Serafina and the Splintered Heart

by Robert Beatty

  Serafina remembered years before when she was but a little child, sneaking around the house late at night. Mr. Vanderbilt’s friend, Thomas Edison, had given him a music-playing phonograph with a crank handle and a large brass horn. She had often watched the master of the house sitting alone in his library listening to his opera music. Mr. Vanderbilt loved Tannhäuser so much that he commissioned the famous sculptor Mr. Karl Bitter to depict an epic scene from the opera in the frieze above the Banquet Hall’s gigantic triple fireplace.

  She remembered that Edison’s music machine had produced a scratchy, tinny sound that she hadn’t liked, but this, this live orchestra, was something else entirely. Mr. Vanderbilt had traveled all over Europe collecting art and furniture for Biltmore, but also attending concerts and operas, and now she understood why. She could finally see and hear what he loved so much.

  All the musicians were playing together in such perfect harmony, with all the violins and cellos and other instruments sweeping into gorgeous waves of sound, like nothing she had ever heard before. She overheard a gentleman say to one of the other guests that the music was from a new ballet called Swan Lake, which Mr. Vanderbilt had heard in Europe and fallen in love with, so he’d arranged for the orchestra to play it tonight.

  The rising music carried through Biltmore’s soaring archways to all the grand rooms of the house, to all the elegant ladies in their glimmering dresses and the handsome gentlemen in their evening coats. There were flutes that made the sound of thrushes in the morning, and reedy oboes that sounded like the little grebes that landed in the lagoon in the fall, and majestic French horns like coming kings—instruments of so many kinds that she couldn’t name them all.

  That was when she finally spotted Braeden. She felt a flush of happiness that her friend was all right. Rowena was nowhere to be seen, and Braeden was safe. Perhaps the night was going to turn out better than she’d feared.

  Braeden made his way through the crowd up to his aunt and uncle. He was wearing black tails, a white tie, and white gloves, and he looked every bit the well-to-do young gentleman.

  “You look very handsome, young man,” Mrs. Vanderbilt said cheerfully.

  “Thank you,” Braeden said, blushing a little.

  “You seem more chipper today,” Mr. Vanderbilt remarked.

  “I’m feeling a little better,” Braeden agreed.

  “Well,” Mrs. Vanderbilt said. “I know several little ladies who are reserving a spot on their dance cards for you.”

  Braeden’s mood darkened. “I would rather not.”

  “I know your heart’s not in it, Braeden,” Mrs. Vanderbilt said gently. “But when the dancing begins, it would be ungentlemanly if you didn’t ask some of the girls to dance with you. Many of them have come a long way to be here with us.”

  “I understand,” Braeden said glumly.

  “Does your leg feel all right?” Mrs. Vanderbilt asked compassionately. “Do you feel well enough to dance?”

  “It’s not that. I just…” Braeden began, but then faltered. Serafina could see that he didn’t want to lie to his aunt, but he didn’t want to tell her what she didn’t want to hear, either.

  “I know she was a good friend,” his aunt said. “But eventually, for your own sake, you’re going to have to accept that she’s gone.”

  “I know,” Braeden said sadly.

  “I’m not gone yet, Braeden!” Serafina cried out despite herself, forgetting her mature and somber acceptance of her death just a few minutes before. “Don’t let me go! Hold on to me!” But of course no one could hear her.

  In the next moment, the conductor of the orchestra brought the evening’s musical prelude to an end, everyone clapped politely, and then he tapped three times on his stand and lifted his white baton.

  An excited murmur ran through the crowd. They knew what was coming.

  The sound of the orchestra rose up into a lively and sweeping waltz perfect for dancing.

  Little bouts of enthused clapping rose up among the guests, everyone happy that the time had finally come. Gentlemen young and old throughout the ball walked over to the ladies of their choice, bowed deeply, took their hands, and asked them to dance.

  The palm trees, furniture, and works of art that normally filled the Winter Garden had been cleared away to make room for the dancing. And while many of the mansion’s rooms and corridors were lit with candles, the finely carved beams above the dance floor were strung with thousands of tiny electric lights, like fireflies in a magic garden, so that the ladies’ dresses glowed and shimmered in the light.

