“It’s just that, with all these years working beneath the same roof, Mr.Turner, I barely know ye,” Shirley said. “I’m keen to be your friend.”
“Well then.” Eliza clapped her hands together and stood. “The two of you should enjoy your whisky and get to know one another—I’m sure you have much more in common than you realize. I’m going to put myself to bed and read for a bit.”
Eliza ducked around the corner. She stood listening as Shirley began recounting stories of her youth in Aberdeen. In a few moments, Turner began to chuckle, and there was the sloshing of more liquor being poured.
“You little minx.” Eliza smirked. She crept up the stairs to her room on catlike feet.
After an hour or so, she heard the telltale squeak of the floorboards outside her room. She put down her novel and slid into her bed slippers. “Come in, Shirley.”
Shirley poked her head in the door. “He’s out like a light, mum. I dinnae think he’ll wake ’til morning.” She shook the keys in her hands.
“How was it?”
“Oh, it was delightful. Mr.Turner is right charming once he lets off his airs. He’ll nae likely remember it tomorrow, but we had a wonderful conversation.”
“Nothing more?” Eliza asked, arching her brow as she took the keys.
Shirley giggled. “Not yet at any rate, but perhaps in time. Are ye sure ye won’t be needin’ me to go with ye tonight, mum? It’s nae entirely safe.”
“It’s best if I do this alone, to keep his lordship from blaming you should he ever find out what we were up to while he was gone. I’ll be fine, Shirley.”
“Och. I’ll not say a word to his lordship, but I won’t be takin’ any of the blame if things go pear-shaped, ye strong-willed lass.” She gave Eliza’s hand an awkward pat, then ambled down the hallway, weaving a bit as she walked.
Eliza waited, listening to the house creak and settle. Content that all were asleep who should be, she lit one of the Tilley lanterns Malcolm had placed in each bedroom for emergencies and crept to the ballroom. She muffled the clanking of the keys in the folds of her nightdress and stood her lantern on the floor to work by. The jumping flame illuminated the portraits of Malcolm’s ancestors, creating the unsettling feeling of being watched.
She went through each key in an ordered fashion, eliminating them one by one. After four tries, she found it—a bronze key with a carved, crown-shaped fob at its base. The lock engaged with a satisfying click and turned. The door swung open. Eliza drew in a steadying breath to push past her fear, lifted her lantern, and stepped inside.
CHAPTER 30
Eliza didn’t even dare to breathe.
The south wing was just as dangerous as Malcolm had said it would be. Had she been foolhardy enough to charge through the doorway without looking, she’d have toppled straight over the edge of the makeshift plank she now stood on, falling onto the marble checkerboard of flooring far below. Instead, she stood balanced like a tightrope walker on a rough-hewn beam no more than twelve inches wide, spanning the chasm of missing balcony. Her muscles tensed like a cat’s. She hugged the wall with her back and slowly sidestepped along the board to the section of balustrade with its railing intact, the lantern clutched in her hand.
Though the rafters and roof had been repaired by the workers, great swaths of soot still muddied the wallpaper from floor to ceiling and smudged beneath the broken windows. Cold air channeled through the ragged shards of glass, causing her flesh to pimple.
A double waterfall staircase streamed down either side of the atrium. Other than that, this foyer was an exact mirror image of the one in the north wing. From Eliza’s vantage point, she could see the section of flooring Freddie had fallen on, its surface now cleared of debris. She closed her eyes for a moment to center her equilibrium, then workedher way to the staircase on her left. She put a slippered foot out to test it, carefully proceeding until she’d reached the bottom.
At the back of the house, beyond a series of arched French doors, the rear gardens with Leda’s fountain glowed in the moonlight. Eliza had a sudden vision of the windows flung wide to the summer air, music streaming in from the gardens while ladies in white lawn swanned about. The picture was so well formed she even heard a string quartet and caught the cherry-sweet fragrance of roses in full bloom.
There were two large drawing rooms facing the main foyer, their double-hung doors wide open. Eliza went to one, then the other, but they were empty, with not a scrap of furniture within, their floors crazed with moonlight. The fireplaces had been swept clean, with only the lingering scent of old ashes serving as a reminder these rooms once enjoyed life.
Seeing no other doorways on this level, save for the one leading to the main part of the house and the servants’ quarters, she made her way toward the stairs. A whisper of sound met her ears, like a dry leaf skittering across the floor. Her eyes flitted from the broken balcony above her to the statue of Cupid and Psyche in the center of the room. “Is anyone there?” Eliza called. Only her own voice echoed back.
For a moment.
“Eliza.”
She gasped. Her name. Someone had just whispered it. She was sure of it. She whipped her head from side to side and peered up at the balcony.
“Who’s there?”
Again, only an echoing of her own voice. Cupid grinned at her from his marble pedestal, his blank eyes indifferent to her fear.
“Time to quit the laudanum,” she whispered, and went back up the stairs.
There were several doorways lined up on either side of the gallery, equivalent to the bedrooms in the main part of the house. She tried thefirst door she came to, the cut glass knob twisting easily in her hand. This was a small room, no bigger than a closet, meant for a maid or nanny—empty save for a set of blowing lace curtains and plaster flaking off onto the floor.
The next room was connected to the first by a pocket door. It was a nursery. Eliza’s heart clutched at the sight of twin cribs set on either side of the casement window, their headboards carved with thistles and roses. She imagined Ada leaning down to look at her sleeping babies. She thought of how often she’d done the same when Albert was new—in those brief, halcyon years before the drowning, when her little brother was safe and the house on Metairie Road was happy. She closed her eyes for a moment, steadying her breath.
