AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“But I can’t imagine she would come here, and Mrs. Wattlesbrook would let her, if she really has a deadly, communicable disease. Right?”
Miss Charming shrugged. “I won’t be sharing my toothbrush with her.”
They entered through the front doors and into a grand foyer, where a huge staircase spilled scarlet carpet down to the marble tiles. Dark wood banisters and trim contrasted with bright white walls, giving Charlotte the impression of gashes against pale skin.
Gashes against pale skin? You’re really morbid, her Inner Thoughts said.
Charlotte shrugged internally. She didn’t think she was morbid by habit, but old houses did seem to bring that out in her. Given their many years of history, odds were that bad things had happened inside. Really bad things. Her imagination couldn’t rest for wondering.
Mrs. Wattlesbrook returned and escorted Charlotte upstairs to her chamber. Its walls were painted a sunny yellow, her bed dressed in summery blue. A white-upholstered chair and pale wood table and wardrobe added to the perky atmosphere. Charlotte smiled. Maybe staying in a big old ponderous house wouldn’t be so bad after all. Maybe it wouldn’t tickle her nerves at night and make her shiver and long for home.
“Take a rest if you like,” Mrs. Wattlesbrook said. “We convene in the drawing room before dinner.”
“Thank you.”
Charlotte smiled. Mrs. Wattlesbrook smiled. The maid left. Mrs. Wattlesbrook did not leave.
“Hm?” said Charlotte, expecting something more.
The proprietress stepped forward. “Do you have anything with you from home?”
Charlotte indicated the open trunk. The maid had unpacked her Regency attire into the wardrobe and drawers. All that was left was Charlotte’s toiletries bag.
“If you have any medications,” said Mrs. Wattlesbrook, “my staff will keep them in the kitchen at cooler temperatures and serve them to you with your meals.”
“Nope … no, I don’t have any medications.”
“All right then.” Mrs. Wattlesbrook still didn’t leave.
“Was there something else?” asked Charlotte.
Mrs. Wattlesbrook cleared her throat. She looked uncomfortable—the way a boulder looks when it doesn’t like where it’s sitting.
“There are certain … modern accoutrements we don’t allow at Pembrook Park.”
“Yes, I read the papers you sent: no laptops, no cell phones. So I left all that at the inn. But when I registered, I explained that I need to call my children every few days to check in—”
“Yes, I have your request on file and we will see to it.” Mrs. Wattlesbrook stared pointedly at the toiletries bag.
“Um … the papers said we could bring our own makeup and—”
“May I inspect your case?” Mrs. Wattlesbrook interrupted.
Charlotte stood back and watched the woman rifle through her powders and lipsticks and toothpaste. The tampons made her blush. The under-eye concealer made her blanch. The acne cream made her want to die.
Buck up, Charlotte, she told herself. You’re not the only grown woman in the world who still needs acne cream. From time to time. No big deal or anything.
Mrs. Wattlesbrook cleared her throat, nodded, and left without making eye contact.
Charlotte shut the door and noticed that it didn’t lock. She lay on her bed, clutching her toiletries bag to her chest like a teddy bear.
“You’re an idiot,” she whispered to herself.
Then she fell asleep.
Home, before
At first James said he was confused. He needed a break. He was unhappy at work. No, he was unhappy at home. He needed to re-center. He needed new hair products.
