The Everdon Series- the Complete Set

by L C Kincaide

  “I’d like that.” She smiled, the tightness in her chest easing.

  “Shall we?” He motioned to the door.

  He led her down the service hall separating the north and south wings. Nearing the end, Emma paused, but when he opened the door to sunshine, she exhaled and followed him out.

  “This is not original to the house, but it seemed appropriate to have it.” He indicated an attached conservatory. Five of its sides were glass as was the pitched roof. Once inside, he stopped at a discreet panel and with the push of a button shades lowered between the panes easing the glare, but still allowed sunlight to filter through. A fan moved the air with wide cane blades. He led her to one of the linen-covered tables. Moments later, a waitress arrived with a trolley.

  “I took the liberty of ordering a traditional tea.”

  “It looks lovely.”

  The waitress set the dainty flowered teapot and the sandwich tray on the table. A three-tiered cake stand offered pastries.

  “May I?” He poured her a cup.

  He studied her over the brim and her eyes drifted around the room avoiding his direct gaze. It made no sense why he should seem familiar. She had only met him yesterday. To her left, a glimmer of light caught her eye; the Victorian hothouse and the path leading to it.

  He followed her gaze. “It’s in perfect condition.” He said with pride. “You must have one like it.”

  Emma smiled ruefully. “Not exactly. Ours collapsed years ago.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. I understand it was a replica. Amelia Everdon cultivated her orchids there.”

  “She did that in ours too until her death. Then it started to fall apart.”

  He nodded, not encouraged by what she was telling him judging by his solemn expression.

  “It must have taken a lot of work to keep up the place.” She added cheer to her voice. “It looks incredible considering it’s more than two hundred years older.”

  “It did indeed. After Mason Everdon left, his younger brother, Maxim took over then his son, Montgomery. Michael Everdon would have been the last to live here before coming to America.”

  “What happened to it then? Was it closed?”

  “It went through a couple of incarnations, one as a boarding school then an orphanage. It was closed up for a few years before I came along — rather my firm — and we started restoration. I did not mention I trained as an architect. Restoration is my specialty.”

  “Everdon Manor is very lucky to have you.”

  He inclined his head, a smile turning up the corners of his mouth.

  “So, when did you start with all this?”

  “It’s about seven years now, the last four as general manager.”

  “That’s dedication.” She said impressed. “You’ve done an amazing job.” He smiled at this, but he would probably fall to his knees and cry if he laid eyes on what their manor had become.

  “I freely admit it takes a certain amount of resolve.”

  “In other words, you have to love it.”

  “That would apply. I’ve been fortunate to be able to live here as well.”

  “Oh?” Her eyebrows arched in surprise. “So, is your family here too?” She hadn’t seen a wedding band, but that didn’t mean the woman at the reception was not his wife. He hadn’t exactly come on to her. Or did he?

  “No, I’m divorced.” He shrugged. “My wife… ex wife found it too isolated living so far from the city.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “It wasn’t a long marriage, and we had no children which made the parting of ways easier. More tea?”

  She nodded. “This is really nice.”

  “Tell me, if you don’t mind.” He leaned forward. “What is your manor like? No matter how hard I searched, I could not find a single picture of it.”

  Where to start. How honest should her response be? Would hearing the truth make him feel better about this manor, or would he think less of the American Everdons for having a gorgeous building go to ruin? It was easy for an outsider to judge, one who had no concept of family curses, violent deaths and enraged spirits.

  “From the pictures I’ve seen — we have albums stuffed with them — they were a social bunch, hosting parties and playing games. After Amelia died, Mason didn’t care anymore, and since he had no children, no one took much of an interest in it, including my grandfather.” There seemed no point for him to hear how every generation came to despise the place more than the last being forced to live by Mason’s stringent rules on the pain of death.

  “That is sad.”

  “A fire in the northwest wing didn’t help. It had been closed off forever, at least in my lifetime.”

  “Really? I had no idea.”

  “Hmmm. The northeast wing stayed open, but nobody went there unless they were lost. We only used the two front wings and some of the downstairs rooms.”

  “Where was it built, precisely?”

  “On the Hudson River in New York State. It’s about a three-hour drive from Boston. That stretch of the river is home to a few derelict mansions, I’m afraid to say, ours among them, which makes seeing what you’ve done so much more impressive.”

  Again, he smiled, gratified.

  “I’m curious. How did you start work here if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “Not at all. The Everdons and Kinsleys have a connection dating back to my great-grandfather, Morgan Kinsley and Montgomery Everdon.”

  “My great-grandfather?” Emma asked surprised.

  “Morgan served in the First World War and when he returned, he became a doctor. Near the end of the Second World War, he approached Montgomery and appealed to him to help with the war effort by opening the manor to the injured and recuperating soldiers as a convalescent home, and he agreed.”

  “Isn’t that something! I had no idea. Did they know each other before then?”

  “I suspect they had a previous connection, but I can’t say how that happened.”