  So that’s what Pa had been working on, Serafina thought, and at that moment, she caught her breath, for her pa was standing across the room from her in a handsome dark suit, leaning against one of the black marble columns of the Winter Garden.

  He was not in the formal, white-tie evening wear of Biltmore’s guests, but he was washed and shaved, and he looked more handsome and dignified than she had ever seen him before. He was gazing at the lights that he’d put up for the ball and listening to the pleased reactions of the delighted couples as they walked out onto the dance floor. There was a proud and satisfied look on his face. And all the emotion that she’d been feeling moments before welled up inside her.

  She wanted to go over to him and hug him and tell him how proud she was of him and how much she loved him. Her pa had never been to school and knew no magic spells, but tonight he was the wizard of light.

  As the elegant couples began filling the dance floor, Serafina noticed a girl standing across the room. She was dressed in a long, beautiful, dark green, iridescent gown. The girl had severely angled cheekbones, long black hair, and large amber eyes. The hackles on the back of Serafina’s neck went straight up.

  There she is, Serafina thought.

  Rowena’s face possessed a disturbing resemblance to her own, but it was different from her, too, like a more alluring, better version of herself. It appeared that Rowena wasn’t pretending to be her, but an older sister or a cousin. She must have stolen or used some sort of spell to create the dress. And she had fixed her long black hair up into an elaborate arrangement. To Serafina, she looked magnificent and beautiful and evil all at once.

  Rowena was almost perfect in her appearance, but when Serafina looked more closely, she saw at the edge of her high collar the trace of the terrible scar on Rowena’s pale white skin. Determined to stop the sorceress before she started, Serafina walked straight toward her.

  But even as Serafina charged forward, what she heard behind her made her heart sink.

  “All right,” Braeden said softly to his aunt as he noticed the mysterious but strangely familiar black-haired girl in the green gown. “I’ll ask her to dance.”

  “That’s excellent, thank you, Braeden,” Mrs. Vanderbilt said, barely noticing the girl, but immensely encouraged by her nephew’s sudden willingness to do his gentlemanly duty for at least one of the young ladies in the room.

  “Do we know that girl?” Mr. Vanderbilt asked, eyeing Rowena with concern.

  “I’m sure she’s from a good family,” Mrs. Vanderbilt said, obviously pleased that Braeden was finally beginning to socialize.

  As Braeden moved toward the girl to ask her to dance, Serafina moved toward her as well.

  “You shouldn’t be here!” Serafina hissed at her.

  “Skedaddle, kitty cat, I’ve got work to do,” Rowena whispered beneath her breath, and then lifted her face and smiled a gracious smile as Braeden presented himself to her, bowed, and offered his white-gloved hand.

  To those around them who happened to be watching, none of this seemed out of the ordinary. Serafina knew ballroom etiquette enough to know that it was the duty of every young gentleman to ask the young ladies of the ball to dance, and it was in fact rude for a gentleman to allow a young lady to stand for long without a partner. And for her part, if a young lady was properly and respectfully asked, she should not refuse to dance with a gentleman unless her dance card was already full.

>   “My name is Braeden Vanderbilt,” he said in a kind but formal way as he put out his hand to her. “Will you do me the honor of dancing with me?”

  “With pleasure, sir,” the girl replied in the sweetest, most exquisite Charleston accent that had ever been spoken by a Southern belle, and placed her delicate hand in his.

  Serafina watched helplessly as Braeden and Rowena walked slowly and formally out onto the dance floor among the other dancers. It was clear that he didn’t recognize who she was, but he seemed strangely drawn to her.

  “Not her, Braeden!” Serafina shouted. “Anybody but her!”

  Serafina tried to figure out what she could do to stop them. Could she create a blast of air to send all the musicians’ sheet music flying from their stands and halt the orchestra? Could she splash the water in the fountain onto all the dancers and send them running?

