and drying rooms, the vegetable pantry, and the servants’ bedrooms. As he led Jane down to the sub-basement, she wondered what the house had been like without guests—back when George Vanderbilt was a bachelor. Had he wandered through his empty rooms, wishing for more intimate company than his books could provide? Or had he built his home in the middle of nowhere because he craved solitude? Or was it secrecy he wanted?
Again, Jane wondered if there was a connection between Vanderbilt’s love of books and his zeal to acquire fine and rare objects that indicated a link to the Templars. If not the Templars, perhaps he was affiliated with another secret society. Jane believed Vanderbilt had been a good man, but people were multifaceted, and she knew there was far more to George Washington Vanderbilt than what appeared in books.
She suddenly realized that Julian had spoken and was waiting for her to respond.
Jane realized they were in The Dynamo Room. She said, “I read about this machine in a book called Seraphina and the Black Cloak.”
Recalling how Seraphina, the main character, had found hiding places throughout the house, Jane felt a tingle of hope. Perhaps her request to view the lowest level of the house would bear fruit.
After examining the walls surrounding the massive furnace and coal bins, Jane could sense that their tour was coming to an end. She had to coax Julian into showing her the storerooms along the length of the house. These were most likely to have a secret entrance to a hidden room or to a staircase or tunnel leading deeper underground.
However, Julian assured her that there wasn’t anything of note in the storage rooms. He even offered to take her to one as proof. When she saw a long, shadow-filled room with a bare floor, exposed pipes, and whitewashed brick walls, she was dejected. It was difficult to create a hidden door in a brick wall, and if all the storerooms looked like this, then Jane’s belief that the sub-basement would lead her to Edwin was unjustified.
“Let’s go back up,” Julian said, casting a glance at Jane’s face.
They climbed stairs until they reemerged on the ground floor. On the landing, they were instantly surrounded by a cluster of people wearing identical blue T-shirts. The members of a group tour were snapping pictures as their guide spoke about the Vanderbilt family. Unfortunately, the group was so large that they took up most of the standing room near the stairs, so Jane suggested she wait for Lachlan outside.
“I’ll have him meet you at one of the lion statues. It’s a good place to reconvene.” As they headed for the main doors, Julian took out his walkie-talkie and contacted Lachlan’s guide. “They’ll be along shortly,” he told Jane.
Jane thanked him effusively for being such a knowledgeable and gracious guide. Julian
flashed her one last smile and merged with the crowd entering the house.
Jane made her way down to the pair of lions perched on blocks on the wide front steps. Standing close to one of the regal felines, she gazed over the long lawn to the esplanade in the distance, and finally, at the surrounding mountains. They were similar to Storyton’s mountains, and as Jane swept her eyes over the brilliant autumn foliage, she felt a pang of despair.
This place was beautiful. It was impressive. And big. Too big. Storyton Hall, despite its large size, was warm and inviting. It was home. Biltmore was more than a little intimidating, especially considering the urgency of Jane’s task.
“We’ll never be able to search it from attic to basement,” she complained to Lachlan when he appeared at her side. “Even if we could gain free and unlimited access, which we can’t, there’s too much ground for us to cover. What kind of security devices did you spot?”
“Tons of cameras,” said Lachlan. “There are eyes on the house at all times. It’ll be a challenge to get into restricted spaces undetected. We can cross off the roof as a connector to a holding cell, though. After comparing the blueprints with what I saw in person, there’s no place to keep a man prisoner.”
As Jane digested Lachlan’s news, she put a hand on the top of the lion’s head. The marble was sun-warmed and smooth, and she drew comfort from its solidity.
Until she looked at its face.
“He seems sad,” she said. “Like he’s waiting for his master to come home and—” She suddenly grabbed Lachlan’s arm. “Look. There’s a piece of paper sticking out of his mouth.”
Lachlan leaned closer to the lion. “The paper’s from Storyton Hall.”
Jane felt a prickle of dread but shoved the sensation aside and plucked the paper from the lion’s mouth. Lachlan was right. The paper was from one of the notepads found in every Storyton Hall guest room.
“What does it say?” Lachlan asked. He wasn’t looking at Jane but scanning the nearby faces as if one of them could explain the sudden and bizarre appearance of the note. His gaze roved over people standing on the steps, milling about the driveway, taking selfies on the great lawn, and lingering by the garden and stable entrances.
Jane’s vision blurred. She had to blink back tears to reread the words written by an anonymous hand.
She handed Lachlan the paper and turned around to face the house.
Touching the lion again, she repeated the words aloud.
“He’s here.”
Chapter Two
Lachlan dropped Jane at the Deerpark Inn to attend the opening reception of the Luxury Lodging Symposium. Jane would have preferred to track down Julian Douglas and ask if he knew anything about the note in the lion’s mouth, but she had to go to the reception to maintain her cover.
“I know that note rattled you,” Lachlan said. “But we’ll have to focus on it later.”
“I get it,” Jane said. “It’s time for me to play hotel manager. I just hope you have more success with Mr. Tucker than we had with our tour guides. Ask him about the outbuildings. Find out if he knows rumors about the house’s initial construction.”
With a nod, Lachlan drove off to meet Gerald Tucker, the master gardener.
Jane made her way to the lodge. The spacious room had exposed brick walls and a vaulted timber ceiling, giving it a mountain cabin feel.
Jane had no desire to exchange small talk with her fellow hotel managers. She wanted to find a quiet corner and study the note in her pocket. However, there were no quiet corners. And since she was hungry, she took her place in the buffet line.
As Jane savored her food, the symposium organizer gave his welcome speech. When he was done, he invited the group to tour the mansion.
