The door was heavy, and she had to throw much of her weight into pushing it open.
She found herself in an immense hall, dimly lit by gas lamps that cast a sufficient glow upon the floor to reveal stone flooring of excellent workmanship, and an enormous Oriental rug. The foot of a grand staircase, nearly as wide at the bottom as many of the rooms in her old home, disappeared in a curve into the darkness above, where lights on the second floor illuminated the shapes of arched windows overlooking the foyer—she did not know if such an enormous space could so be called—from every side. Well-kept ferns, and sparse furniture of expensive countenance, were lined along the walls of the otherwise empty room. A single tasteful table with a vase of fresh, exotic flowers stood in the center of the rug.
Finding herself lacking entirely any thoughts about the proper etiquette for such a situation, she pushed the door closed, waited, and finally said, though she was certain it was impertinent, “Hello?”
Surely, the state of the place required that an army of servants were in the employ of Mr. Blackstone. But the house was silent as a tomb.
“Mr. Blackstone,” she said, in a tone that was quite impertinent, but her nerves had now become quite undone. “I demand that you, or at the very least, a... a... butler, or a maid, appear at once and explain to me this most... unusual welcome.”
The dark figure silhouetted in one of the arched openings above her had perhaps been there all along, for she had not seen it appear. It was deathly still. But the voice was unmistakable, a low, commanding purr that sent tingles along her spine.
“Miss Blanchet,” Mr. Blackstone said, using the French pronunciation of her name. “You are in no position to make demands.”
The cool feeling coiled in her abdomen slithered to life, and Lina was grateful for the darkness around her, for surely Mr. Blackstone could not see the odd expression her features took on, nor the flush on her cheeks, the provenance of which was unknown even to her: partly fear, partly the wicked excitement she had felt what seemed like a lifetime ago in the attic of her own home, and partly something else entirely that she knew not how to describe. Her heart kicked wildly and her chest felt like ice was spreading through it like the first frost across the gardens, branching out from the center to her limbs, until she was frozen.
“I expect,” Mr. Blackstone said, “That you shall learn this soon enough, though I had rather hoped the task would not be so very... monumental.”
“I apologize,” Lina rushed to say. Her voice was much quieter than she had expected. “I simply... there was no one to meet me at the door and no—”
“Speak no more.” Mr. Blackstone’s voice was no louder than her own, but it commanded such authority that it quashed Lina’s and sent a stab of fear through her chest. “Mongrave.”
Lina squinted, confused, and then started, taking a small jump backward as a figure in tails stepped into the circle of light. He was an old man, with a stern face that revealed nothing of his thoughts, and he looked every bit the butler.
“Shall escort you to your quarters. We will begin tomorrow.”
The butler, if that was what he was, extended his hand in the direction of the stairs, and then proceeded to walk in that direction, producing from seemingly nowhere a gas lamp which he carried with him as he walked.
Lina opened her mouth, believing that she had something to say, but not knowing what it was and still quite unsettled by the commanding voice of Mr. Blackstone, she closed it. She followed the butler, who, for being quite aged, was moving along at quite a fast pace. She hurried to catch up to him, not wishing to be left alone in the dark.
She was left at the doorway of an enormous suite of rooms by the mysterious and silent Mongrave, who disappeared into the labyrinthine corridors without a word.
The rooms were large and well-furnished, and a tray of food, still warm as if it had just been served, was left for her in the anteroom. There was, to her great surprise, an enormous bathroom, and a dressing room, attached to the bed chamber. The rich sheets of the bed, made of a cotton woven until it seemed like silk, were turned down.
Not knowing what else to do, she ate the dinner left for her, and grew drowsy. She discovered that her trunks had been unpacked, which brought her great relief. She selected a night shift, and was asleep, in spite of the anxiety that plagued her, within a moment of her head touching the pillow.
Tomorrow, she thought, she would straighten all of this out.
