by Amberlee Day
“What’s with the laundry bags? Those don’t look like ours.”
“They belong to that tall, gorgeous woman you brought down here for the first aid kit.”
Ned’s hand shot to his eye as if someone had just poked it. “Beverly? What, she’s helping herself to the dungeon now?”
“She said the guest laundry’s packed today, so I told her she could use our machine.” He looked at the wall clock. “She’d better be getting back to move it, though. We need to run linens.”
Irritation welled up from Ned’s chest to his throat. That woman was such a pest. “I’ll go speak to her. She shouldn’t be doing that.”
“It’s not all her fault, Ned. I told her she could use them. She must have just lost track of time.”
“I get the feeling she doesn’t do schedules. At least, not other people’s. You can tell just by looking at her she’s a flake.”
Floyd huffed a laugh. “Yeah? All I can tell by looking at her is she’s hot.”
For some reason, the comment didn’t settle well with Ned. He’d never known Floyd to be a womanizer, but what gave his chef the right to make a remark like that? Besides, if anything, Ned would describe Beverly as a winsome beauty, if you didn’t pay attention to her Boho-hippy-temperamental tendencies.
His feelings must have shown on his face, because Floyd’s smirk disappeared and he rose from his chair pretty fast. “Sorry, Ned. No offence. I didn’t realize you were into her.”
“I’m not,” Ned said a little too loud, unintentionally getting the attention of others in the kitchen. “She’s just a guest, right?”
“Sure. I’m just going to get back to work.”
Ned stood up too, suddenly uncomfortable. “Alright, then. I’ll just …” He retreated to the utility room, avoiding eye contact with anyone.
The utility room held four large washers and four dryers. Housekeeping’s machines were going, but there sat the last washer, done but waiting for its contents to be moved. Ned pictured some of Beverly’s clothing lying wet inside it: maybe the blue dress, or the loose white blouse she’d worn the other day. It really set off her tan, and the highlights in her hair …
He frowned. She should have paid more attention to the clock. He’d go set her straight, and also tell her to use the guest facilities next time. Just because she’d been invited to stay didn’t mean she could make herself at home.
“See what I mean?” Aunt Affie had come around to Beverly’s side of the table to look over her shoulder. She pointed to one passage in Tess Demander’s diary. “‘The wallpaper will match that hung in the Balmoral Castle. I ordered it from the same manufacturer to ensure its quality.’ She’s all about recreating the real deal here. You know it’s true, but fascinating to have it here in detail.”
Beverly leaned forward to see the hallway wallpaper, as the walls in this room were taken up with the built-in shelves. “Would that be the same paper, then? Did it last this long?”
“No, I wouldn’t think so. This looks too good to be that old, though that may be the same pattern as the original. I haven’t found a sample yet, but I’m hoping to.”
Beverly turned a page in the old volume. “This really is a treasure. I see why you’re so excited. And yes, it will take us quite a while just to get through the diaries.”
Aunt Affie leaned in closer and teased, “See? Nonfiction can be fun.”
Before Beverly could wisecrack back, the glass library door suddenly opened and Ned stepped inside. He didn’t look happy, and specifically didn’t look happy with Beverly. She bristled, not even knowing what was wrong.
“Hello, Ned,” Aunt Affie greeted him. “What can we do for you?” It was an old trick of Aunt Affie’s when she saw conflict coming: throw them off guard with friendliness.
It worked. Ned’s momentum faltered, and he looked at her aunt for a moment. “Fine. Fine, Dr. Tune.” He even stopped and stood importantly in place. “How is the research coming?”
“Wonderfully, thank you. Nothing to report just yet. Beverly and I are busy gathering notes.”
“Perfect. That’s just …” He apparently remembered what he came for, but Beverly was amused to watch him trying to kiss up to Aunt Affie and at the same time harass Beverly about something, apparently.
She suppressed a giggle, but suddenly realized what Ned might be mad about. Jumping up from her seat, she bolted for the door as casually as she could manage. “I’ll be right back, Aunt Affie,” she said, scooting past Ned. Unfortunately, when she glanced behind her on her way to the dungeon stairs, she saw he was following. Adrenaline shot through her, and she walked faster.