  Rowena leaned toward Braeden and spoke to him in her lovely high-society Southern accent. “I was so positively petrified by the thought that no one would ask me to dance this evening,” she said, meeting his eyes with hers. “You are a fine gentleman for rescuing me.”

  Rowena was acting so sickeningly sweet that it made Serafina want to scream her throat out.

  She knew that Rowena was trying to trick him, but she didn’t understand her plan. And what was Braeden thinking? Why was he doing this? He had no idea who this girl was! Was he going to dance hand in hand with every creature that slithered in out of the forest in a nice dress and fancy hair? And with the brace on his leg, his dancing was going to be a painful, clumsy affair at best.

  But before Serafina knew it, the two of them faced each other in a ceremonial fashion. As was the custom, Braeden put his white-gloved hands behind him and bowed deeply to his dance partner. When it was her turn, his lady did a slow, deep curtsy to him, with one leg out in front of her, her head bowed, and her arms elevated beside her like the wings of a graceful swan. What on earth! Serafina thought.

  And then the two dance partners came together, holding each other in a formal and decorous fashion. Their dancing started out slow and easy, synchronized with the gentle overture of the orchestra’s music and the movement of the other dancers, but when the waltz rose up to its full tempo, they began to move more swiftly, turn and turn and turn and dip, sweeping across the dance floor with astounding grace and beauty.

  It made Serafina’s heart sink to watch it.

  She had no idea Braeden knew how to dance like that. What amazed her even more was that he could move so smoothly and effortlessly with the brace on his leg. He normally dragged it along behind him, barely able to walk, but here he was gliding with the music of the waltz, like his feet were barely touching the floor.

  Then Serafina looked down at his feet.

  It was difficult to detect, even for her narrowed, suspicious eyes, but when she looked very carefully, she could see an unnatural glint beneath his feet. He wasn’t dancing. The sorceress was pulling him along, literally sweeping him off his feet with her power and deceit. But poor Braeden had no idea. He was smiling, euphoric, happy to be dancing, moving with such strength and athleticism on legs that had been weak and pathetic for so long.

  Serafina looked around at the other dancers and the people watching to see if any of them could see the sorceress’s work.

  Mrs. Vanderbilt looked onto the dancing couple with a smile on her face.

  Others, too, seemed to be pleased to see the two young dancers enjoying themselves. It was only Mr. Vanderbilt who appeared to be studying his nephew and his dancing partner with a careful eye. There was neither happiness nor rejection in his expression, but a steady evaluation of what he was seeing, as if he sensed that something wasn’t quite right.

  “It’s because she’s a sorceress!” Serafina screamed.

  “Shush, kitty!” Rowena whispered as she and Braeden danced, knowing that only Serafina would hear her through the sound of the music.

  A few moments later, when the music died down and the dance was over, Braeden and his lady partner stood apart and faced each other once more. Braeden bowed and his lady curtsied, just as they had done before. Then Braeden presented his right arm, his lady took it, and they walked off the floor.

  “Did you enjoy the dance?” Braeden asked her.

  “Oh, yes, very much so. And you?”

  “Yes, my leg is feeling much better than it has in a long time,” Braeden said, his voice light and happy.

  Serafina followed them up the steps to the promenade that encircled the Winter Garden. The whole area was crowded with mingling guests.

  It was customary for the gentleman to escort his dancing partner back to her family or friends, but Braeden did not appear to know where to take her.

  “I am here alone,” his lady partner said softly.

  “She doesn’t have any friends,” Serafina interjected, “and you definitely don’t want to meet her family!”

  “I see,” Braeden said uncertainly. “Would you like to partake of refreshment in the Banquet Hall?”

  “Yes, that would be delightful,” she said, and they began walking in that direction.

  “Pardon me for asking,” Braeden said, “but have you been to the house on a previous occasion? Have I met you before?”

  “Yes, I believe we have met,” she said mysteriously.

  Braeden’s expression changed. He leaned toward her and whispered, “Are you a catamount? Are you a friend of Waysa’s?”

  When the girl did not immediately reply, Braeden asked, “Are you related to Serafina?”

