“Sounds magical." Helooked around the dimly lit passage. “I’ve never been in a house with a real secret passage.”
“Of course you have. That’s why they’re calledsecretpassages,” I said. “Pemberley disguises them well enough that we’ve never had a tourist or uninvited guest use them.”
He looked up and down the long stone passage. “How mysterious. Do you know about every one of them?”
It never occurred to me before how odd it was to have a magical home with hidden passages woven throughout. “Yes, I know them all… I think, anyway. They’re great fun for kids. Maybe you don't remember playing hide and seek when we were little.”
“Well, I have a memory of hiding in a room with an alcove while my parents attended some event here." He rubbed his chin. "I think there were a few other kids playing with us, and there was some kind of magic afoot."
"The house probably ushered you from one place to another that way. She does have a way with children." Pemberley filled my childhood with enchantment, rose gardens, music, books, and dreamy summer afternoons. But my mother also played a role in most of those memories, and dwelling on them left my heart heavy. So, I changed the subject. “Do you bake often?”
“Well, I cook. If pancakes, ramen, and macaroni and cheese count?” he asked.
“Sure. I don’t know that I’ve actually ever made any of those. Though I do a lot of baking,” I said. “Cooking meals is something else.”
“Well, you employ a chef and a cook, right?” He looked at me suspiciously. “I can’t see why you would bake if you don’t have to.”
“Sometimes baking is a gift I feel like I can give. Many people I know already have too much money and too much stuff. But homemade treats feel heartfelt,” I answered. “Wait, doesn’t your family have a cook?”
I figured most of the people I went to College de Synthese with had similar lives to mine.
“We didn’t have a live-in chef, no. We had people who came in and cleaned once or twice a week, but that was it. I had a lot of friends who thought even that was very extravagant.”
How different our worlds were. A strange feeling rushed through me. He’d lived a real life, and though still privileged, he must've had to work much harder than I did.
“So you probablyhadto learn something about cooking. Not that I’m complaining. I obviously have everything you could want here, but sometimes I wonder what it would have been like to grow up in a normal home.” I looked at him, not wanting to admit that I was a little jealous because it sounded terribly, awfully, horribly ungrateful of me.
But when I read stories or watched movies about families with normal lives, and struggling with things, it seemed so honest. And I was disconnected from the common experience of having to get through any sort of challenge. I’d never had to do any chores unless the maids let me help. Nor did I do laundry,make my bed, or wash dishes unless I made a mess in the kitchen. I'd never been grounded or in any trouble at all, and I hoped I wasn’t weak because of it. Maybe I couldn’t have handled it, but I would never know.
“Yes, I had to help in the kitchen a bit—nothing fancy. My parents both worked, and they had three kids. Being the oldest meant I had to do a lot to help around the house.” Henry didn’t seem too proud of his accomplishment, but I thought it was amazing.
“Well, I think that’s wonderful. I never had a younger sibling, but I wish I had. My older brother has made all the difference in my life.” I’m not sure why tears welled up in my eyes. “I bet your siblings adore you.”
He laughed. “Yeah, we’re friends. But I was a bit of a tease as well.”
“Naturally. You were an older brother, after all.” I smiled. “I wonder what Zac’s family was like?”
“Oh, maybe you didn’t know. His parents were broke, but his grandparents were big business moguls. I think they sold paper plates and stuff to fast-food chains. Tons of money,” Henry said. “But it was weird, because Zac always acted like he desperately needed cash. Sometimes I worried he was gambling or using drugs or something.”
“I wonder if he was. Perhaps that explains his death. You know what we should do after we bake? Contact some of our classmates and see what they knew about him. We shouldn’t say he’s dead, of course. His family doesn’t even know yet. But I bet someone has to know something,” I said.
“Good thinking,” Henry said.
We wandered through the back corridors and down a private stairway to the kitchens. Rose was peeling potatoes and putting them in a pot to boil.In the corner, Waffles slept by the fire, and Marshmallow ran to and curled up next to her.
“Hi Rose, are you okay with us invading the kitchen once more? I wanted to make something for our guests and staff who are stranded here,” I said.
“Oh, Georgiana, you know you’re welcome here.” Rose smiled at me. “You’re always thinking of others, aren’t you?”
"Well, I think I’d be stressed if I were stranded at a stranger’s house in a storm, and cookies make everyonehappy," I said.
Rose looked at Henry and said, “You’d never know this one grew up in the lap of luxury. She’s as humble and sweet as they come.”
He raised his chin. "I agree."
I blushed, unable to imagine how she'd react if she knew what we'd just been doing. “I’m flattered, Rose. But I think you’re biased since I used to hang out here as a child. Did you know Henry used to play here as well?”
She laughed. “I remember a cute little boy with light brown hair. Was that you, Henry? Georgiana, you were like a little fairy running around this place and bringing good cheer. I remember when your mother was expecting you, and we all wondered how we would manage with a little girl in the house. But then you came along, and we all wondered how we’d ever lived without you. Pure sunshine, you are.”
