Jenn McKinlay - Due Or Die

The Sint estate sat on an isolated ten-acre section of the bay. Built in the 1800s with railroad money, it had been in the Sint family since Cornelius Sint had it built for his bride Margaret Astor. The winding, gravel drive was framed on both sides by giant copper beech trees. Despite their present lack of leaves, they still had the look of benevolent sentries, monitoring the comings and goings of the estate.

The driveway made a loop around a large and currently dry fountain. Edmund stopped in front of the house. This was the closest Lindsey had ever been to the estate, and she glanced up at the magnificent Roman Renaissance Revival-style mansion, which towered over them in all of its stone glory.

Edmund led her up a few long steps and unlocked one of the two double doors. He pushed open the door and Lindsey felt her breath catch. With the snap of a light switch, a chandelier sparkled overhead. A wide staircase swept up the wall to the right to the floors above. The ornate tile floor drew her forward, and she saw several sets of tall carved doors, which opened into a variety of opulent rooms. She caught glimpses of rich carpets, ornate furniture and masterpieces hanging on the walls.

“It’s exquisite,” she said.

“Isn’t it?” he asked. “Come, let me show you to the parlor and I’ll tell Simpson we’re here. He’s our man Friday and does the cooking and keeps track of what needs doing and when. He’s been with Uncle Bill forever.”

A fire crackled in the cozy blue room that Edmund showed her. Lindsey let him take her coat and purse and stood by the fire to ward off the day’s chill. She wondered if Bill was here and, if so, how he would feel about seeing her here. This had been such a spontaneous plan, she was sure Edmund hadn’t forewarned him.

It would be a good opportunity to clear the air. She suspected, however, that Bill was going to be hard to convince that she’d had nothing to do with the Friends’ vote. Blaming her seemed to be the balm he was using soothe his bruised ego, and she didn’t think he’d give it up willingly.

She held out her hands and let the heat from the fire wash over them. It was only January, but she was good and done with the snow. As far as she was concerned, they could move right into spring.

She glanced up and examined the painting over the fireplace. It was an Impressionistic piece; no, not an actual Monet, but definitely someone of note from that era.

She wondered which of the Sints had been the art collector. She’d only glanced into a few of the rooms they had passed, but she’d seen enough to know that collecting art had been someone’s hobby. Given that the pieces were on display and not stored away in some vault, she had to assume that whoever collected didn’t just do it for the investment but because they loved art and they loved to have it around them.

She turned her back to the fire and let the heat wash over her. When she was pretty sure her bones were melting, she moved away, but the chilly air quickly enfolded her in its shivery embrace, and she tried to find the perfect distance from the fire to be warm, but not hot. Four feet seemed ideal.

She studied the room, admiring the powder blue drapes that framed the large windows, which boasted a view of an intricate stone garden below that gave way to a sweeping lawn, now covered in snow, which ended at a private beach on the bay. The Thumb Islands dotted the horizon, and Lindsey could see the town of Briar Creek nestled on the far end of the bay. She could just make out the pier, and she thought instantly of Sully, which made her feel guilty, which was ridiculous. There was nothing to feel guilty about, she assured herself, but somehow she couldn’t seem to help it.

“All set,” Edmund said. “Simpson is setting another plate for lunch, which should be ready in twenty minutes. While we wait, why don’t I give you a tour?”

“That would be fantastic,” Lindsey said.

“This is the blue parlor, named for the obvious,” he said. He gestured to the ornate furniture upholstered in shades of blue velvet, which rested on a gorgeous Aubusson carpet in shades of navy and gold. “This was my grandmother’s favorite room. She liked to sit by the fire and enjoy the view out the window while she worked on her needlepoint.”

“That sounds like a well-spent afternoon,” Lindsey said.

“She made those pillows,” Edmund said. “I can still remember her working on them when I was a child.”

Lindsey glanced at the throw pillows on the velvet settee in the corner. They had peacocks stitched in minute detail done in brilliant jewel-toned silk thread.

“They’re lovely,” she said.

“Everything in this house is,” Edmund said, and he glanced around appreciatively. “I never understood why my father, well, no matter.”

Lindsey glanced at him curiously. “Did you grow up here?”

“No,” he said. There was a trace of bitterness in his voice. “My father was disinherited.”

Lindsey raised her eyebrows. She waited for him to continue, but he said no more.

“Come on,” he said. “There are twenty-eight rooms in all. Let’s get going or we’ll miss lunch.”

Lindsey followed him out of the blue parlor and into a study, a concert hall and a sunroom. The opulence reminded her of the mansions in Newport, Rhode Island. This had probably been a summer getaway for the Sints. Having been brought up in academia and now being a public servant, Lindsey couldn’t really wrap her brain around having so much money to spend on a home. It did, however, explain why Bill was such a pompous ass.

They made quick work of the upstairs, touring the vacant bedrooms and peeking into the large marble bathrooms. Lindsey’s favorite room by far was the solarium built on the southeast corner of the mansion. It was filled with all sorts of exotic plants and boasted glass walls and a glass ceiling that she imagined was amazing when the stars were out at night.

A bell chimed in the distance, and Edmund led her back to the main hall. “I believe that is Simpson, letting us know that lunch is served.”

Walking down the stairs, with her hand running down the banister, Lindsey felt like she should be in a satin ball gown with a tiara on her head. The thought made her smile.

Edmund caught her expression and grinned at her. “It gets under your skin, doesn’t it? The house?”

“It’s the stuff of dreams,” she said.

“Dreams can come true,” he countered. At the bottom of the stairs, he offered her his elbow and Lindsey put her hand on the crook of his arm. He escorted her into a small sunny dining room that looked out over the snow-covered stone garden. Lindsey wished she could see it in the spring. She imagined it was lovely.

There were only two places set, and Edmund helped her into her chair before taking his.

“Bill isn’t joining us?” she asked.

Edmund frowned. “He’s taking longer than I thought to come around. I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s all right,” Lindsey said. Although, in all honesty, she felt like he was really being a bit of a whiner. “His feelings were hurt. I’m sure it just takes time to get over these things.”

“That’s very understanding of you,” Edmund said. “Especially given that he’s always had everything handed to him and has never had to work a day in his life. One could argue that he is bit spoiled.”

Simpson came into the room through a swinging door. He had a tray loaded with two salads and a basket of warm French bread. The salad was leafy greens with raspberries and walnuts and a zesty vinaigrette drizzled on top of it.

“Will there be anything else?” he asked.

Edmund glanced at Lindsey and she said, “No, thank you. It looks wonderful.”

Simpson gave her a nod and she noticed that a small smile played upon his lips. He wore a blue chef’s coat, buttoned up to the throat, and his gray hair was slicked back from his broad forehead, making his features seem sharper than they were.