brandbury hall; part 3

Arianna

So very high. So much higher than my room in Shropshire. Yet, my room there was on the second story, and I believed this to be the second story as well. Taller ceilings, I suppose. I scanned the outside world with wide, curious eyes. I could see my coach retreating in the distance toward the city we’d departed from this morning. My eyes traced the edged of the mountains on the horizon. They were mostly dead with green patches of evergreens. I bet they will be beautiful in the summer. There wasn’t any snow yet. How odd, indeed. In England, the ground had been covered for months now. Perhaps they were going through a warm front.
     My gaze settled on the fields surrounding the property. Bare, dead fields. Fields like my father’s. These fields were dead for now, but soon spring would come along with the green buds of new life. No life lingered in my father’s fields. Like my family, its spring was over for all eternity. It would forever rest, unfinished and unsown.
     I distracted my emotion by unpacking my bags. They had given me such a large room; I didn’t have nearly enough things to leave my mark. It still looked cavernous, cold, and impersonal. The only place that showed any sign of inhabitants were the vanity and the bed. On my bed lay the patchwork quilt made by my Aunts Suzy and Charlotte, Father’s other sister. On the vanity sat the toilette set Aunt Suzy had given me and a picture my Uncle had taken of Lucas and me on my seventeenth birthday. Out of everything I owned, this was undoubtedly my most prized possession. It was all I had of my family. I promised to look at it every day and say a prayer for my family in heaven that they not be as grieved as I was during our separation.
     When I had put away my last dress, a wave of lethargy washed through me. So very, very tired was I. I untied the drapes to my windows, masquerading the afternoon as dusk, drew my bed curtains, turned back the sheets, and fell into a deep sleep.
     While I dreamt, I heard voices:
     “M’lady?” There was a rapping sound. Wood against something else. Someone was knocking at my door.
     “M’lady, supper is about to be served. M’lady?”
     I heard a grinding metal, a slight squeak, then a human squeak, made by a small child.
     “Charlotte! Leave Miss Brown alone.” A male’s voice rose, coming closer, fast, as if running toward the girl.
     “I beg your pardon, sir. I was just—“
     “Yes, I know what you were doing. Thank you for being concerned for Miss Brown. I’m sure she would thank you as well. But remember, she has had a very long journey and is probably exhausted. Let her rest a little longer. If she needs something, she knows what to do.”
     “Yes, sir.”
     “And Charlotte?”
     “Yes, sir?”
     “Yes, what?”
     “Yes, Mister Jeremy.” There was a smile in her words, and I imagined the man tickling the young maid’s ribs and hustling her along downstairs.
     The last thing I remember hearing was another squeak from the door, a hesitation, then a slam.

When next I woke, I hadn’t a clue of the time. I drew back the window curtain and found it was just as bright as when I closed them, if not brighter. I must face the world eventually. I might wish to do it sooner rather than later. I changed, washed, dressed, and otherwise readied myself for the household’s viewing pleasure.
     The walked across the lengthy room was slowed in time; the doorknob seemed to hesitate as I turned it. A deep breath was taken before I slowly opened the door. The screech was horrendous, sounding through the empty corridor with an echo. I winced and frantically glanced around to make certain no one was watching my awkward behaviour. No one. When I felt safe, I emerged from my quarters.
     A door opened and closed loudly as a servant woman came striding at a brisk pace down the hall toward me. The moment she spotted me, she exclaimed aloud, “M’lady! You awake!” She waved her hands in a strange signal in front of her and nearly dropped her bundle in doing so.
     “Uh,” I stuttered, distracted by the unique display, “Tell me, what is the time?”
     “M’lady, it be nearly eight.”
     “In the morning, I hope?”
     “Yes, m’lady. On Thursday the twelfth.”
     Unconsciously, and rather stupidly, my mouth dropped in shock. “It’s Thursday?! But I arrived on Tuesday, did I not?”