  Then he looked down at her feet, knowing that some catamounts had four toes on each foot even when they were in human form. Rowena’s feet were covered by her glittering shoes, but at that moment, Serafina began to realize just how carefully Rowena had planned this out. From head to toe, she’s all a trap. She’s luring him right in.

  “I came to the ball tonight to speak with you, Braeden,” she said, her voice gentle and calm, but filled with just enough urgency to give it an edge.

  “With me?” Braeden asked in surprise.

  “Perhaps we could go someplace more private,” Rowena said.

  “Don’t fall for her tricks, Braeden!” Serafina shouted at him, wondering if she could swirl her arms and start up a great wind inside the house to send Rowena’s hair a-flying and knock her tumbling down the stairs to the basement.

  “All right,” Braeden said calmly. “Come this way…”

  Rowena betrayed a crooked smile as she followed Braeden through the Banquet Hall. The room was full of guests, many of them eating and drinking as they enjoyed the lively festivities of the ball.

  Serafina looked back through the archway toward the Winter Garden hoping to catch a glimpse of Mr. Vanderbilt watching Braeden and Rowena from a distance, but she couldn’t see him.

  “What are you doing, Braeden?” Serafina asked. He seemed determined to slip away from the ball and get her alone. It was very unlike him.

  Serafina followed the two of them into the Bachelor’s Wing and down the dark and empty passage.

  “Perhaps we could go in here,” Braeden suggested, gesturing toward the Gun Room, with its cabinets full of shotguns, hunting rifles, and other weapons. As was customary for a gentleman, Braeden entered the dark room first to find and turn on the light.

  “Rowena, I’m warning you, whatever you’re doing, don’t do it,” Serafina said fiercely. “I mean it. Stop it.”

  But Rowena ignored her.

  “When you were attacked, I helped you!” Serafina reminded her.

  “Oh, don’t fool yourself,” Rowena whispered. “We both know that you’re not all cotton balls and kitten paws. You helped me because it was the smart thing to do.”

  “But what are you doing here?” Serafina demanded. “Leave Braeden alone!”

  “My plan should be clear to you now,” Rowena said impatiently.

  “Pardon me?” Braeden said, looking back at Rowena in confusion.

  “I was just saying that Bilt
more must be a wonderful place to live,” Rowena said more loudly, slipping back into her Southern accent as she stepped into the room with Braeden. Serafina followed her into the room.

  “The electric lamp isn’t working for some reason, so I lit some of the candles,” Braeden explained.

  Serafina was surprised when Braeden closed the door. It was highly improper for a young gentleman to lead a girl away from a formal ball into a dark, private room and actually shut the door.

  The sights and sounds of the grand ball disappeared. The Gun Room was a small and quiet place, the candlelight flickering on the dark woodwork all around and the glass cases filled with guns. Serafina noticed a table with a display of finely crafted hunting knives. She thought it was odd that one of the knives was missing. Mounted animal heads hung on the hunter-green walls, and there was a small, rustic fireplace in the corner, glowing soft and warm with embers.

  “We can talk here,” Braeden said.

  As Rowena turned to him, it seemed as if she had lured Braeden exactly to where she wanted him. She gazed into his eyes and moved closer to him.

  “The truth is,” she said in a soft and vulnerable voice, “I need your help.”

  She spoke the words with the most gentle, sweetest tone, and Serafina thought, That’s it, we’re done for! We’re lost! She’s tricked him, we’re all dead for sure!

  Braeden looked at Rowena and said, “I’m not going to help you,” as he pressed the point of a wickedly long, sharp hunting knife against the satin brocade of her dress, just where he could push it straight into her side. “I know who you are.”

  “Oh dear, you have a knife…” Rowena said in her sweet Charleston accent, raising her hands, feigning dismay and confusion as she slowly backed up. “I don’t understand. What’s happening?”

  “I know who you are, Rowena,” Braeden said, holding the knife out in front of him, his hand trembling and his eyes wide with the fear of facing down a sorceress who could throw a spell at him at any moment.

  “Braeden, listen to me,” Rowena said in her normal voice.