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"Of course not! Feel free to wander wherever your heart desires," Marge said with a welcoming wave of her hand.
"Thank you." Charlotte set off, her footsteps muffled by the plush carpet that lined the ground floor. Each room she entered revealed a new glimpse into the inn’s past, as though she were peeling back layers of time.
In the parlor, she ran her fingers over velvety armchairs arranged around a grand fireplace, imagining generations of travelers warming themselves by the fire after long journeys. A polished oak table stood proudly in the center of the room, its surface adorned with intricate carvings that spoke of skilled hands and hours of painstaking labor.
Through a set of elegant double doors, she found herself in a library that seemed to defy the laws of space, filled to the brim with books on every subject imaginable, and then some.
"Isn't it wonderful?" Marge had appeared quietly behind her, careful not to startle her guest. "I've spent years collecting these books. Some came down through the family, some I found in dusty old shops, others were gifts from my guests.”
Charlotte's fingers traced the spines of several volumes. "It's incredible," she agreed.
Charlotte's fingers lingered on the last book on the shelf before she tore herself away from the library. The artist in her yearned to explore every corner of this enchanting inn, to unravel all the stories that whispered through its timeworn walls. She stepped back into the hallway and found herself facing a second, winding staircase that led upwards. With a deep, steadying breath, she began to climb.
The banister felt smooth beneath her fingertips, its intricate carvings telling their own tales of craftsmanship and years of use. Charlotte marveled at the details, her mind creating images of those who had slid their hands along these same curves long ago. Maybe a duke, or a baron—a handsome one.
Maybe a fisherman. A handsome one,she thought, thinking of the coat hanging, now dry, in her room, unneeded now that she had a new coat of her own.
The steps creaked softly under her feet, each one imbued with the echoes of countless guests who had ascended before her.
Marge called from below. "Don't forget to take a peek at the balcony when you reach the third floor."
"Of course, thank you," Charlotte replied, glancing down at her host with a smile. She continued her ascent, her curiosity piqued by Marge's suggestion.
As she reached the third floor, Charlotte discovered the small balcony hidden between two guest rooms. Stepping out onto it, she was immediately struck by the quiet beauty of the courtyard below. Green ivy crawled up the stone walls, intertwining with delicate blossoms that swayed gently in the breeze. The rain from yesterday had cleared, and she could hear birdsong and the distant lapping of waves, a symphony that spoke to her heart.
"Imagine the potential," she murmured, picturing guests enjoying their morning coffee or stealing a quiet moment of reflection in this serene oasis. "This place is truly magical."
Feeling the solid oak of the banister under her fingers again, Charlotte continued up the stairs to the fourth floor. The air grew warmer as she ascended higher into the heart of this grand building. Charlotte pushed open a door that revealed a cozy attic space with slanted ceilings and a window that offered a glimpse of the nearby coastline. Sunlight streamed in through the dusty panes, casting dappled patterns on the wooden floorboards below.
This would be an absolutely perfect studio.She imagined herself sitting by the window, paintbrush in hand, immortalizing the beauty of the sea on canvas. Or perhaps, curled up in a plush armchair with a good book, letting the salty breeze whisk her away to far-off lands.
Descending the worn staircase, Charlotte's thoughts lingered on the attic space as she reached the ground floor. She took a moment to appreciate the warm glow of the morning sun filtering through the antique windows before making her way toward the basement door. The musty scent of old wood and damp earth clung to the air as she opened it, revealing a narrow stone staircase that led downward into the underbelly of the inn.
Charlotte ducked beneath an exposed beam as she entered the basement. The coolness of the subterranean space sent a shiver down her spine. She quickly turned back, making a mental note to save the basement exploration for another day. Maybe Marge’s ghost stories really were getting to her.
As she climbed back up the creaking wooden staircase, to distract her spooked mind, Charlotte envisioned the transformation that might be possible at The Crown Inn. Her artist's eye saw potential in every corner, her mind brimming with ideas for how to breathe new life into this storied building— opening up the ground floor, cozy reading nooks on the third floor, every floor something unique. It would be a huge undertaking, and she couldn’t imagine the money it would take, but the thought of a restored Crown Inn lingered in the back of her mind.
"Marge," she called out, finding the innkeeper polishing a brass candlestick at the front desk. "The inn is wonderful, it’s got so much character. And that attic space is just begging to be turned into an artist's haven." Charlotte leaned against the desk, her gaze drifting towards the entrance. "I was thinking of grabbing some breakfast at The Laughing Lobster.”
"Oh, you'll love it there," Marge enthused, setting down the candlestick. "Best seafood omelet in town, and their blueberry pancakes are to die for. Tell them Marge sent you, and they might just slip you an extra treat."
Laughing, Charlotte nodded. "I'll be sure to do that. Thanks for everything, Marge. This place... it’s really something."
Marge's eyes twinkled with a hint of mischief. "You just wait. It's even more enchanting when the full moon rises. Makes you believe in magic, it does."
Charlotte shouldered her bag. "I'll be back later. Who knows, maybe I'll get some inspiration for a painting while I'm out."
As she stepped out of the inn, the crisp morning air greeted her, carrying the scent of the sea. She turned to wave goodbye to Marge.
With a spring in her step, Charlotte headed towards The Laughing Lobster, her heart light. She realized, as she walked, that she hadn’t thought of Daniel all morning.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Charlotte pushed open the heavy wooden door of the pub, warmth and laughter cascading out into the cool morning air. She stepped inside, the smell of bacon mingling with the sound of lively chatter that filled the room. A fire crackled in the hearth, casting a soft glow on the rustic wooden tables and cozy nooks that seemed to invite patrons to stay awhile.
"Ah, there she is!" a voice called from behind her, and Charlotte turned to see the fishermen from earlier entering the pub. Their clothes were still damp from what must have been their dawn trolling, but their spirits seemed far from dampened.
"Look, everyone, it's the Soggy Yank!" one of them proclaimed, eliciting chuckles from the group.
