“It’s when the Master enjoys a bit of privacy,” Rand says, coming to a stop at the top of the staircase overlooking the foyer where we first came in. “He finds himself surrounded by others far more than he cares to be, and weekends give him a break from social interactions. However, you may be called on to attend a party, or the occasional dinner as added help.”
“What? Like serving the other richies?” The derision in Aunt Midge’s voice makes me regret letting her accompany me. How childish it must seem to have my aunt along for a job interview.
“I’m happy to assist. However I’m needed.” Even with my gaze cast away from her, I can feel Aunt Midge’s eyes burning into me as I seal my decision to take this job.
“Very good.” Continuing on down the staircase, Rand takes the lead once again, toward the front entrance, where we gather over the Blackthorne crest. “I trust you’re satisfied with the arrangement?”
The question is directed toward Aunt Midge, and a flare of irritation blazes beneath my skin when she tips her chin, as if she’s got any place being haughty and demanding. As if this man owes her an explanation for all the nosy gossip she’s been instrumental in perpetrating about this family. At the same time, the gesture makes me nervous. I know my aunt well enough that this is the point when she makes a bold and wildly inappropriate inquiry, like Is it true Lucian Blackthorne murdered his wife and son?
Say something, my head goads, but the words fail to breach my frozen lips.
“I guess, yeah. She have to hand out any medications, or anything?” Her response leaves me dumbfounded for a moment. So much so, I almost don’t appreciate the importance of her question--one I hadn’t bothered to ask myself. Jesus.
“Mrs. Blackthorne has a nurse who attends to her medical needs, as well as an occasional visiting physician. The role of the companion is strictly to spend time with her, in whatever capacity Mrs. Blackthorne finds comfortable, whether it be walks in the garden, or reading a book. She’s quite the bibliophile.”
“Sounds like the two of you will get along swimmingly.” Rolling her eyes, she crosses her arms in her usual defensive stance. “So do I … come pick her up on the weekends? How does that work?”
“Master Blackthorne has a personal driver who will be at the disposal of Miss Quinn, should she need to venture into town for anything.”
“His personal driver? Doesn’t he need him?” I’m clueless when it comes to the affairs of rich people and whether, or not, they commute to work like everyone else.
“Much of his business dealings are handled remotely, over the computer. Those that are held in person take place here, in his personal office. The Master rarely leaves his home for anything. He has occasional business trips on the mainland, or out of state, but those are fairly limited.”
The visual of the squirrels climbing the cage comes to mind again, and I catch myself frowning. “I don’t expect I’ll need to venture into town much, either, then.”
“Except to visit your aunt.” Aunt Midge adds.
“Of course.”
“If you’re satisfied with the amenities for your niece, I’d like to get Miss Quinn acquainted with her routine, so that she can begin her day with Mrs. Blackthorne.”
“Yeah. Sure.” Hiking a thumb over her shoulder, Aunt Midge tips her head. “I’ll just grab her bags and bring them inside.”
“Makaio is waiting at your car to gather Miss Quinn’s personal effects. There’s no need to come back inside. You’re free to go from there.”
“Oh. Uh. I guess this is … goodbye, then?” The uncertainty hasn’t faded from my aunt’s eyes when she steps toward me and wraps her arms around me in a hug. “You got your cell. Call me if you need anything. Or if anything seems shady,” she whispers.
With a nod, I grasp her elbows, breaking the embrace, and smile like I’m not nervous as all hell to meet the lady of the house. “I’ll be fine. Call you tonight, okay?”
“You better.” She turns her attention toward Rand and offers him a handshake, which turns into an awkward exchange between them when Rand only rests his palm in her hand for a moment, before nabbing a handkerchief to wipe away what I’m guessing he deems is germs on his skin.
“Yeah, so. I’ll go, then.” She slides her hands into her pockets, as if she doesn’t know what else to do with them. “See you …. See you this weekend.”
“Drive careful.” I don’t bother to follow her toward the door, for fear she’ll make a last ditch effort to sway me.
Nothing can sway me now that I’ve actually set foot inside the castle. There is a haunting ambience, but it’s not the emptiness and desolation I was expecting. Probably not quite what Aunt Midge was expecting, either, otherwise I doubt she’d concede so quickly. There’s a heartbeat inside this place, however faint, hidden beneath its bones.
Rand opens the door for her, and I watch from the foyer as she stands in the doorway, looking small and almost cartoonish within the enormous threshold, grasping the hem of her shirt. One more glance back, and she makes her way down the stone staircase, where a large man, perhaps six-foot-five, with darker skin, and black hair pulled back in a bun, waits for her. I’d guess him to be Polynesian, based on his looks.
The moment Rand closes the door behind her is the moment I realize, for the first time, I’m truly on my own.
“Do you like tea?”
The question breaks my thoughts, and I clear my throat. “No, not really. More of a coffee drinker.”
“Shame. Mrs. Blackthorne loves her tea. It’s perhaps when she’s most cordial.”
The woman sounds like her patience for people is thinner than my savings account. Can’t be any worse than Aunt Midge when she attempted to quit smoking a year ago, though. Moody as a bat sunbathing on the beach.
“Come, let’s go meet her, shall we?”
“Sure.” The uncertainty creeps back down my spine again.
When I was fifteen years old, I was asked to stay one night with my great-aunt and -uncle, my grandfather’s only brother, who had advance stage muscular sclerosis. Great-Aunt Sophie had wanted a night out with some old friends, and needed a break from the daily care she administered to her husband. My job? To make sure he didn’t drown in his own saliva. So, every so often, when I heard uncle Conlan gagging, I was tasked with shoving a tube down into his throat and clearing the fluids. The mere thought of it was enough to give me hives, but it wasn’t until I had to perform the act, panicking when I couldn’t get the tube properly placed down his throat, and shaking when he looked at me like I was some kind of imbecile, that I vowed never to place myself in such a position again.
Yet, here I am, jumping at the opportunity to entertain an elderly recluse.
In the interview, though, Rand assured me Mrs. Blackthorne was mostly mobile and capable, requiring only the slightest assistance getting around.
Instead of taking the staircase, as before, we venture down a hallway on the first level, past a room on the right that has me slowing my steps. Every inch of the walls is covered in mirrors. Big elaborate mirrors. Small mirrors. Oddly shaped mirrors. An entire room devoted to reflection. So strange. I can’t imagine having so much space for something so useless. Aunt Midge and I are always running into one another at home, it seems.