Kelly McClymer-Must Love Black (4 page)

Havens was such a good butler, he didn’t fight me for the duffel bag, or even make a comment about my death grip on the strap. He just held out his hand to indicate where I should walk and said, “Geoff, please carry the rest of the bags in. Miss, this way to your domain.”

CHAPTER THREE

I realized I had entered a world in which I would be treated as if I deserved more than my humble birth dictated, at least for the duration of my employment. The realization was not entirely comfortable.

—Miss Adelaide Putnam,
Manor of Dark Dreams,
p. 8

My domain? Whoa. I followed Havens up the wide, curved marble staircase and down a darkened, hushed hallway. I thought about pinching myself to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. Running lights glowed softly along the edges of the plush carpet that swallowed my feet and muffled the sounds I made as I walked—Havens was as silent as a ghost.

We stopped at the end of the hall, and Havens swiped a magnetic card to open an elegant old-fashioned cage elevator. The card swipe and the beep that followed it were the only things that kept me from feeling like I’d gone back to the turn of the twentieth century. The question, I guess, was whether I’d walked into Jane Austen’s or Jane Eyre’s world.

Havens pushed the gold button marked “3.” “I’m so sorry that Mr. Pertweath could not greet you himself this evening. But perhaps that was for the best. We welcomed a new set of guests today, and Mr. Pertweath has been very busy. He will have more time to speak with you tomorrow. This will give you a chance to get settled in and get a good night’s rest before you begin your duties.”

“So the children are in bed?” You never know. I’d babysat for kids with a 7 p.m. bedtime and kids who were allowed to stay up to wait for their parents to get home at 1 a.m.

“Their bedtime is scheduled for eight-thirty,” he said. “It is now half past nine. I’m sure they have already retired.” The elevator stopped moving and there was a pause for the well-oiled door to be pulled open.

“What time should I wake them in the morning?” I had to wonder if this proper butler thought the kids’ bedtime was too early, too late, or just right. When I was ten I didn’t have a bedtime. Of course, a set bedtime would have been useless because I had a terrible case of insomnia—sleep isn’t very restful when you keep reliving a car accident.

“The children are scheduled to wake at seven. I expect you’re tired, but in case you missed dinner in your haste to meet Geoff, I requested that Cook send up a small evening meal for you. You’ll find it in the dumbwaiter. That’s also where breakfast and lunch for you and the girls will arrive. Dinner will be served in the main dining room.”

“Thanks. My dad got married today and I didn’t get much of a chance to eat at the wedding. It was so crazy.” Crazy being mostly that Krystal had picked out fancy inedible food like
anchovy paste miniquiches and scallops wrapped in bacon.

The elevator door opened onto a big room with a wooden floor that creaked reassuringly when we stepped out of the elevator. Havens held the elevator open with one hand and waved toward a door on the right. “Your room is through there, and the twins are there.” He waved to the left.

Havens pointed to a round table where a thin black binder was centered. “I’ve provided you with an elevator key card and a copy of the daily schedule, as well as some reading material about the spa here at Chrysalis Cliff, so you’ll be prepared when you meet with Mr. Pertweath tomorrow morning to discuss your duties as pertaining to Triste and Rienne.”

“Great.” Yeah, great. My four years of French and an English-speaking waiter could get me a cup of coffee in Paris. Still, I was pretty sure the twins’ names meant “sad” and “nothing.” No wonder the ad had specified “must love black.” It had seemed like an omen. I wondered if I’d been a little too hasty deciding it was a good omen.

Havens glanced at the closed door of the twins’ bedroom as if wondering if it would open. Ah. So maybe they weren’t the perfectly scheduled robots his description had suggested. Was that good or bad? I waited for the door to open so I could tell. It stayed shut. Havens turned back to me and said, “I’m afraid the children are asleep, so you’ll have to wait until morning to meet them.”

“That’s fine.” More than fine considering what Geoff had said about previous nanny runaways.

Havens nodded as if he might possibly believe I was perfectly competent to handle whatever came next. The
elevator doors opened smoothly and Havens stepped on just as Geoff came out carrying my one little suitcase. When they closed behind him, Havens was gone.