“Beverly,” he began, but she had reached the stairway door marked Dungeon. She rushed down the spiral stone steps, darted between kitchen help, and made her way to the laundry room. By the time Ned caught up, she had half of her wet things in one of the dryers. They were both out of breath, but Beverly pretended she was surprised to see him.
“Are you here to do some laundry, too?” she asked.
“The rule at the castle is—”
“Rules? You didn’t mention rules before.”
“For safety, we have to have rules.” He looked so serious she wondered if he was like that as a little boy, spouting rules in silk and slacks. “No guests in the—”
“Do you have a list?” She batted her eyes at him innocently, enjoying the baffled look on his face. “Maybe something in a pamphlet form. Or better yet, miniature and laminated so I could keep a copy in my pocket.”
She wondered if he’d blow a gasket if she pushed him far enough, but he calmed down. No uplifted corner twitch to his mouth, but that twinkle was in his eye. Her heart skipped a little. Mad, or flirting? She wasn’t sure which she worried about the most.
“If you’re going to be here for an extended stay,” Ned said, “I suppose you can use the kitchen laundry if you keep to their schedule. Your things have to be out by the time they need the machines.”
Beverly saluted. “Yes sir. But I didn’t say I’d be here for an extended stay.”
Ned frowned his confusion. “You’re not staying with your aunt, then?”
Beverly shrugged.
“How will she …? I mean, doesn’t she need …?” He scratched behind his ear. “What do I need to know about this, Beverly? Tell me, please.”
Beverly had finished moving her laundry—at least that batch. She’d have to work in another later, but for now she put her hands on her hips. “I’m not sure what I’m going to do, Ned. Aunt Affie agreed to stay. I own a bookshop back in New Mexico that I’ve been neglecting for over a month now. There are other things to consider besides your castle and this book you’ve asked my aunt to write.”
“If this bookshop has managed to get along without you this long, I imagine it could do without you awhile longer. There can’t be much to it, just selling books and some paperwork.”
Beverly’s hot feelings welled up fast, and Ned’s eyes grew wide. Good. Be scared.
“Now, come on,” he said. “Don’t go getting all huffy again.”
“Huffy?”
“It’s like I can’t say anything without you getting mad. You really make things difficult, Beverly.”
“Do I?”
“You do. I think you like making dramatic responses out of simple statements. Probably something to do with—”
“The fiction I read?” Beverly was done. So, so done. “I’m going back up to help my aunt, Ned. She’s determined to write Demander Castle’s story for some reason, and I’m going to help her all I can. And that’s where I’m going, right now.”
She waltzed out of the utility room with all the dignity she deserved, since she was right. As she passed through the kitchen, she snagged an olive-topped cheese square from a tray—because you can do those things when you are the one in the right. If Ned followed her, she didn’t notice. Unlike the floors upstairs, the dungeon’s stone floor didn’t creak. She did notice that odd smell of burnt vanilla, however, and if it wou
ldn’t have messed up her exit, she might have turned back to ask the cooks what it was they kept burning.
Beverly didn’t tell Aunt Affie about the little run-in with Ned, but went right back to work going through the journal while her aunt tackled some of the more obscure paperwork. She tried to put Ned out of her mind, but he wouldn’t leave. She started hearing his voice in her head reading Tess Demander’s diary, and that was confusing. In the afternoon Aunt Affie went up for her customary rest, but Beverly stayed and worked until it was time to get ready for dinner, slipping in her second load of wash downstairs when the kitchen workers were between batches.
Beverly and Aunt Affie arrived in the dining room that evening to find Philip Sterling already seated at a table by the window. When he saw them, he arose quickly and came to greet them. “Welcome, ladies! Dr. Tune, Ms. Tune. Please, come sit. I’ve been away from the castle most of the day and haven’t had a chance to get to know you better. Say you’ll join me.”
Beverly didn’t have to look at her aunt to read her hesitation. She wished they could say no.