     “Aye, m’lady.” Her look was grave. “We been all a-fright with worry that you were ill, Mister Jeremy wouldn’t let Mum call for the doctor until at least tomorrow. Mister Jeremy and Mum will be so pleased you’re awoke.” The dimples in her rosy cheeks popped right out of her face as she beamed with joy. Was the entire household actually that worried for me? Had they thought I’d died as I slept?
     I decided I need to see my guardian right away, so I inquired, “Where can I find Madame Swanson?”
     “Oh, she’ll be in the dining room a-waiting her breakfast. It’ll be nearly ready.”
     Breakfast. My stomach lurched with hunger pains at the thought of it. I hadn’t eaten in nearly two days. I
thanked the woman fervently and headed toward the staircase.
     Something stopped me before I reached the top step. I turned to see the woman still standing at my doorway, smiling.
     “What is your name?” I asked delicately.
     “Delilah, m’lady.”
     “Thank you, Delilah. God bless.”
     Her grin broadened. “Thankee, m’lady. God bless.”
     I turned back around and found I could now proceed to climb down the steps.
     The entry way was much bigger without the entire household staff filling it. I noticed the chandelier above the two front doors that I hadn’t yesterday. Tuesday. This is going to mess with my whole week. I didn’t see a servant around to help guide me in the right direction, so I decided to explore a bit. I turned left where there were two behemoth doors towering nearly as high as the front ones. I wonder if I could even open them. I walked up to the handle, turned it, and pulled with all my might. I cracked open a bit, but I was so excited that I actually managed to open this massive door that I lost my strength. I slammed shut, echoing through the empty halls. I swivelled around quickly to see if anyone had seen my stupidity. No one was there. I checked the top of the steps. Delilah was not there eyeing my movements. I sighed inwardly a breath of relief. I do not want to make a fool of myself my first day.
     I tried opening it again, slowly, sure not to break the flow of my strength. It cracked open again, wider and wider, when finally I was able to slip through into the room.
     The breath in my lungs exhaled in an awed sigh. It was gorgeous. Never had I ever seen something so wonderfully made, so beautifully shaped, so elegantly designed. It was a ballroom, one beautiful enough for the queen herself. I dared to take a step more, then another, and another until I was looking up in awe from the centre of the room. The chandelier wasn’t lit as it was in the entry way, and the fireplace wasn’t burning either. I suppose they only open this up for special occasions. I hope I can be here when they use it. To see this place lit and alive with energy! What a sight that will be. I turned in circles, attempting to see the whole room at once, as if to see all the glory of heaven in one instant. It was impossible. Everywhere I looked, I saw a new figure, a new statue, a different view. As I marvelled, I didn’t hear the door open behind me. As I turned back around to face it, someone stood in the open doorway.
     “Mister Brand!” I was scared and uncertain, so I curtsied the lowest I could. Mother had taught me only to use this for high royals. It was the most I could do to apologize for intruding in a place like this.
     He laughed at me. My cheeks glowed with embarrassment. I stayed where I was to hide that fact.
     “Miss Brown,” he said, laughter still clinging to his voice. “Please, get up. That’s hardly necessary.” His feet came into view as he drew near. “Please.”
     I rose gracefully, the way Mother had taught me, and kept my eye sight at his feet.
     “That’s a little better.” He bent down to try to catch my gaze. Once he caught it, he grinned and muttered, “Hi.”
     Being beaten, I raised my head reluctantly but humbly to face him. “Mister Brand, please forgive for intruding—“
     “Intruding what? You think we ever use this thing?” he remarked.
     That was shocking. “You don’t?”
     “No,” he sighed. Marvelling at the masterpiece as I had just done. “Madame never sees the use for grand parties and the like. A pity that it goes to such a waste.”
     “Yes,” I agreed fervently. “It’s beautiful. People should see the magnificence that God inspired. God made man with a creative soul, and this should be shared with the world. There is no excuse for locking it up.”
     He pondered on this, or pretended to ponder. Whichever, he quickly switched the topic: “Are you hungry, Miss Brown?”
     My face must have revealed my ravenous hunger, for he broke out into laughter a moment later.
     “Come, I’ll take you to the dining room. Breakfast will soon be over.”
