“We’ve been busy and are just about finished. Come. Mrs. MacTavish and I will take you on a tour.”
They started downstairs.
“Do you like it?” Mrs. MacTavish asked with pride as they stood in the library.
“It’s a masterpiece,” James replied, his eyes reflecting the library’s polished mahogany, now shining like the fine wood of a cherished violin.
The garden room walls were painted in earth tones with sheer curtains to welcome in the light. Duncan’s artistry was in the floral design he created. He chose miniature pink roses, chrysanthemums in a variety of autumn colors, and bright fuchsias to create a visual melody, with Boston ferns providing a feathery background.
The breakfast room was awash in buttery yellow and promised the quiet of enjoying a morning hot chocolate and watching the sunrise or a morning rain shower.
The dining room’s deep red damask wallpaper and crystal chandelier promised evenings of laughter and conversation.
“We end our tour with the drawing room,” Mrs. MacTavish announced, the soft blue and yellow damask wallpaper an overture to future gatherings.
“Mrs. Thorne has sent word. The fabrics for the other upstairs rooms have arrived,” Edythe shared.
“And the ballroom?” James asked.
Edythe hesitated, feeling a sudden chill as if Alistair’s spirit loomed at the edges of her thoughts, his silent disapproval a shadow across the untouched ballroom. The blend of white walls, gilt touches, and soft blue curtains remained timeless. “It needs no change,” she decided, though she couldn’t shake the sensation that Alistair’s unrest lingered in the very air.
James, moved by the transformation, finally spoke. “You’ve not just changed paint, paper, and fabric, you’ve composed a new life for Cavendish Hall, allowing it to come out of the past and into the future.” His words carried a hopeful note that pierced the lingering gloom left by Alistair’s perceived presence.
They went upstairs. Edythe’s room had soft, muted pink walls with sage green trim. The cabbage rose-print curtains and bedcover hinted at cozy nights and lovely dreams. The adjoining sitting room, a soothing green and gold, was a relaxing place for quiet interludes and refuge from busy days.
Their last stop was the portrait gallery. The days after her dance with Alistair, during the renovation, Edythe often paused before Alistair’s portrait, her thoughts a mixture of questions and unease.
“Other than a deep cleaning, we didn’t touch the gallery. The dark blue walls are still pristine, and the dark blue and beige Aubusson floral wool carpet warms the gallery.” Edythe walked alongside James., their steps muffled as they passed each picture. Edythe’s gaze kept drifting back to Alistair’s portrait.
“You seem drawn to Alistair’s portrait,” James remarked as they stood in front of his lordship’s portrait. “Is there something about it that troubles you?”
She hesitated, the truth of her midnight encounter hovering on her lips. She hadn’t told anyone. Who would believe her? They would think she was crazy. She glanced at James. Would he? She took a deep breath and went on. “It’s his eyes,” she finally said, her voice a whisper. “They seem to…know me.”
James studied her. His light expression shifted to concern. “Edythe, if there’s anything you want to share, I’m here to listen. You’re not alone in your quest.”
She faced him. The trust in his eyes, the offer of support, was enough to breach her silence. “I danced with him, James. In the ballroom…” She turned back to Alistair’s portrait. “He was asreal as you and me.” Quiet for several moments, she glanced at him as a moment of panic surged through her. She grabbed his hands. “You don’t think I’m crazy, do you?”
James gathered her into his arms and held her close. “Not at all. The mind works in strange ways, especially concerning this house and Alistair.” They were quiet for a few minutes.
“It’s what he said to me about change.Let the Cavendish line wither as he did, brought on by betrayal.That’s what drives him. I must find the music box. I’ve searched everywhere while you were gone, even rooms we were not renovating, and found nothing,” she said, her head tucked under his chin.
James drew her back a bit and stared at her, his eyes soft and clear. “Then we will work together and find it. We certainly won’t find it standing here, although I do enjoy holding you.” He glanced at Alistair’s portrait. “I suspect Alistair might not be pleased with our search, but we must press on.”
Edythe gazed at him. Her determination was clear in the set of her jaw. “Yes, we must press on.”
They returned to the library, where the afternoon sun streamed through the clear windows, casting light across the room as they read the documents, worked their way through the manor’s archives, and examined artifacts from 1746. Each item, each trinket, was a piece of the puzzle, hinting at a story far more complex than the legends had suggested.
“I don’t recall seeing this in the library.” James stood in front of a rectangular writing table and tried to open the single stubborn drawer.
“Mrs. Thorne brought it from the Lord’s bedroom, believing it would be useful here,” Edythe explained as she looked over his shoulder.
Once again, James attempted to open the drawer, but it refused to budge. “It’s stuck.”.
With a thoughtful pause, James retrieved a letter opener from the nearby desk and slid it along the drawer’s edge. A soft click broke the silence, and the drawer glided open, revealing torn pieces of parchment.
“I can’t believe it,” she whispered, her hands trembling as she pieced together the remnants of the document.
James leaned in closer, examining the fragments. “It’s almost as if Alistair wanted us to find this despite his efforts to hide it.” James took some of the pieces and helped her reconstruct the message.
