Page 44 of A Midnight Kiss on Ever After Street
I go straight over to the window and look down at the array of conical roofs and turrets below, the green gardens that look like a maze for ants from this far up. I feel like we can see the whole of England from up here. I thought we were high up the other night, but this truly is the highest point of the castle, and you can see for miles.
‘It was kept as a time capsule after she died,’ Witt says. ‘Left exactly as it was and no one was permitted entry. Everything was covered, but I don’t know what state the fabric will be in after so many years.’
In my mind, it’s like no years have passed at all. I approach a dress form wearing a ballgown with a lace overlay and a wide tiered skirt and take the grape-coloured velvet between my thumb and forefinger. It’s a dress I’ve seen photos of, old pictures taken by my dad of my mum at her sewing machine, making it. This very dress.
‘Are they…?’
I nod, knowing I’m going to cry if I attempt to answer him.
He knows it too because he comes over and slides his arm around my shoulder and gives me a squeeze of moral support.
‘See here?’ I part the fabric of the skirt to reveal a tiny glass slipper charm. ‘This was my mum’s signature. Nowadays we sew “Cinderella Shop” labels inside, but back then, she didn’t have anything like that, so she sewed a miniature glass slipper into the skirt. I still have a box of these. I sew them into the dresses I make on my own. Not into Ebony’s designs.’
‘Rebellious sewing. Anarchy via the medium of itty-bitty charms. I like it.’ He winks at me, and I appreciate the attempt to lighten the atmosphere, because it’s like walking into a room full of ghosts… invisible ghosts wearing these decades-old dresses.
His arm drops as I go across to another one, an off-shoulder gown in heavy cream satin with a statement red poppy print. There are boxes of old photos at Ebony’s house, and I’m pretty sure that all of these dresses are in them. There are so many more. What must have been the viscountess’s favourites are displayed on dress forms, covers around their feet where Witt’s removed them, and there are baroque wardrobes that run wall to wall around the whole room, and in each gap between them are floor-to-ceiling mirrors. There’s a dressing table, the kind of oversized thing you can imagine only the rich and famous use, still covered in pots of half-used face powder, dried-up nail polishes, and perfumes in atomisers discoloured with age. It really is like a time capsule, left exactly as it was at the moment the viscountess died.
‘He used to come here to talk to her,’ Witt murmurs. ‘I think leaving it like it was convinced him she was still alive. It was all just waiting for her to come back.’
‘How do you know that?’ I turn to look at him, and he meets my eyes and then looks away.
‘Police reports from the time. Local gossip. And I have experience with old buildings – you can deduce a lot about their tragic pasts from the way things are left. Part of my job is to figure out what happened to a building.’
I look at him again, but he’s gone to look out of a window. ‘Do you know when the first viscountess died?’
He goes to answer and then stops and shakes his head. ‘Mid-eighties or thereabouts.’
‘I was born then. Throughout my childhood, my mum told me so many stories about her time at the castle, but she never once mentioned that the viscountess had passed away.’
‘Maybe she wanted you to believe in fairy tales. They’re supposed to have happy endings, not death and mourning and a viscount sent mad by grief. And I’m not sure if anyone knew. I’ve been trying to piece together a story from what I’ve heard locally, but no one seems to have a clue about who lived here or what happened to them.’
‘Maybe it’s better that way.’ I look up at the intricate plasterwork of the high domed ceiling and turn in a circle; it feels impossible to take it all in. ‘Maybe old ghosts should be left in peace. It’s no business of ours, is it?’
‘I feel like I’ve met part of her through you.’ He looks surprised when the words spill out of his mouth and a bit like he wishes he could put them back in. ‘Through your mum and your connection to the castle. It’s like we’ve brought the past back to life for a little while.’
‘These are not just dresses. They define a moment in time. The viscountess loved fashion, my mum used to say they would talk for hours about what was hot and what was not and they collaborated on all the designs that Mum made for her. Dresses like these are memories. They’re timestamps of a life. My childhood is interspersed with memories of family weddings, funerals, Christmases, or other gatherings, not because of the events themselves, but because I always remember what my mum was wearing, like Polaroid photos in my mind. Do you know what I mean?’
‘I wish I did,’ he mumbles. ‘I don’t remember much of my childhood. Not the good parts, anyway.’
‘Witt… thank you.’ I’m not entirely sure what I’m thanking him for, but it’s a combination of remembering what I’d said about my mum, recognising her work, and inviting me here.
He smiles at me in a way that says he understands everything I’m trying to convey and maybe that’s the thing with Witt – he understands that sometimes it isn’t easy to put things into words.
‘Thankyou.’
‘What for?’
He considers it before speaking. ‘Something I can’t explain.’
It sends a shiver through me because it’s exactly what he said on the night of the ball – what we both said.
He must sense it too because he shakes himself and drops my gaze. ‘These are all yours if you want them.’
‘Of course I do,’ I say excitedly and then grimace. ‘Not sure I’ve got anywhere to put them right at this moment, but…’
‘I’ll keep them safe for you.’
‘In the castle that’s going to be demolished and turned into a supermarket?’
