J.T. Ellison - Where All the Dead Lie

As if she knew Taylor was watching her, Trixie looked back over her shoulder for a moment, casting a dark glance at the new interloper standing in her entrance hall. Taylor was a bit taken aback. While not overtly friendly, Trixie hadn’t seemed hostile until that moment. Taylor made a note to be wary around her.

Memphis watched Taylor, and he’d obviously seen Trixie’s angry glance. He sought to reassure her, spoke quietly.

“Trixie’s a good woman. She has been with the family forever, since well before I was born. She was our governess when we were growing up, frightened us all into submission. She has no one, no family, nothing. So when we were grown, Mother took her as her personal maid. She took over running the whole place from the housekeeper several years ago. She’s very protective of the family, just doesn’t take to strangers. She’ll come round. I’m not here very much, but it looks like she has things well in hand. Let’s see the rest of the place.”

He gave her a brief tour of the downstairs-the dining room, the armory, the public viewing rooms with the history of the castle carefully imprinted on each, then they walked to the back of the castle, down a long hallway lined with deer skulls and antlers. Taylor wasn’t against hunting, per se, just wasn’t an aficionado herself.

Did you shoot all of these?

“Oh no. See the plaques?”

Taylor looked closer. To the right of each skull was a hand written note. She traced the line up the hall-Meek age 3, Meek age 4, Meek age 5.

A pet?

“Of sorts. The deer drop their antlers every year. It’s always been tradition to gather them up and place them on the wall, attached to the skulls of deer that have passed or been shot. You see how big he got-Meek sired half the herd.”

Meek had grown to a fine twelve-point buck before his death at the ripe old age of fifteen.

“Some people collect plates,” he said with a shrug.

My mother collects Limoges teacups. She started when she was a girl. The display cases are ridiculous.

She paused and looked back up at the remnants of Meek.

I think I like the antlers better. More character.

He smiled and led her to a set of stone stairs. This took them up a flight to a quiet wooden door with a coded lock. He gave her the code; this would be her path into and out of the castle.

The family rooms were no less opulent, but much more modern and comfortable than the public rooms of the castle. While still traditional, with wooden panels on the walls and elegant plasterwork on the ceilings, there was leather and glass and dark wood, with more contemporary paintings and cornice-work, with tiny feminine touches that set the private rooms apart.

The whole aspect was decidedly uncobwebby. She had to laugh. Her parents’ huge house in Nashville, long empty but still theirs, just waiting for Taylor to come to her senses and accept her fortune, would fit twice into the private rooms of Dulsie Castle.

“What’s so funny?” Memphis asked.

With a smile, she wrote Humility .

“Humility? I thought you liked the place.” He pretended to be hurt.

It’s lovely, Memphis. A bit grander than I’m used to, but lovely. Where do I sleep?

“Ah, I’ve been saving the best for last. Come and see.”

He held out a hand, which she accepted, and he pulled her along down a hallway, up another flight of stairs to another long hallway. The ancient oak, wide planked floors, glossy with a patina befitting their age, were covered by a thick gorgeous yellow-and-red wool and silk runner that she wanted to lie down on.

“Your chamber, my lady,” Memphis said, stopping in front of a large wooden door. It was arched, the handle wrought iron, with a square wooden peephole traversed by a tiny iron fence. She’d seen less grand front entrances on some of the stately Belle Meade mansions at home.

Memphis pushed the door open, and Taylor was, quite simply, blown away. She’d grown up with the trappings of wealth, but this was far beyond what she’d ever been privy to. It was everything a castle room should be.

On closer inspection, they were actually in a suite of rooms, all gorgeously, sumptuously decorated. The ceilings were twenty feet high, paneled, covered in elegantly detailed roundels. The plasterwork was ornate and intricate, bordering on rococo, with draped silk and paintings of cherubs on clouds, a mini Sistine Chapel. The walls were soft golden oak, also in panels that were interspersed with silk tapestries. She could get lost in the stories they portrayed.

The front area held a sitting room. A couch faced a television, but she barely glanced at it after the rest of the room caught her eye. Warm butter-colored leather chairs with a small table and reading lamp faced a virtual library of books surrounding a large stone fireplace, a fire already crackling and putting out warmth. There was a ladder to reach the uppermost shelves.

She went to the tomes immediately, running her fingers over the spines. All of her favorites were there, all the books she and Memphis had discussed over the past several months.

She had a flash of emotion, both affection and sympathy, for all his trouble. This was seduction at its highest-the simple act of memory. When someone remembers what you’ve said, has actually taken the time to listen and stow away the information for recall later, well, that was beyond flattery. That’s what a real relationship was about.

She saw that there was a small theater section as well, with all of her favorite movies on DVD. To her right, there was a large casement window, the sheer curtain drawn. She walked to it and spread the drape back, her breath catching in her throat. The view was stunning-if warped a bit by the glazed glass. She had a complete panorama of the mountains, the valley, the river, the deer park, the sheep, the incoming storm. If she looked far to her right she could see the estate’s grass tennis courts. She shivered and pulled her sweater closer around her. If she could have designed a view to be perfect, this would fit the bill.

It was the most romantic place she’d ever seen.

She turned to Memphis, saw he was waiting anxiously for her to say something. Anything.

Without thinking, she went to him and hugged him, hard. He slipped his arms around her back and held her. Not like a drowning man, the way he had in the past, but gently, suitably. She could feel how happy he was that he had pleased her.

“Thank you,” she managed to say, and kissed him on the cheek. He stared into her eyes. They were of a height and matched together well. He swallowed hard, and she knew she needed to move away, right now, before things went to a place she wasn’t willing to travel.

She stepped back and rasped, “Thank you,” again.

He pulled himself together, the pain shooting through his eyes and across his face plainly before he stowed it away and grew cheerful again.

“But you haven’t even seen your bedroom or the en suite. Come, I’ll show you the rest.”

The rest was fit for a princess. A duchess. A queen. And this was just a guest suite; she couldn’t imagine what the real aristocracy got. Her wooden bed was king-size on a platform with a pale yellow silk canopy, the bathroom travertine, limestone and glass, with a dual-head shower and separate massive soaking tub, actually long enough for her to lie down. The closet held more surprises, these more practical-a pair of shearling-lined bottle-green Wellies and a hip-length gray North Face down jacket.

“I wouldn’t want you to ruin your best coat. This will do for you to play on the estate, should you choose. It’s a bit muddy out there, and the weather is unpredictable at best.”

You’ve done too much, Memphis. Too much.