  “And now, you are here.”

  “My father paved the way. He was employed by the Everdon Trust to maintain your grandfather’s collection of antique vehicles. Most of them have since been sold. The one I drive was one of them. I remember the first time I was here with him. The house had already been closed and showing signs of neglect. It was then I decided to do something about that. It seemed a crime to let it degenerate, and I contacted the attorneys for the Trust.”

  He must have been very persuasive, Emma smiled heartened by the positive words about her ancestors and their home. She would never hear those from her mother.

  “You really do love this place, don’t you?”

  He grinned, appearing slightly bashful. His modesty was endearing. She hadn’t expected that.

  “I’ve always felt a connection to places with history; this one more than most.”

  Emma set down her cup.

  “More tea or would you like to start the tour?”

  “The tour!”

  He held the chair for her as she rose to her feet enjoying the attention from a real English gentleman. They were about to head outside when an efficient-looking woman in a suit hurried to his side. “I’m so sorry to disturb you, Mr. Kinsley, you have an urgent call.”

  “If you’ll excuse me. I won’t be long. Why don’t you have a look at the hothouse? I’ll find you when I’m done.”

  He strode away, the secretary, she presumed, on his heels.

  The pea gravel beneath her feet crunched the same as it had months earlier across the ocean. No birds twittered in the trees then and it had been cool and clammy. A fog had rolled in nearly swallowing everything around her and roof tiles rained down. Something had hidden inside it waiting to strike. Emma shivered in the sunlight though no swirling mist clouded
her way now.

  As he said, the hothouse was exactly as promised, its Victorian charm intact. That is what Ivy had seen, as Mason had wanted her to experience it, the difference being this structure was no illusion, but real, the result of hard work, vision and dedication. She had to admire that. The place didn’t even belong to him, yet he took loving care of it. Maybe that level of commitment was necessary to get these results. She would consider herself lucky if she found a cause to be this passionate about.

  She entered the vestibule then opened the inner door to the hothouse. Meeting the heady aroma of blooming plants as she stepped further inside was a new and welcome experience. Ferns, roses, lilies and even orchids blossomed around a fountain in the center, and at the rear, a couple huddled in quiet conversation at one of the cast iron table and chair sets. Several fans stirred the foliage from above and the afternoon sun slanted through glass panes. If she were to close her eyes, she could imagine herself in a tropical paradise. All that was missing were waves crashing on a beach and birdsong.

  A sudden darkness fell as a shadowy figure plunged from the ceiling and dangled before her. Emma stifled a yelp and recoiled into a potted palm nearly falling into it. Dead eyes fixed on her as the body of a woman took form and swayed back and forth at the end of a creaking rope.

  OMYGOD! How she had managed to not scream her head off she could not explain. Her heart pounded to burst through her ribcage.

  The man at the back stood up at the ruckus she had caused. “Is everything all right, Miss?” He called leaning forward.

  NO!

  “Yes. Fine thanks.” What to say… “I thought I saw a bee,” came out. “Allergies.” Good one! “I’ll be going out now. Thank you.” She turned away from the hanging apparition that still watched her and fled outside.

  What the hell? She gasped once back on the path. That had been unexpected. Completely. Her heart thrummed in a frantic rhythm. The ghost of the old man from earlier was nothing compared to this. Did Adam have any idea a woman had killed herself in the hothouse? Judging from her mode of dress, it probably happened a hundred years ago, give or take. They likely hushed it up, knowing the Everdons as she did. Could she have been a maid?

  Oh God!

  She was cursed with this, no doubt about it. Something had dragged her where she shouldn’t have gone that last day at the manor, and it changed her, not necessarily for the better.

  “Sorry to have kept you waiting.” He said meeting her halfway down the path. “So, what do you think?”

  Emma started. “Um… it’s really nice.” She pasted on a smile and tried to look casual.

  “It’s one of the favorite attractions. The combination of the water fountain and plants draws people in. We often hold weddings in there.”

  That would probably change if they knew what haunted the place.

  “Hmmm.”

  “It’s quite magical in candlelight.”

  “I can imagine.”

  “So, where shall we go next?” He furrowed his brow. “Oh, yes. I remember. I wanted to show you the portraits.”

  She tensed, thinking he was about to lead her into the portrait gallery, or its counterpart corridor, but remembered the walls clad in landscapes. Instead, he led the way to the parlor. Again, a tightness formed in her chest. Of all the rooms, this was one that caused her the most discomfort, not because something terrible happened there, but the opposite. After a brief pause, she hoped Adam didn’t notice; she entered the room and glanced around. The color palette was similar; deep reds, gold and the ubiquitous dark paneling. Same for the furniture, down to the settee.

  There he was, above the mantel, a younger Mason Everdon, presumably before Amelia came into his life. Those portraits were hanging in their gallery unless what she had seen was an illusion and cracked canvases in warped frames hung there instead. He didn’t look any different; still wearing the high-stand collar and bushy sideburns. His eyes bore into hers. He would have given her the creeps had she not met him, in a sense.