Wow. Alone with a hottie in my own domain. And just this morning I was wondering if life would ever improve from pink taffeta and a newly married father. Who could have guessed?

Geoff carried the suitcase into my bedroom, set it down, and emerged again without saying a word. I was so wound up from the wedding, the quiet ride with Geoff, and the need not to look like a dork in front of the butler that I couldn’t relax. I had to fight the urge to wander and touch everything I saw.

Geoff pushed the elevator button and waited quietly. I had to find a way to make this guy talk.

“So, do you like working for Mr. Pertweath?”

He shrugged. “It’s a good job—and he gives me time off to take classes at U Maine during the school year.”

A college boy. Sarah would be drooling. “What’s your major?”

“Horticulture, with a minor in Wildlife Ecology.”

“Cool. So you want to be a gardener for real, after you graduate?”

Again with the shrug. “I’d like to be a game warden maybe. But I get a lot of chances to work outdoors here”—he tugged at his uniform collar—“except when I’m a back-up driver.”

The elevator dinged before I could ask anything else. “See you around,” I said. I enjoyed the display of bicep flex when he pulled open the inner cage door and stepped into the elevator.

“See you,” he echoed as the door slid closed. I hoped that was a promise.

I looked around, suddenly feeling the silence like a blanket over me. This place was posh. A domain. Even Addie, the nanny in my mother’s book, hadn’t dreamed of a domain. Just a schoolroom with a few books and a cat that dozed by the fire. Looking around, I saw lots of high-tech computer equipment, expensive furniture, and shelves full of books. No TV, just as Geoff had said. I’d have to catch up on my favorite shows on the Internet. Or maybe I would psych myself up to take Geoff up on his offer of watching TV at his place.

I didn’t see any signs of a pet. No gerbil cage, no cat or dog bed, no fish tank. That was good. Pets were more trouble than they were worth. And then they died.

I checked out the books’ spines. Classics, of course. Dickens. Austen. The Brontës. Hemingway and Fitzgerald. Shakespeare in a leather-bound set. Aesop’s fables in an illustrated version that I couldn’t help thumbing through.
Bulfinch’s Mythology,
again illustrated, but with the tiniest text I’d ever seen. Weren’t Triste and Rienne only ten? Maybe these books were for when they were older? No encyclopedia, but given the computers, that wasn’t too surprising.
Harry Potter
was the only modern spot in a classic world. Lots of stuff on ghosts and spirituality—which probably explained the three game tables: one with a Ouija board; one with an elegant chess set; and one with a brightly colored tarot deck, five cards spread out in some pattern I wasn’t familiar with.

Basically, these kids had one expensive playroom. Only problem was, serious money like this also increased the
likelihood of them being seriously spoiled brats. But I would wait to judge. My aunt Rhonda had called me a spoiled brat once. That was before Mom died. Now the family rules of civility kept her from saying a word. Didn’t stop her from frowning at me like I was an ungrateful pest, though. But her “you’re rude” frown was understandable since it usually occurred after I stuck my tongue out at her when my dad wasn’t watching.

I contemplated the closed door that separated me from the sleeping twins. Had the last nanny left because they were hard to manage? Would Mr. Pertweath support me ruling my domain? Or were the kids in charge? And if they were, how far would I let them push me? I would have to figure out a way to show them who’s boss without getting myself fired. I shrugged. I could handle it. I had to. I pulled Mom’s book out of my bag and held it up to my nose. More comfort than made sense in the smell of those worn and yellowed pages.

I touched the looming manor house on the cover. The nanny in Mom’s book at first hadn’t felt like she belonged, but by the end of the book she had. Could I make this place my home, at least for the summer?

Already I liked the privacy, the way the thick carpet moved under my feet as if I were walking on sand. This place was quiet and soothingly dark.