“This tour has been on my bucket list for ages!” cried the woman sitting next to Jane. She grabbed her purse and hurried toward the exit.
The hotel managers boarded small buses while Jane sent a text to Lachlan. He replied that he and Mr. Tucker were still at the cottage and that she should proceed on her own.
Left with a large chunk of free time, Jane caught a bus to Antler Village. Some of the managers had mentioned private tasting rooms in the winery cellars, so Jane decided to check them out.
On the way, she called Julian Douglas to find out if he knew about the note in the lion’s mouth. He didn’t answer, and Jane opted not to leave a voicemail.
It must have been him, Jane reasoned. He told me to meet Lachlan by the lion. He knew I’d be standing there. There’s no other explanation. But if he knows about Edwin, why the cloak-and-dagger act?
The more she thought about it, the more Jane realized that Julian couldn’t have placed the note. He’d never left her side. This meant someone else wedged it in the lion’s mouth, perhaps at Julian’s request. It couldn’t have been there long. Visitors posed for pictures with the lions all the time. Jane had seen several people do this when she’d first entered the house.
As the bus drove through Biltmore’s grounds, Jane tried to remember if she’d seen a staff member near the lion while she’d been waiting for Lachlan on the front steps. She didn’t think anyone wearing an official Biltmore shirt had come close, but she’d been gazing at the mountains and missing the comforts of Storyton, so she couldn’t be sure.
When the bus came to a stop at Antler Village, Jane was no closer to having an answer about the mysterious note. All she knew was that its author wrote in an elegant script.
Seeing as Edwin would hardly be kept a prisoner in a gift shop stockroom or the freezer of the ice cream parlor, Jane bypassed the Antler Village directory and headed straight for the winery. The entrance took her into a tunnel whose walls were lined with placards detailing the winery’s history. The building, which was once a dairy, but had been renovated in the 1980s to serve as the estate’s winery. Despite the fact that it looked and felt like the interior of a European castle, Jane doubted the cellar held any secrets. It was just too new.
Still, she thoroughly scrutinized the nooks containing stacked barrels and poked her head into the champagne cellar. Like the brick walls in the basement of the main house, the rough stone walls of the cellar couldn’t easily conceal a hidden opening. The feature could be covered up by a piece of furniture or a collection of wine barrels, but Jane didn’t think Edwin was being held in this cellar.
Having finished her inspection, she ascended a flight of stairs to the tasting area and gift shop. As she meandered near the tasting bar, a female bartender offered her a small glass of Biltmore’s brut. The sparkling wine was bright and airy and carried notes of apricot and honey.
“It tastes like summer,” Jane said to the woman.
She smiled. “If you enjoy light and fruity notes, try the Moscato.”
The bartender poured Jane’s sample and moved away to serve another customer. Though it was still afternoon, the tasting bar was busy, and the lines to purchase wine or other Biltmore-related gifts stretched far back into the store.
“You should come back for the wine and cheese hour,” the bartender said when she returned to check on Jane. “It starts at six.”
Jane pulled a face. “I’d like to, but I have another conference commitment. I wish there were a secret room around here where I could hide for an hour or two.”
The bartender laughed. “The closest you’ll get to privacy in Antler Village is in one of the cellar rooms. I guess that’s why our manager likes to hold meetings down there every now and then. His important guests get lots of privacy and lots of wine.”
Jane wondered if the woman was talking about Ramsey Parrish, the current manager of Biltmore. “I don’t know Mr. Parrish,” Jane said. “I’m friends with Julian Douglas, the former manager.”
“Never met him. Mr. Parrish has been in charge since before I was hired.” The woman removed Jane’s empty tasting glasses. “He came over from England to work here, and I think he takes his job super serious. Hardly anyone sees him out and about the estate.”
Jane thanked the b
artender for her time and lined up to purchase a case of the Moscato to be picked up later on.
It was only half past three, but Jane felt tired. After the harrowing drive from Storyton to Asheville, the tour with Julian, lunch with her fellow conference goers, and her exploration of the winery, Jane was ready to call it a day.
Unfortunately, there was another Luxury Lodging event to attend that evening. Jane needed information from Sinclair before then, so she decided to have a cup of tea and a cookie. She was used to her tea breaks at Storyton Hall. She needed them to recharge and felt a pang of longing for Mrs. Hubbard’s afternoon spread.
Taking out her Biltmore map, Jane decided to try the bakery located in the stables and boarded another shuttle bus.
Like most Biltmore venues, the bakeshop was crowded. Jane had to wait in another long line for her tea and cranberry oatmeal cookie. However, the tea was brewed to perfection, and the cookie was divine, so she didn’t mind. She sat at a table near the door and people-watched while she sipped her tea.
When her cup was empty, she called Sinclair.
“Searching this place is a gargantuan task,” she told him, trying not to let fatigue or disappointment come through in her voice. “Could you do some digging on Ramsey Parrish, the current manager?”
“I already gathered a dossier on Mr. Parrish,” Sinclair said. “Due to its size and number of departments, Biltmore has multiple managers. Mr. Parrish oversees them all. He’s known for being a reserved man. He rarely engages with visitors, regardless of their stature. Like Mr. Vanderbilt, Mr. Parrish is a collector. He has a penchant for signed first editions by authors who served in the military. John Dos Passos and his contemporaries, in particular.”
“Signed first editions? Sounds expensive,” Jane said. “He must earn a sweet salary.”
“Mr. Parrish comes from money. Like many unfortunate members of England’s peerage, Parrish’s family couldn’t keep up with their estate and lost their ancestral land. Though Mr. Parrish wasn’t in line to inherit this bounty, he was still raised in posh circles.”
