Page 25 of House of Roots and Ruin
The footman was late.
I swished back and forth before the fireplace, throwing sharp glances at the little clock. It was nearly eight now, when Dauphine said the family sat down for dinner, and he was nowhere in sight.
Anxiety thrummed in my veins, setting my heartbeat off-kilter. I was never late to anything and I certainly didn’t want Lord Laurent thinking poorly of me on our first meeting. Dauphine may want to pretend we were good friends but I was certain Lord Laurent would only ever see himself as my patron.
I’d already imagined him as a hazy figure with sharp eyes peering down a commanding hooked nose, judging me, judging my work. His word had the power to make or break my career. I knew—I hoped—my skills as an artist would stand up to even the most rigorous taste…but if I offended him as aperson…
With an exasperated sigh, I changed the direction of my pacing, daring to peek into the hallway.
Nothing.
It loomed long and silent without a trace of life within it.
It wasn’tthatbig of a manor, I reasoned, fingers drumming against the doorframe. It should be easy enough to find the dining room….
The ticking of the clock spurred me into action.
I fled my rooms, the door shutting behind me with an echoing click.
Perhaps I’d run into the footman on my way down the stairs.
Perhaps I’d run into Dauphine, coming from her wing. She’d spot me and understand at once. We’d go down together, arm in arm, and I wouldn’t have to wander the main floor alone.
So caught up in my daydream, I wasn’t entirely aware of where I was heading, just going down the hall until I reached the staircase.
Only…
I paused, turning back to look the way I’d come.
This wasn’t right, was it?
It looked like the same hall, dark wood, light walls, so many carvings, but…there was something different about it. Something wrong.
I turned again.
It was too long.
While I’d not taken a precise count of every door we’d passed on my initial trip, it felt as though they’d now somehow multiplied. Doubled. Tripled, even, in number.
“This can’t be right,” I murmured, turning tail and wandering back toward where I believed my room to be. Had there been a split in the hall someplace? A turn I’d not noticed before but had accidentally taken?
There was not.
I found my room, the trails of wisteria slithering down the wall, and touched one of the blossoms, an unformed question heavy in my mouth. On either side of the door were a pair of old-fashioned candlestick sconces, strange to see in a house run with gas. The tapers—identical to the dark pink ones I’d found in my bedchamber—flickered unhelpfully at me.
“This is ridiculous,” I decided with a shake of my head. “I’m going to be late.”
Back down the hall again, counting every door I passed, every pair of candles. Three, five, nine, too many, far too many…
I stepped toward one of the windows, peering out into the darkened night, trying in vain to see around the glare of the candlelight reflected in the pane. For a moment, my equilibrium felt off and I swayed against the wall, holding on to the curtain.
Uncertainty stilled my limbs, weighing my feet down and rendering them rooted.
“There you are!” a voice exclaimed, buoyant with relief.
An older man, white and tall and trim with sharp angles, raced up to me. He’d been blond once, but wide swathes of silver now framed his temples, slicked back with pomade. His suit was a rich cream, cut from a fine bolt of wool, and, inside my slippers, my toes curled. If that’s what the Laurents’ servants wore, I was sure to look like a shabby little no one in my simple silk dress.
“You weren’t in your room.” He held out his arm, as if he were a gentleman, ready to escort me out on an afternoon promenade. I’d never seen staff behave so casually with a guest before, then chastised myself. To him, we were the same—both paid employees of the estate.