“Yes, of course,” Aunt Affie said, putting on her most amiable voice. “Thank you, Mr. Sterling.”
As he helped her with her chair, he said, “Please, call me Philip. And may I call you Alfreda?”
A giggle bubbled up in Beverly’s throat, but she turned it into a delicate cough.
“No one ever calls me Alfreda,” Aunt Affie told him, “except my mother when I was a very naughty little girl.”
Beverly enjoyed Philip’s perplexed face trying to picture this little old lady as a mischievous child. “Then what should I call you?” he asked, trying to maintain this falsely submissive tone.
“Dr. Tune,” Aunt Affie told him, straightforward in her reply.
Beverly thought, Good. At least he knows where he stands.
He wasn’t offended, though, and only smiled too broadly back. “Dr. Tune it is, of course.” And then, for some unfathomable reason, Philip Sterling swiveled his attention toward Beverly. “And Miss Tune. So nice that you’ve accompanied your aunt during her stay at Demander. Have you ever been in a castle before? It’s pretty exciting, isn’t it.”
Beverly saw Aunt Affie’s eyes roll. “Well, Mr. Sterling,” Beverly replied slowly, “my aunt and I have actually been traveling for the past month while she studies West Coast castles, and we actually go visit castles. Just like we’re visiting here.” Like Aunt Affie explained during her lecture last night, if you’d been listening.
“I see. Very exciting for you. But your stay at Demander will be longer, correct?” His gaze remained on Beverly, and she wasn’t sure what to say.
Aunt Affie rerouted the conversation. “Tell me, Mr. Sterling, when did you first come to Demander Castle?”
“When? Shortly after my marriage,” he said, a touch less compliant with the conversation. He turned back to Beverly. “Ms. Tune, what do you think of the name Demander?”
“What do I think of it? I’m not sure what you mean.”
“I’m thinking of changing the castle name,” he said. Lucky he wasn’t looking at Aunt Affie, as her wrinkled face puckered like she’d just sucked a lemon.
“Why would you do that, Mr. Sterling?” Beverly asked.
“I’d think it would be obvious. Sterlings own the castle now. I own it, and someday Ned may own it. And Sterling Castle sounds better than Demander. More fitting for a high-class destination, don’t you think?”
“I think Demander Castle is … plenty high-class. But why do you say that someday Ned may own it, Mr. Sterling?” Beverly asked before her aunt could make a sharp reply, which she could see forming in the older lady’s features.
He shrugged, a cruelly patient smile donning his lips. “Because this is twenty-first-century America, Ms. Tune. Places like Demander don’t have to stay in old families like they do across the water. If it’s not making a profit, it’s not worth keeping.”
Beverly was shocked at Mr. Sterling’s callousness, especially considering Ned’s feelings about the place. “Mr. Sterling,” she began, but Aunt Affie stepped in.
“Are you saying Demander doesn’t make a profit?”
Somehow, this conversation was trying Philip Sterling’s patience. “No, it makes a profit, Dr. Tune. Why wouldn’t it? Beautiful location, luxury rooms if you like old-fashioned. And some people do. A lot of people do. I just want to make it top-of-the-line, whatever the tourists want. Don’t you agree, Ms. Tune?”
“I don’t know that my opinion counts for anything,” Beverly said, but Ned arrived just then, looking happier than she’d seen him look earlier in the day. He even winked at her, which kicked her insides into a flutter, dang it.
“This is a surprise,” he said. “Dad, joining us for dinner? I’m pretty sure tonight’s choices are roast chicken and quiche. No beef.”
Philip sent a warped smile his son’s way. “Ned, you’ll have these ladies believing I’m only interested in a good steak. What I’m really interested in is hearing what this young lady thinks of our little seaside castle. Ms. Tune, please tell us. What do you think the modern vacationer likes?”
Beverly looked around at the three sets of eyes trained on her. Such a strange question! “I’d say … probably that’s going to vary from person to person.” She shrugged.