It felt more like home than Dad’s house had lately. I had to face the fact that the house I grew up in wasn’t really mine anymore. Krystal’s taste had already crept in and taken over. Bright lights and bold colors and furniture without worn spots. She hadn’t thought it was funny when I started wearing
my shades around the house. But I wasn’t kidding. Dad and I had kept things nice and dim after Mom died. I liked it that way, but I guess Dad hadn’t, because he smiled a lot more now that the light was back in his life. I was the only one still comfortable with the all-dark look.

I tried to be quiet as I explored, not wanting to wake anyone. My domain turned out to be three rooms, not including whatever was behind the twins’ door. Besides the big main room the elevator opened onto, there was a bedroom bigger than the one I had at home and a bathroom with a walk-in shower, a Jacuzzi tub, and one of those fancy art-object sinks made of green glass. The closet was big enough to be a room for a normal person.

I discovered there’s nothing that makes you feel poor like seeing your belongings fill up one tenth of the storage space. I arranged my bras, panties, three pairs of jeans, and six tops that Krystal had bought me as a you-got-a-job-and-now-I-don’t-have-to-have-you-tag-along-on-my-honeymoon present in the top two drawers of the antique dresser in my room. First I tried spacing them out into all five drawers, but that was more pathetic-looking, so I filled up the top drawers and figured I’d just never open the others—or go into the closet.

I kicked off my sandals and enjoyed the carpet squishing between my toes. Common sense told me I should be sleepy. I wasn’t, though. I wanted to soak in the place while it was still dark and quiet and all mine. While I could pretend that there weren’t two little girls sleeping one room away, waiting for me to wipe their runny noses and make sure they didn’t come to any harm. Here I could pretend, for just a little longer, that my
life was a cocoon, and I could curl up in it if I wanted.

It helped that this nanny’s bedroom had the four-poster bed I’d wanted since I was ten. I slipped Mom’s book under one thick puffy pillow. Teddy Smithers, who’s been with me since I was two, I put on the bed with my iPod and cell phone. “Look, Teddy. We have a domain.” He seemed impressed.

I heard a soft ding in the big room and went out to see a light blinking on the far wall, by the elevator. It took me a second to figure out how to get the dumbwaiter open, but it was worth it, because there was a covered tray of food, just like room service in a hotel. I lifted the top to find a tuna sandwich and some chips and a big glass of water with ice and lemon in it.

The tuna was delicious and I think the chips were homemade. Best of all, I could eat it without worrying that I’d have to hear Dad yell about the bill when we checked out. I wasn’t checking out. I was on the clock. I was getting paid to eat this sandwich and sleep in a four-poster bed. Sarah was going to be so jealous when I told her.

I looked at the kids’ closed door. Even if they were terrible brats, I wasn’t going to let them get to me. This place was too perfect.

I opened the binder marked “Nanny Notes.” There was a glossy brochure about Chrysalis Cliff, so I read as I ate. This place was the twilight zone in more ways than one. The brochure promised elegance, privacy, luxury, and a total karmic transformation for “those looking for a subtle and youth-enhancing nip and tuck of the spirit.” There were sessions of yoga and massages of every kind, which seemed to offer
people a fast track to finding and fixing their snarled karmic threads.

I wasn’t too surprised to read about tarot readings, since the kids had a table. But the séance room gave me a squee moment. It looked like something out of the old black-and-white movies my mom and I used to watch when I stayed home sick from school. Big stone fireplace, round table with thick Victorian legs surrounded by sturdy chairs that didn’t look easy to slide around. A chandelier hung over the table like a big fat spider waiting for the next fly.

The “Nanny Notes” were not as rooted in the otherworldly. Apparently, the twins’ day ran on a tight schedule. They got up, took their showers, and got dressed by seven thirty. There was no notation as to whether I was supposed to help. Since I would not have wanted help picking out my clothes when I was ten, I decided to err on the side of caution tomorrow and wait for the twins to emerge from their room. If they came out naked, I could readjust my conception of my nanny duties. If not, we were golden. The rest of the schedule was filled with activities such as music lessons, research, reading, meals, aerobic exercise, and “mandatory fun time.” There was a parenthetical notation that this was not to be skipped under any circumstance, without prior approval of Mr. Pertweath. Interesting.