     We exited the ballroom and took a right at the staircase down a long hallway. I’d taken a wrong turn. Right. I must remember where everything is in this house, if you could call it that. At the end of the hall on the left side, we entered a large room with a long, decorative table in the middle. Servers stood on either side of the table, awaiting orders, should they come. Madame sat at the head of the table furthest from the door.
     “Ah, Miss Brown. So glad you could finally join us.” She ate so properly; she reminded me of my mother. She was always so elegant and refined at the dinner table. “Are you feeling better rested from your travels?”
     “Yes, Madame Swanson. Thank you. I feel very well rested.”
     “Yes, indeed,” she affirmed. “We were all very concerned, except Jeremy here. He seemed convinced that all you needed was a good night’s rest. Or a couple good days rest, yes?”
     Mister Brand and I were seated at the table on either side of Madame Swanson, facing each other. Our meals were brought out to us on plates with silver coverings, under which was revealed a plethora of foods: sausage, eggs, potatoes. I had to force myself not to shovel it all down.
     “Yes. Mister Brand was right. I did need a great deal of rest.” I peeked a glance at him across from me, but he was interested in his own food. I was about to start on my own meal, but I felt something wasn’t right. “Madame Swanson? Should we not thank the Lord for our meal?”
     Without skipping a beat or even raising her head to look at me, she offered, “You may pray silently to yourself, child, but you will not convert me to pray with you.”
     For a moment I thought Heathen! but I had to remind myself that this country was known for its religious tolerance. All I could muster was, “Very well, Madame Swanson. Thank you,” and I bowed my head, folding my hands and prayed for my family in heaven, for my new home, Delilah whom I’d met, and Mister Brand and Madame Swanson, that they would see the light of heaven’s glory one day.
     The food tasted heavenly. Of course, it might have been for the fact that I hadn’t eaten in almost two days. I suppose I’ll make a proper assumption as to the quality of food later, when I’m less starving. If I had any nerve, though, I would have asked for seconds. Imagining that that proposal would be considered rude, I refrained and was satisfied with what I received. Soon, breakfast was over, and our plates were taken away. It was only then that I realized I didn’t know what would happen next. Do Mister Brand and I begin our studies for the day? Will we have chores that need done? Will we all retire to the parlour for conversation, as Mister Brand had said? I believe that was after supper. Yes. I wonder what we will do with the rest of our day.
     Madame Swanson cleared her throat, stopping my internal rambling, and stood, implying that we should all stand. Once stood, she waved the servants away and began her trek out of the dining room. Mister Brand offered me to go first, and then he followed.
     Still not knowing what was happening, I followed Madame Swanson. I followed her to the foot of the steps where she turned to address Mister Brand: “Jeremy, why don’t you show Miss Brown around the house? That way she’ll feel more comfortable and at home here.” Her stony gaze slid to me. “Is that satisfactory, Miss Brown?”
     Intimidated, I answer immediately with a slight curtsy, “Yes, madam.”
     She nodded with approval, and ascended the staircase beyond view.
     “So.”
     I turned to see Mister Brand in his strict straight posture with an inquiring look upon his face. “You already know where the ballroom is and how often we use it. Where would you like to start?”
     I had nothing to say, so I stared incredulously at him.
     He cleared his throat, possibly to break the silence I’d created, and answered for me: “How about just here? The drawing room?” He gestured with his left hand to a door directly to the right. Its doors were miniscule compared to the ballroom’s door on the other end of the hall.
     I never actually answered him, just started in the direction of his hand. He got to the door before me, opening it and ushering me inside. I wonder if he’s always this much of a gentleman, or if it’s a personal show for me. In any case, the room was beautiful. Not nearly as much as the ballroom, but then I figured that one was the most extravagant of all. I lowered my expectation and was pleased with what I saw. It was very brightly lit, the curtains to all the windows open to the world. The fireplace blazed, and candles were alight everywhere. A painting in progress stood to the right, situated so that the light from the windows would shine on it. It was amateur, that I could tell, but nonetheless quite good. Satisfactory detail and colour. It was a picture of a street, with people spotting the picture in hoards. It was at night, yet these streets were lit with lanterns. It looked like a festival. The moon shone above in a cloudy sky. The dark shades of blue against the white of the sun somehow reminded me of the sea, and a twinge of nostalgia washed through me for a moment.
