Copying her haughty “city girl” clique, Cleo waltzed into five-star hotels, private events, restaurants with waiting lists. Manhattan became her playground. One roommate even taught Cleo how to open secret gates to private gardens around the city using bobby pins—you could pick any lock by making a “key” from two hairpins, visualizing the mechanics of the lock, pushing up the tumblers with one bent pin while turning the barrel with the other.
From her first night away from home, Cleo understood the two futures available to her: Be the victim, or win. Her choice had served her well.
PART FOUR
WELCOME TO MUMBERTON CASTLE
1
Emma
-$42,005.30
“Oh my God!” cried Jameson, pointing out the window of the car. Emma peered over her son’s shoulder and gasped.
Mumberton Castle!
The building was massive, crenellated, astonishing—a castle from a fairy-tale storybook, rising toward the clouds, making a pattern against the sky. Emma felt tiny as they approached the Visitor’s Parking Area of the hulking behemoth, which Sylvie had told her contained a few dozen bedrooms. A fewdozen! Emma had never been inside a house that held more than four bedrooms in her life.
“Whoa,” said Rich, as their car passed underneath a charming stone gatehouse, a narrow passage, and into a courtyard. Mumberton Castle was built on a rocky outcrop; rolling hills spilled down toward interconnected rivers, encircling the entire domain in water.
“My stomach hurts…but also, I feel like I’m inGame of Thrones,” said Guinness, chomping on tablets from his large bottle of Tums.
“We’re going into a castle,” said Rich, with wonder.
A ten-foot-tall wooden door reinforced with metal bars marked the entrance to a three-story stone tower with a parapet. Emma could feel ghosts here—not only Simon’s mother and relatives, but the people who had lived here during King Henry VI’s reign, and the Tudors who came after them. Emma had read that King Henry VIII had visited with Anne Boleyn, in the happy window after he had annulled his marriage to Catherine of Aragon and before he had ordered Anne beheaded at the Tower of London to make way for his marriage to Jane Seymour, and later Anne of Cleves, Catherine Howard, and Catherine Parr.
Their driver stopped in front of a side entrance, and they disembarked, seemingly the first car to arrive from the train station. Emma stood before the castle and imagined the women of Mumberton dressed in layers of muslin and silk, their hair braided in elaborate styles, and the men in capes, always on guard.
An elderly woman burst through the door, clapping her hands. She halted in front of Emma and searched her face. Emma had not been considered in so long. She ran her fingers through her unkempt hair and patted her pockets in search of her hair clip. (There had been no time to shower on the train.)
The woman was standing too close. Her breath smelled of stale coffee. “Greetings, love!” she said, in a high-pitched, reedy voice. “Now which one of the wedding guests are you?”
“I’m Emma, the bride’s sister. And this is my family.” Emma lifted her hands to show off Rich and her sons, who were curious, ready for adventure. She had felt ashamed about Sweet Nothings for so long that she savored a momentary rush of pride.
“What a pleasure to meet you, dear! My name is Louisa Freck,” said the woman. “I am the Mumberton Castle librarian. I’ve been here since before Simon was born! I know absolutely every fact about this place, so if you need anything—anything at all—I’m the one to ask.”
As always, Emma’s sense of satisfaction was ruined as herinner Donna began to berate her:Why didn’t you take a few minutes to learn more about the history of medieval England? You had time to watch reality TV, didn’t you? You’re so lazy and nonintellectual!
Sure, Rich had made them all watch bloody battles in muddy forests when it was his turn to choose on “Family Movie Night.” Was it OK for youngish boys to watch grown men decapitated by antiquated swords on TV? Rich thought it was fine, though he made them close their eyes during the steamy sex scenes in dim castle bedrooms, as women in multilayered dresses disrobed, their crazy headpieces removed to reveal lush manes of hair that hunky men would plunge their hands into.
They had even watched a movie that featured Mumberton Castle:The Wars of the Roses.In medieval times, King Henry VI had abdicated the throne, gone insane, and wandered the countryside, somehow ending up at Mumberton, where he was allowed to hide in a tiny space, hidden from view, built into a Mumberton wall for this exact purpose. (The spaces were called “priest holes,” but apparently, a mentally unwell king was also welcome.) While he was holed up in a baggy loincloth at Mumberton, his angry wife, Queen Margaret of Anjou, stormed their enemy’s castle in chain mail with her army, wielding torches and shooting fire arrows.
“Fire arrows!” Jameson had cried, when Queen Margaret of Anjou started shooting onscreen.
“She isbadass,” Guinness had acquiesced.
—
Emma tried to silence her inner Donna, who was now berating her for notbeing in the momentas she stood before the building that contained so many stories and precious artworks—Van Gogh’sSunflowershad even been stored here to protect it from the Nazis! It was gone now, but there were several “tatty but valuable items and such” in the castle, as Louisa put it.
“Follow me,” said Louisa. Emma’s inner Donna was hard onstrangers: The voice in Emma’s mind disparaged Louisa’s lavender eye shadow and carrot-colored lipstick.Someone went a little wild in the makeup aisle,said Donna, in Emma’s mind.
They approached a side entrance to the castle, which had a sign over the door readingTicket Office. Louisa opened the door and led them directly into a huge room dimly lit by low sconces. “Thisis the Great Hall,” she said, theatrically. “You don’t have to pay the twenty-nine pounds, of course.”
Emma looked around, awestruck. The Great Hall was a giant rectangular space—it must have been two hundred feet long. Guinness walked to the center of the room. “I see you looking up, son,” said Louisa. “That’s called ahammer-beamroof. See how the short, horizontal beams are attached to the wall, and can support the curved support beams and wooden struts—so the room can soar open without columns or anything marring the grandeur.”
Emma smiled, delighted by how Louisa pronounced the word with a French accent: grand-eeuuur.
