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 armour 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 round and started to hiss, but then she stopped herself short. A young boy stood in front of her. A large black Dobermann with sharply pointed ears sat at his side, staring intently at her.
The boy wore a fine tweed riding jacket, a buttoned vest, woollen 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 towards her. ‘I still get lost sometimes, and I’ve lived here for two years.’
Serafina sucked in a breath. Suddenly, she realised 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 had 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 colour. 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 high-falutin 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 blonde 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 towards 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.’
Braeden’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 dishevelled, 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 towards 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