Serafina and the Black Cloak. Robert Beatty

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СКАЧАТЬ years, but she’d never been this close to him.

      Most of what she knew about him she’d overheard from the gossiping servants, and when it came to the young master, they sure did prattle on. When he was ten years old, his family had died in a fire and he became an orphan. His uncle took him in. He became like a son to the Vanderbilts.

      He was known as a loner. Some of the less charitable folks whispered that the young master preferred the company of his dog and his horse to most people. She’d overheard the men in the stables saying that he’d won many blue ribbons at equestrian events and was considered one of the most talented horseback riders around. The cooks, who prided themselves on preparing the most exquisite gourmet meals, complained that he always shared the food on his plate with his dog.

      ‘I’ve explored pretty much every room on the first, second and third floors,’ the young master said to her, ‘and the stables, of course, but the other parts of the house are like foreign lands to me.’

      As the boy spoke, she could tell he was trying to be polite, but his eyes kept studying her. It was nerve-racking. After all those years she’d been hiding, it felt so strange to have someone actually looking at her. It made her stomach twist, but at the same time her skin tingled all over. She knew she must look completely ridiculous standing before him in the remnants of her pa’s old work shirt, and he must have noticed her hands were dirty and there were smudges all over her face. Her hair was as wild as a banshee’s, and there was no hiding its streaked colour. How could he help but stare?

      She reckoned he knew most of the guests and servants, and she could see him trying to figure out who she was. How out of place she must seem to him! She had two arms and legs like everyone else, but with her sharp cheekbones and her golden eyes she knew she didn’t look like a normal girl. No matter how much she ate, she couldn’t put any weight on the feral leanness of her body. She wasn’t sure if she looked more like a skinny little shoat to the Vanderbilt boy or like a savage little weasel, but neither of those animals belonged in the house.

      There was a part of her – maybe the smart part – that wanted to turn tail and run, but she thought that maybe the young master might be the perfect person to tell about the girl in the yellow dress. The silky-laced adults with all their high-falutin airs wouldn’t pay a smudge-faced girl any mind. But maybe he would.

      ‘I’m Braeden,’ he said.

      ‘I’m Serafina,’ she blurted out before she could help herself. You fool! Why did you give him your name? It was bad enough that she’d allowed herself to be seen, but now he had a name to go with her face. Her father was going to kill her!

      ‘It’s good to meet you, Serafina,’ he said, bowing, as if she deserved the same respect as a proper lady. ‘This is my friend Gidean,’ he said, introducing her to his dog, who continued to sit and study her malevolently with steady black eyes.

      ‘Hello,’ she managed to say, but she didn’t appreciate the way the dog stared at her like it was only his master’s command that kept him from chomping on her with his gleaming white teeth.

      Gathering her courage, she looked at Braeden Vanderbilt nervously. ‘Master Braeden, I came up here to tell you something that I saw . . .’

      ‘Really? What’d you see?’ he asked, full of curiosity.

      ‘There was a girl, a pretty blonde girl in a yellow dress, down in the basement last night, and I saw a man in a –’

      As the coterie of ladies and gentlemen began to flow out of the Tapestry Gallery and move towards the main doors, the handsome Mr Thorne broke away and approached Braeden, interrupting her.

      ‘Are you coming, young master Vanderbilt?’ he asked encouragingly in his Southern accent. ‘Our horses are ready, and I’m anxious to see your latest riding skills. Perhaps we can ride together.’

      Braeden’s face lit up with a smile. ‘Yes, sir, Mr Thorne,’ he called. ‘I’d like that very much.’

      As soon as Mr Thorne rejoined the others, the young master’s eyes immediately returned to Serafina. ‘Excuse me, you were telling me what you saw . . .’

      At that moment, Mr Boseman, the estate superintendent and her pa’s boss, came stomping up the stairs. He’d always been a scowling-faced curmudgeon, and today was no exception. ‘You there, who are you?’ he demanded, clutching Serafina’s arm so hard that she winced. ‘What’s your name, girl?’

      Just when she thought it couldn’t get any worse, a sudden commotion rose up in the main hall. A dishevelled, overweight, middle-aged woman still wearing her nightclothes came rushing down the Grand Staircase from the third floor. She crashed into the crowd in a flurry of hysterical panic.

      ‘It’s Mrs Brahms,’ Mr Boseman said, turning towards the disturbance.

      ‘Has anyone seen my Clara?’ Mrs Brahms cried frantically, reaching out and grabbing the people around her. ‘Please help me – she’s gone missing! I can’t find her anywhere!’

      Mrs Vanderbilt moved forward and took the woman’s hands in an attempt to calm her. ‘It’s a very large house, Mrs Brahms. I’m sure Clara is just off exploring.’

      Worried discussion spread through the crowd. All the ladies and gentlemen of the riding party began talking to one another in confusion, wondering what was happening.

      Miss Clara Brahms, Serafina thought. That’s the girl in the yellow dress.

      The whole time, Mr Boseman kept his hand clamped on her arm.

      She wanted to leap forward and tell everyone what she’d seen, but then what would happen? Where did you come from? they’d demand. What were you doing in the basement in the middle of the night? There’d be all sorts of questions she couldn’t answer.

      All of a sudden, Mr George Vanderbilt, the master of the house, walked into the centre of the crowd and raised his hands. ‘Everyone, may I please have your attention,’ he said. All the guests and servants immediately stopped talking and listened. ‘I’m sure you all agree that we need to delay our ride and search for Miss Brahms. Once we find her, we’ll resume the activities of the day.’

      George Vanderbilt was a slender, dark-haired, intelligent-looking gentleman in his thirties with a thick black moustache and keen, dark, penetrating eyes. He was well known for his love of reading, but he was a fit and healthy-looking man too, who seemed far younger than his years. And Serafina wasn’t the only one who thought so. She had heard the servants in the kitchen joke that their master must have secretly discovered the Fountain of Youth. Mr Vanderbilt was a meticulous dresser, and as she admired his commanding presence, she couldn’t help but notice his clothes too. In particular, his shoes. Like the other gentlemen present, he wore a gentleman’s riding jacket, but instead of riding boots he wore expensive black patent-leather shoes. As he strode across the hard surface of the marble floor, his shoes made a familiar clicking sound . . . the same sound that she’d heard in the corridors of the basement the night before.

      She looked at the other men’s shoes. Braeden, Mr Thorne, and Mr Bendel wore riding boots in preparation for their outing, but Mr Vanderbilt was wearing his dress shoes.

      He approached the lost girl’s mother and consoled her. ‘We’re going to search this place from top to bottom, Mrs Brahms, and we’ll keep looking until we find her.’ He turned to the ladies and gentlemen and waved over the footmen and maidservants as well. ‘We’ll break СКАЧАТЬ