“But what about you?” Philip pressed, leaning closer. “For instance, that old library we were in last night. It never gets used for anything, or not anything that brings in money. There’s a lounge in town, and I’ve met plenty of Demander guests down there for late-night drinks. Now if we could turn that library space into something like that—”
“Dad,” Ned said, approaching the suggestion with far less fervor than she knew him capable of, “I’m not sure that the Tunes are interested in this. They’re just here for research.”
But Beverly’s ire was up picturing what Philip described. “Get rid of a library that’s more than a hundred years old? That’s criminal. You might not need to keep everything just the way it was at the turn of the last century, but I’d think you’d have a responsibility to keep some basic things intact. I can’t believe you’d even consider replacing it with a bar.”
While Aunt Affie nodded approval, Philip’s dark look bored into Beverly for a long moment. He really was a little terrifying, she thought, even here in a well-lit dining room full of people. She didn’t doubt that he could be a bully, and wondered if she was about to see it when his hand suddenly slapped the table and he laughed.
“Oh, Ms. Tune! I’m glad you’ve come to Grantsport. I am. You’re just what we need to stir things up around here. Now, let’s get our food ordered, and we’ll tell you all about the excursions and restaurants that guests at Demander have access to. After all, guests come here looking for a good time, and that’s what we give them.”
Beverly shook her head. What a scary guy Philip Sterling was. But when she looked at Ned, she wondered if maybe he was the scary one. While his father went on and on about how tourist-friendly the place was, for some reason Ned was looking at her as if he’d happily take her down to the Sound and toss her in for fish food.
Crazy apple doesn’t fall far from the crazy tree.
Chapter 12
By bedtime, Beverly had had more than enough of the Sterlings—both the unpredictable cute one and his frightening father—and she couldn’t wait any longer. She needed a new book pronto. Who would have guessed you’d need a distraction from staying in a castle?
Between laundry and research, Beverly hadn’t had time to either venture into town to the bookstore or peruse Demander’s library for good novels. Although the antique clock in her room told her it was nearly midnight, she decided to slip downstairs and see what she could find.
Her pajamas were summery-thin striped pants and a sleeveless eyelet-lace shirt. Perfect when she was under her covers, but scampering down the empty hall and stairway in bare feet, she realized the rest of the castle stayed quite cold at night.
It hadn’t
occurred to her that the library might be locked up until she reached it, but a gentle tug and the wood-framed glass pocket door slid right into the wall. Success! Inside was too dark to read book titles, so she turned on a lamp and the room came to spooky life.
The library remained as it had when she and Aunt Affie were there during the day, if a good deal creepier. The boxes of documents still sat out on the tables, but the journals were back on their shelves. Her aunt worried that if the Sterlings had a chance to go through them first, they might try to censor anything they didn’t find flattering, and Aunt Affie liked her sources to be firsthand and authentic.
Before she could make her way to the fiction section, Beverly heard creaking coming from the hallway. Not unusual; she’d heard plenty of noise from the groaning old building while she worked during the day, and more from her room at night. In fact, she’d been hearing such noises at all the old places they’d stayed at on their travels, so the creaking itself didn’t unravel her. Still, she decided to close the door so if someone were to actually come in she’d hear them enter.
The door slid into place again easily, and she finally had her chance to see just what fictional titles warranted space on the Demander shelves. A prickling of excitement tickled across her arms, as it always did at the prospect of meeting new books. Or old books, in this case. Nothing here was bright and new; she’d noticed that with a quick glance at the spines earlier. Dark shades of grey, green, blue, and red stretched out along the mahogany shelves. In most cases the embossed titles were too faded to read in the dim light, so she pulled each out one at a time for inspection: Moby Dick, Ulysses, Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. There were many stories by Dickens and even more Shakespeare. Jack London, Gulliver’s Travels, The Count of Monte Cristo. Beverly sighed as title after title proved to be stories she’d read and wasn’t in the mood to reread. Finally she decided on either an old illustrated copy of The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood or Treasure Island.
“I’ll just take them both for tonight,” she said aloud in the empty room. “No one’s going to notice.”
