Serafina and the Black Cloak (5 page)

He picked up a finely made violin and its bow from the table where it had been lying.

“Since when do you play the violin, Thorne?” called one of the gentlemen from New York in a friendly tone.

“Oh, I’ve been practicing here and there, Mr. Bendel,” said Mr. Thorne as he lifted the instrument to his chin.

“When? On the carriage ride here?” Mr. Bendel retorted, and everyone laughed.

Serafina almost felt sorry for Mr. Thorne. It was clear from their playful banter that Mr. Bendel and Mr. Thorne were companions, but it was equally clear that Mr. Bendel had serious doubts as
to whether his friend could actually play.

Serafina watched in nervous silence as Mr. Thorne prepared himself. Perhaps it was a new instrument to him and this was his first performance. She couldn’t even imagine playing such a
thing herself. At long last, he set the bow gently across the strings, paused for a moment to collect himself, and then began to play.

Suddenly, the vaulted rooms of the great house filled with the loveliest music she had ever heard, elegant and flowing, like a river of sound. He was wonderful. Spellbound by the beauty of his
playing, the ladies and gentlemen and even the servants stood quietly and listened with rapt attention, and they let their hearts soak in every measure of the music he made.

Serafina enjoyed the sound of his playing, but she also watched his dexterous fingers. They moved so fast over the strings that they reminded her of little running mice, and she wanted to pounce
on them.

When Mr. Thorne was done, everyone applauded and congratulated him, especially Mr. Bendel, who laughed in disbelief. “You never cease to amaze me, Thorne. You shoot like a marksman, you
speak fluent Russian, and now you play the violin like Vivaldi! Tell us, man, is there anything you’re
not
good at?”

“Well, I’m certainly not as skilled a horseback rider as you are, Mr. Bendel,” Mr. Thorne said as he set his violin aside. “And I must say it has always been most vexing
to me.”

“Well, stop the presses!” Mr. Bendel called. “The man has a chink in his armor after all!” Then he looked at Mrs. Vanderbilt with a smile. “So, when exactly are we
going horseback riding?”

The other guests laughed at the two gentlemen as they quipped back and forth, and Serafina smiled. She enjoyed watching the camaraderie of these people. She envied the way they spoke to one
another and touched each other and shared their lives. It was so different from her own world of shadow and solitude. She watched a young woman tilt her head and smile as she reached out and put
her hand on the arm of a young gentleman. Serafina tried imitating the gesture herself.

“Are you lost?” someone said behind her.

Startled, Serafina whirled around and started to hiss, but then she stopped herself short. A young boy stood in front of her. A large black Doberman with sharply pointed ears sat at his side,
staring intently at her.

The boy wore a fine tweed riding jacket, a buttoned vest, woolen jodhpurs, and knee-high leather boots. He was a little sickly looking, a little frail even, but he had watchful, sensitive brown
eyes and a rather fetching tussle of wavy brown hair. He stood quietly, staring at her.

It took every ounce of her courage not to run. She didn’t know what to do. Did he think she was a vagrant who had wandered in? Or perhaps she looked like a dazed servant—maybe a
chimney sweep or window-washing girl. Either way, she knew she was stuck. He’d caught her dead to rights exactly where she wasn’t supposed to be.

“Are you lost?” the boy asked again, but this time she heard what sounded strangely like kindness in his voice. “May I help you find your way?” He wasn’t timid or
shy, but he wasn’t overconfident or arrogant, either. And it surprised her that he didn’t seem angry at her for being there. There was a trace of curiosity in his tone.

“I-I-I’m not lost,” she stammered. “I was just—”

“It’s all right,” he said as he stepped toward her. “I still get lost sometimes, and I’ve lived here for two years.”

Serafina sucked in a breath. Suddenly, she realized that she was speaking face-to-face with the young master, Mr. Vanderbilt’s nephew. She’d seen him many times before, standing at
his bedroom window looking out at the mountains, or galloping his horse across the grounds, or walking alone on the footpaths with his dog—she’d watched him for 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 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
color. 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 highfalutin 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 blond 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 toward 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.”

Braden’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 disheveled, 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 toward 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 center of the crowd and raised his hands. “Everyone, may I please have your attention,” he said. All
of 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 mustache 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 up into five separate search parties,” he explained. “We’ll
search the entire house, all four floors and also the basement. If anyone finds anything suspicious, report it immediately.”

Mr. Vanderbilt’s words struck fear into Serafina’s heart. They were going to search the basement! The basement! That meant the workshop! With a mighty twist of her body, she yanked
herself out of Mr. Boseman’s grip and darted away before he could stop her. She bounded headlong down the stairs into the basement. She had to warn her pa. The leftovers from last
night’s dinner, the mattress she slept on…they had to hide it all.

S
erafina rushed up to her father in the workshop and grabbed his arm. Trying to talk and catch her breath at the same time, she gasped, “Pa,
there’s a girl missing just like I said, and Mr. Vanderbilt’s searching the whole house!” Her words tumbled out with a mixture of urgency and pride. As she hurriedly reminded him
of what she’d seen the night before, she was sure that he’d see now that she wasn’t dreaming or making up stories.

“They’re searchin’ the house?” he asked, ignoring everything else. He turned and quickly gathered his cooking supplies and razor from the bench, then dragged her mattress
into the hidden area he’d constructed behind the tool rack. There could be no evidence of their living there when the search party came through.