Page 3 of One Last Smile

“Well, you don’t have to wear a two-piece to go swimming, you know.”

I have a feeling they’re not all that interested in my experiences in America. I take another sip of my wine and hope that the smile I wear doesn’t appear as forced as Veronica’s.

“There’s my little darling!” Veronica cries with clear relief. “Lucas, where have you been? We’re nearly ready for the appetizer!”

The other two quiet and look over at Lucas. He still wears his suit from earlier and approaches the table slowly, wide eyes fixed on me. He takes the seat next to his mother, and she puts a protective arm around him. “You know you must eat, Lucas. It’s not healthy for you to peck like a bird at your food.”

“You haven’t served him any food, Mother,” Oliver reminds her.

There’s an odd tension in Oliver’s voice, and when I turn to him, his eyes have hardened into diamonds. I can’t tell if that anger is directed at his mother or his younger brother.

“Nonsense,” Veronica says. “Here, have some of mine.”

She stabs a few leaves of lettuce with her fork and lifts it to Lucas’s mouth. I watch in horror as the boy opens his mouth and takes the forkful like an infant. Lucas’s face remains expressionless as he allows his mother to feed him several more bites of the greens.

“Mary was about to tell us of America,” Eliza says, breaking the silence. “I’m sure you have wonderful stories.”

The truth is that my time in America, especially my time at the Ashford estate, was trying and even frightening, but I sense that Eliza is desperate for something to break through the discomfort of the moment. So am I, to be honest.

So, I bend the truth.

“Yes, the weather was somewhat dreary, but not so terrible as you might expect. There’s a certain beauty to be found in its wildness. And we had a family of mallards in our pond at the Ashford estate who had given birth late in the season, so—”

Veronica gasps. “Oh, how precious! I just love ducklings!”

“They were very precious,” I agree, “and the children were wonderful.”

That last part is not a lie. Elijah, Isabella, and Samuel were the only good parts of my tenure at the Ashford estate. I still miss them.

“Were they as precious as Lucas over here?” Oliver asks lightly.

Veronica’s smile vanishes for the first time since I met her. In its place is a look that I hope never to see directed my way. Eliza pales and looks desperately between her mother and oldest brother. “Mother, perhaps you could show Mary the garden tomorrow. I’m sure she’d love to see the wonderful work Niall has done.”

The door to the dining room opens before Veronica can respond. Hazel quietly serves the appetizer—puff pastries filled with spinach and cream cheese—and refills my wine. It’s only then I realize I’ve finished the glass.

Lucas takes advantage of the stare-down between his mother and brother to take his plate and quietly move his chair far enough away that he can feed himself. Oliver sees this and smiles. “I’m only joking, Mary. That being said, I’m sure you’ll find Lucas a thoroughly pleasant person to be around. He’s quiet, but what he lacks in gregariousness he makes up for with a gentle soul and inquisitive spirit. I know you two will get on well.”

Veronica’s smile slowly returns, but her eyes remain nearly violent. “Yes. Of course she will.”

I take another sip of my wine and wonder if I can feign illness and retire early to bed.

***

As it turns out, even four glasses of wine and more food than a person should consume in a week is not enough to cure my insomnia. That night, as I lay in bed, I find myself gripped by an urge to wander. So I pull on my slippers and creep softly from my room.

The Carlton house is not as large as the Ashford house, but it is still quite spacious and grand. The first floor is dedicated to entertaining and like most English country homes is quite concerned with the aesthetic of its interior architecture, containing several studies each evoking a certain theme. I find such excess quite pretentious, but then, it’s not my place to judge.

Like the Ashford house, it contains a kitchen that is so modern as to be incongruous with the rest of the house. At least here, the coffee is made in a proper press rather than one of those awful automatic machines. I rather suspect I’ll be the only one drinking coffee, however. Like a good English family, the Carltons take their tea seriously and display a gorgeous, high-quality set of china cups and saucers on their counter.

The second floor contains the bedrooms for the family, while the semi-basement contains the servants’ quarters, including my own room. I have no interest in knowing what goes on in those places, so I take the staircase to the attic.

I don’t know what draws me to attics and other forgotten spaces. Ever since my sister was lost to me, I find myself gravitating toward the hidden things of the world, as though by exploring each nook, I might someday find her waiting for me with open arms.

Annie, my beautiful younger sister, disappeared nearly thirty years ago. No trace of her has been found, and while the official position is that she must have died, I can’t help but wonder if the answer to that question is more complicated. Perhaps she is even still alive somewhere, having fulfilled her promise to escape the life she felt trapped by when we were younger.

One day, I’ll find answers. For now, I only want to know what I can about my new employers.

The attic here is an entire floor rather than a large closet or room as it is in many American houses. Though it is used for storage in the same way, the open floor plan makes it seem far less claustrophobic. I feel my restlessness calm as I use my cell phone flashlight to look through old statuary and portraits scattered among languishing furniture and odds and ends.

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