Page 6 of A Midnight Kiss on Ever After Street
One. Maybe I do belong here after all.
No one ever told us where the toilets are so, if anyone catches me, I could say I was looking for them and lost my way.
Getting lost in this place is definitely a reasonable excuse.
Even the staircases feel luxurious, covered with carpet that’s been freshly cleaned, but no amount of cleaning can hide the moth-eaten holes and frayed edges from the years of being left to rot here. It’s so long ago that Mum told me about it. The memories are like childhood stories, long forgotten but coming back in fragmented parts, like a favourite old book that you read again as an adult. I remember her saying the viscount and viscountess had separate quarters in the castle. I remember thinking how posh it was to have an entire suite of rooms all to yourself, so many rooms that you could go an entire day without seeing your husband despite the fact he lived in the same building, but apparently they always reconnected by taking supper together and sharing a bedroom, from which all talk of work was banned. When I was young, I thought it was romantic, but now it seems like it must’ve been a lonely way to live. Surely the point of a relationship is to have someone to face the world with, not someone you only have a brief catch-up with once a day?
At the top of this staircase is a heavy-looking door with gothic-style silver hinges. Unlike every other door I’ve passed, it’s ajar, and I can’t resist pushing it open and peeking inside. It’s a library. Well, a study, maybe. It’s too small to be a library, but the walls are shelves of books from floor to ceiling, and there’s a shiny mahogany desk and a well-worn leather armchair with a reading lamp beside it in one corner. The threadbare carpet looks as though it’s been traipsed across many times, and there’s even a fireplace with a mantelpiece above it that holds a bust of William Shakespeare and a candelabra that I’m almost certainisLumiere fromBeauty and the Beast. Something tingles at the back of my neck. There’s something about this room that feels as magical as the Beast’s castle. It’s still got the glamour of downstairs – not many people have bookshelves edged with goldleaf or a ceiling you’d need a crane to reach – but there’s a warm and cosy feel to it too. It smells of the papery scent of old books, and I can imagine an elderly viscount sitting in the armchair, his slippered feet up on the footstall in front of the crackling fire, an old book open on his lap as he dozes in a favoured armchair, like everyone’s favourite grandfather.
It’s a room that feels tucked away, as if there should be more to it and it’s cut off somehow. It makes me wonder if it’s the quintessential castle cliché and one of these books is a decoy and pulling the right one will reveal a hidden room. I trace my fingers along the recently cleaned spines, trying to work out which one could lead to a false wall and a secret room. I pull a few out at random, old tomes of research, poetry, and novels from times gone by, but all of them turn out to be exactly what they look like – books. I thought ‘castle’ might be a keyword, so I’m just putting back a copy ofI Capture the Castleby Dodie Smith when there’s a noise of surprise, and I spin around to see a man standing in the doorway.
‘What the hell are you doing in here?’ He sounds angry, but his voice is unsteady, like it’s debatable which one of us gave the other the biggest shock.
‘I’m not doing any harm. I was looking for the toilets and…’ I trail off, the excuse sounding pathetic even to my own ears. He’s a guest, like me. He’s dressed in a sharp charcoal-coloured suit with a burgundy tie that matches his china mask. Burgundy on one side, white on the other, with intricate silver swirls where the colours meet in a diagonal line, and silver edging around the eyes and sides of the mask. It covers his face from the forehead to under his nose, and he’s holding a glass of champagne, like the one I’ve just put down on the desk.
His mouth is set in a disapproving thin line and his eyes take me in for a moment. ‘Let me guess, you’re looking for the way to the west wing to see if there’s a prince who’s been turned into a beast?’
‘No, but now you’ve suggested it…’ I meet his eyes across the room, so serious that they’re almost glowing with annoyance, and I think the best thing to do is make a joke and then a quick exit. ‘Have you seen that candlestick? There’s no way it’snotgoing to come to life at some point. I wouldn’t be even vaguely surprised if a clock waddled up and started talking.’