     “It’s France. Or so Madame tells me.”
     Mister Brand’s voice startled me, and he uttered a humble apology and continued, “She spent a good deal of her life in France. She’s in love with the place. Especially Paris. That’s the street she lived on in Paris, I believe.”
     “Ah, yes. I was told she knew my grandfather in Paris.” I spoke without thinking, and the moment I did, I regretted it for a reason unbeknownst to me.
     “Your grandfather? Really? I was unaware that the relation went back that far.”
     I felt awkward now, revealing so much. “Yes.”
     He inhaled as if to say something more, but apparently thought better of it and exhaled the unspoken words.
     “Shall we move on?” he offered after a few moments lingering in the room.
     I nodded, and my tour continued.
     He showed me the parlour, where he, Madame Swanson, and I would spend most of our nights after supper; the reading room, which is a small study designated for reading, though Mister Brand informed me that if ever he wants to read he prefers to do it in the library itself; the billiard parlour, where Mister Brand offered to teach me the game of billiards; the dining room, again; the kitchen; the downstairs bath; the library upstairs; my room and my personal bath; the balcony; the third floor baths; his room; Madame’s room; and so numerous were the room in that house that I knew I would be lost for a month. Studies and parlours and music rooms, guest rooms and this and that and everything. It was really quite dizzying.
     “And lastly, here is the other end of the servant’s stair. As you can see, there’s also a small wash room for them. It’s rather pathetic looking and in bad shape. Besides, hardly any of them come up here very often. It’s not usually used. We rather they take the main staircase than this.” I could sense the disgust in his voice. It didn’t look that dirty. I wondered if he was that high of class that he cringed from grime and dirt, claiming them unholy. “But,” he continued before I could make my own claim on his thoughts, “It does come in handy if you’re in a mischievous mood. It’s nice for popping out and scaring people.” He grinned slyly, reminiscing recent frights given probably. My forehead creased in confusion and wonder at this man’s favourite pastimes. Seeing my expression he cleared his throat and stumbled over something that sounded like “Shall we?” and escorted me to the main staircase.
     When we reached the bottom floor, he breathed relief and turned to me. “That concludes our tour for this morning. Any questions?”
     With this tour done, which did take up a good bit of time, I still had the dilemma from earlier: “Just one. What do you do all day?”
     That was not the question he was expecting. His eyebrows rose and his eyes blinked rapidly. “Ah. Well, recently, I’ve been keeping to the library, reading. Occasionally, I’ll . . .” he hesitated. He forced his face into a practiced and composed stony look, similar to Madame Swanson’s. “I’ll keep up with my language studies. I’m practically fluent in Spanish and French. I’m also working on Russian. We have a few employees who have recently emigrated from Russia, and they need to be able to communicate with the rest of us. When it’s decent outside, I’ll go for a stroll or a ride on my mare through the country. Remember, I’m on holiday, so I’ll soon be returning to Johnson School in Binghamton. I’m not here often, so I generally try to stay out of the way.”
     Those last few words, “stay out of the way,” were declared forcefully, but not so much as to insult me, just to get the point across. I was to stay out of the way. Be a good girl, and don’t be a nuisance. All I uttered was, “I see,” and in those two words I promised what he had implied: that I would stay in my place and not bother anyone or anything.
     The stony expression stayed on his face as he offered me his arm with the words, “Is there somewhere I can escort you?”
     Suddenly, I was angry. Angry at myself for thinking that I might have enjoyed it here, might have made friends, might have felt I had a new home and family, and angry at Mister Brand for treating me like a bauble, there only to fill an empty spot on the shelf with no sentimentality about it. I wanted nothing more to do with him if that was the way he was to treat me.
     “No,” I retorted, mimicking his expressionless face. “I can find my way.”
     Without even thanking him, I walked away.