  “I need not make the introductions, I presume.”

  “No. You could say we’re old friends though it seems odd to find him alone.”

  “How so?”

  “Back home, his portrait is next to Amelia’s. That’s how I’ve always seen them. They must have been painted there, or they brought them along.”

  “Very likely.”

  “Are there any more portraits in here?”

  “No, but there is another in the drawing room.” He led the way again, but Emma could have found it blindfolded. “We’ve set up the reception area here.” He indicated a high oak desk near the corner in front of a partial wall softly lit with a pair of sconces on either side of niches for the different rooms; the woods chosen to blend into the surrounding wainscoted walls. A potted palm sprouted at one end, a bud vase with a rose graced the other end of the marble counter. She had passed by it when she first came in without giving it notice.

  The solid thunk of a billiard ball hitting another came from within. She and Matthew had played enough games on their own table and it was a welcome, familiar sound of happier times spent in the manor. Emma was first to enter the empty room to glimpse a ball rolling across the felt surface and drop into a corner pocket. She rubbed her arms against a sudden chill. “Is the manor haunted by any chance?“

  Adam raised a quizzical eyebrow. “I’m not aware of it.” He said. “Not that I would be able to tell. No one has reported any sightings. Why do you ask?”

  She brushed her goosebumps down. Obviously, he hadn’t seen the ball rolling along. “Um, no reason. It feels a little chilly in here so that could be it.”

  “Ah, that is probably because the damper isn’t properly closed.” He went to the fireplace and pushed a knob. “There. Just as I said.”

  She returned his smile, knowing there was more to the cold than a draft coming from the chimney.

  “How does this room compare?”

  Aside from the ghostly game, the billiards table in the middle of the room came as no surprise, but seeing Margaret Everdon did. The portrait had been painted when she was a much younger woman, and she was smiling. A memory of that smile rushed forward, but with older features.

  “Now why would you put Margaret here?”

  “I’m glad you asked. In my research, I discovered the matriarch was in fact an accomplished huntress and horsewoman.”

  “No way!”

  “She could outshoot any man and she was also fond of games, including billiards. She was not a typical lady of the manor.”

  “Then that makes sense.” She peered closer. “It’s a lovely portrait. The one we have was painted in her later years. Her riding days were far behind her by then.”

  “You are aware of your strong likeness to her.”

  “Yes.” She agreed. “I saw a sketch of her once when she was in her twenties. It gives me no consolation knowing how I will age.”

  “Surely, it can’t be that bad.”

  Emma grimaced in response.

  “Oh dear. I find that hard to believe.” He chuckled. “Let us go out then.”

  The dining room was next and painted in a familiar pea green, it was eerily similar. The chairs gave her pause. They — or ones like them were used as weapons against her not long ago. She really had to stop with the memories or she’d drive herself nuts.

  Rather than the arrangement she had grown up with, the sideboard at the far end and the long table running the length of the room, round tables were arranged by the windows and throughout the space. The faces in the portraits she recognized as belonging to the second generation of Everdons, Montague and his wife, Eliza who watched over the diners from the back wall. A set of French doors opened to the adjoining room, and they walked through.

  “Is this recent?”

  “About th
ree years ago we decided to enlarge the dining room so we could host larger parties.”

  “That makes sense.”

  From there, they stepped out into the hallway and he led the way toward the back. Emma noticed there was no elevator cage, but didn’t mention it. Around the corner was the ballroom, the jewel of the manor — of this manor, in any case.

  “This is my favorite room.” He opened the French doors with a flourish.

  Emma gasped, so was she amazed by its splendor. It was identical, from the gleaming hardwood floor to the magnificent chandelier. The difference lay in the care taken to preserve its beauty. Gilded framed mirrors sparkled in sunlight and gauzy curtains stirred by the row of windows at the back. Greenery flourished in glazed pots and on pedestals against the wainscoted walls that glowed warmly buffed to a high sheen. Antique chairs and settees looked comfortable and inviting in gold and red velvet clustered in intimate groupings in the corners. The drinks cabinet was missing, but a grand piano occupied a corner.

  Amelia and Mason had wanted to recreate this in their new home and it had come true for a few years. Now, the chandelier lay destroyed in a crater of splinters and most likely only God could put it back together.

  “So, how does it compare with your Everdon Manor?”

  To see the ballroom in its current state — completely trashed — would leave him speechless with horror. She wasn’t surprised to find it shamed her knowing what had become of their family heritage.

  “It doesn’t look like this now, but I remember better days.” There seemed no point in elaborating about Mason maintaining the illusion of what once was while awaiting Amelia’s return. He’d probably think her a kook, not that she could blame him.

  “That’s unfortunate. Have you had enough yet or would you care to see more?”

  “Would you mind showing me the northwest wing? It’s been closed off my whole life, so I’ve never seen it.”

  “The fire?”

  She nodded.