Page 39 of Hell to Pay
Sebastian looked at Ben. That was all, he just looked, but Ben said, “What? It’s all right there for anybody to see. Five-second Google search, dude.”
I’d never seen Alix cross with Ben. Her tone had definitely sharpened, though, when she said, “No. Not because of my parents’ money or Sebastian’s money. Because I can support myself. And why would you tell her how much Sebastian makes when you know how much he hates that?”
“But it’s for the channel!” Ben said. “It’ll help us get clicks!You need to hashtag Sebastian,” he told Ashleigh. “We’ll go viral in a whole different way then, because he’s hot right now.”
“Well, I wasn’t going to say,” Ashleigh said.
Ben sighed. “I didn’t meanthat.How would I even know, except for gross comments from girls online? Also at my school, which is disgusting. He’s twice as old as they are. Why are girls so weird? I meant he won the Super Bowl!”
“I didn’t win the Super Bowl,” Sebastian said. “The team won the Super Bowl.” His tone was mild but firm, the same way Joe’s had often been, and I got a pang of pure loneliness at the realization. “So,” he went on, in his usualPaterfamiliasfashion, “we have a few hours. Let me sign for the check, Marguerite, and then I’ll be ready whenever you want an escort to your room.”
Our next visit to the palace didn’t go exactly as I’d envisioned.
The four board members plus Dr. Bauer were waiting for us by the information desk this time. We were definitely moving up in the world, importance-wise, or maybe they were just curious. They were, after all, interested in antiquities, and both the parure and I fell into that category.
Dr. Eltschig said, “I’d like to approach this in chronological order, if you don’t mind, starting with the first raid of the evening. Perhaps you’ll show us the way to the cellar where your household sheltered.”
I said, “In other words, you wish to see whether Iknowthe way to the cellar.”
“It seems only prudent,” Dr. Eltschig said.
“Follow me, then,” I said.
I took them down corridors and through doors that Dr. Bauer unlocked. I stopped dead, though, when I reached themorning room and the breakfast parlor beside it. They had no furnishings now, and the beautiful old chandeliers and wall sconces were gone, but the view out the huge windows was the same: east to the Semperoper, which was once again whole, as if a film had been run backward.
“Are you lost?” Herr Eltschig asked politely. He didn’t say, “Ah-ha!”, but he probably thought it.
“No,” I said. “These were the two rooms we used during the day, there at the end of the war, when the fuel shortage made heating difficult. The plaster ornamentation on the ceiling is gone. It wasn’t nearly as elaborate as the ceilings of the state apartments, just the usual rosettes and medallions, with certain features picked out in gold, but I loved it better. It was so pretty and delicate, meant for a lady’s use. The marble of the fireplace surround is cracked, also.”
“Yes,” Dr. Eltschig said. “Which way now?”
I walked out of the room at the other end and into a passage, where I pulled open a well-camouflaged door built into the wall. “Stairs to the kitchen. Convenient, as you see, to the breakfast parlor as well as the dining rooms, both the smaller family dining room we used to use and the grand one in the state apartments. I assume it’s safe down there?”
“Yes,” Dr. Eltschig said. “Restoration started from the bottom up. The interior of the top floors has barely been touched, other than replacing windows and ceilings and removing debris. Here; the light switch has been modernized.” He flipped it on, and the simple stairs with their red runner were before me.
I nodded and took a firm hold on the banister. I was getting that lightheaded feeling again.
Sebastian said, “Wait.” Urgently. I paused, and he said, “Let me go down first. That way, if you trip, you’ll fall on me.”
“Very wise,” I said. Why should I be anxious now, just descending to the kitchen? What was there to fear here?
Fourteen steps. I counted them in my head as I’d been doing since I was three, and at the bottom, it was there. The enormous rectangular kitchen table, built for a staff of two dozen, and against one wall, still resplendent in its shining glory, the cream-colored Aga range. There were even some chairs, and they looked like the same ones.
“The table survived,” I said. “It was covered with rubble the last time I saw it.”
“We estimate,” Dr. Bauer said, “that it and the chairs date back to the palace’s origins. Oak becomes stronger as it dries. There are some chips and gouges in the wood, but that’s all. Half of the chairs were destroyed, though.”
I said, “And the Aga, too. Does it still work?”
“It isn’t hooked up to a gas source,” Dr. Bauer said, “and would need to be thoroughly checked out and restored, of course, if we decided to add a ‘downstairs’ element to the museum.”
“Oh, that’s a good idea,” I said. “Upstairs, Downstairs. I always find that the most interesting. The kitchens, and the attics. A whole separate life that people who see only the grand rooms don’t even envisage.”
“Huh?” Ben asked.
“It was a television series,” I told him, “featuring a noble family who lived upstairs and their domestic staff, who were the ‘downstairs’ element. Kitchens in great houses were always in a half-basement, as is this one. It was cooler in summer, for one thing, and an Aga stays on all the time, which means it warms the room. Tradesmen could easily come in from the area—the gated-off bit above, a few steps down from street level—to deliver their wares discreetly.”
I spoke absently, for I’d wandered over to the stove. “Our cook had heard of the Aga, and asked Mother to buy it. It was a monstrously heavy thing to ship, like one of Augustus II’s extravagances, and I can’t imagine how they got it inside, butshe was a very good cook, and Mother always said a good cook was worth her weight in gold. Or, in this case, cast iron. Three hobs, as you see, for pots, as well as the boiling plate, here, that could hold the largest copper, and the simmering plate for cooking slowly. And below, the five ovens for various sorts of roasting, simmering, baking, and warming. I baked the household bread myself at the end, when one couldn’t buy good bread at the bakeries anymore, because there wasn’t enough flour and they had to use fillers instead. Frau Heffinger, the cook, said that she was glad to leave it to me. She was tall, you see, and kneading dough on the table was hard on her back.”