One of the first things I notice about him is that he’s so tall that his suit doesn’t fit properly. Dressmakers notice these things. He’s got huge hands and quite possibly the longest arms I’ve ever seen. The sleeves of his suit end just above his wrists, making his arms look even more elongated. He’s in the doorway, twisting the stem of his champagne glass, and I don’t intend to make conversation, but he referencedBeauty and the Beast. Any man who references Disney films without being prompted is worth making conversation with. ‘Are you trying to hide out too? I don’t go to parties like this. I was trying to be brave by coming tonight, but I’ll always prefer books to humans.’
‘Brave.’ He repeats the word, sounding surprised that I’ve spoken to him. ‘Yes, that. I don’t go to parties like this either. I don’t like people.’
Oh good, he’s a cheery, welcoming sort. And he isn’t stepping out of that doorway so I can make a run for it.
‘It’s disconcerting, isn’t it? So many people in one place.’ I do a comedy shudder, still trying to lighten the mood.
‘Er, yes.’ From what little I can see of his face, he looks taken aback by the fact I’ve continued the conversation, and we look at each other in silence for a few awkward moments, and then he surprises me by speaking again.
‘I thought the mask might make it easier to be brave. I’m not good at talking to people. It’s easier when no one knows who you are.’
‘But you still feel awkward and like an outsider, right? I’ve been trying to work out how so many people know each other. It’s meant to be anonymous. Talk about defeating the object.’
‘Very true.’ He smiles for the first time, the corners of his lips turning upwards just slightly. ‘And I don’t even like champagne.’
‘Me neither! And that makes you feel even more like an outcast because who doesn’t like champagne, right?’ The last thing I expected to find up here was a fellow awkward, non-champagne-loving outsider and there’s something about his little smile that makes me want to keep talking.
‘Cheers to that.’ He lifts his glass in a toast across the room, but instead of taking a sip, he puts it down on the corner table inside the door.
‘How about those fancy hors d’oeuvres?’ I continue. ‘All those fish canapés and fiddly little things. Who could be arsed to spend that long manipulating a piece of salmon that’s so small you can barely taste it? Give me a cup of PG Tips and a packet of custard creams any day.’
‘Yorkshire Tea Bedtime Brew and chocolate digestives. A biscuit tin would improve this soiree no end.’
‘I completely agree.’ I’m smiling at him across the room. Despite the icy first impression, he seems so… normal. On a night that’s been utterly absurd so far, he’s like a glowing flame of normality, reminding me that I’m not the only awkward one who feels like I don’t fit in. ‘So you came to explore the castle too?’
‘Came to seek solace in books. I was looking for some peace and quiet, but you’ve inadvertently found my favourite room in the house.’
Has he been here before? How can a guest have a favourite room? ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t expect anyone to notice me.’
His eyes run down my dress appreciatively, but he makes a great effort to keep his gaze only on respectful places. ‘You are unnoticeable. No, wait…’ He rubs at the back of his neck restlessly. ‘That came out wrong. You areun-unnoticeable. And now you should…’ He gestures behind him as though he’s telling me to leave.
But there’s something about him that makes me want this encounter not to be over yet. He’s the strangest man. He seems annoyed at finding me here, but also nervous and uneasy. He’s unusually tall, six-three or six-four, but awkward with it, like a teenager who hasn’t quite grown into his body yet, despite the fact he’s clearly an adult in his late-thirties or early forties. His dark hair has got one splash of grey near his right temple which I suspect makes him look older than he is, and I wish I could see his face. But then he would see mine too, and that would lead to all sorts of problems.
‘I was looking for a decoy book,’ I blurt out, trying to extend the conversation. ‘It seems like the kind of place where there’d be a book that’s secretly a switch to a hidden room or something. Wouldn’t that be cool?’
‘You don’t think this place has enough rooms without needing to find an extra one?’ He speaks slowly, as if he’s considering every word, but there’s a tone of disdain in his voice that suggests he thinks I’m a total loser. A Disney-loving overgrown child whoreallythinks she’s stepped into an animated movie.
‘No, I think it would be magical. I’ve always wanted to live somewhere with a bookcase that hides a secret room.’ I pull out a few more books, hoping I might come across the right one and prove I’m not out of my mind. When I risk a glance over my shoulder, he’s watching me with an intense look in his eyes, and maybe it’s a good thing I can’t see his face or it might betoointense.
