Page 192 of The Seven Rings
“Okay, we’ll work on that.”
The main storage area would stay the main storage area, she thought. And in a couple weeks, she’d dig out the Halloween decorations. But before that, yes, she’d do a similar hunt down here as she had in the attic, in the ballroom.
She moved through what she thought of as the downstairs world of servants and staff.
The space she’d chosen held, like the attic and ballroom, far too much. Organization would be key, which, she knew, meant organizing that main storage area in a way that made room for some of the rest.
It might mean moving some pieces to the attic, and hopefully finding others they could use upstairs.
In her mind, she emptied the space, removed everything inside it. Then slowly, began to place what worked for her through her sketch pad. She didn’t consider it overconfidence to believe they’d find everything they needed—save the pool table, pinball machine, whatever other games they wanted—right in the manor.
An old jukebox, she decided. Wouldn’t Clover have fun there? Keep it all as vintage as possible, at least in looks.
She heard Cleo on the stairs.
“I’m back here. It’s a great space, and I don’t want to make it modern and shiny. I really wish I could see it the way it was. Maybe we’ll find some photos. Then I’d get a good sense, be able to pay a little homage to the staff. And wouldn’t it be a kick to see Molly down here?”
“You forget how big this place is,” Cleo said as she worked her way through.
“Tell me about it.” Sonya turned to smile, and when she turned back, the mirror stood in front of her. “Cleo. The mirror.”
“Wait! Wait for me. Don’t go through.”
“It’s not pulling. It’s not like that demand.”
Moving fast, Cleo found her, took Sonya’s arm.
“Cleo, it feels like… an invitation.”
“You can say no, Sonya. Send your regrets. You’ve had enough for one day.”
“I… I want to go in. It feels like welcome. Don’t worry. It’s never hurt me.”
“I can text Owen. He’ll come, go with you.”
Sonya shook her head. “It’s for me. It feels like it’s for me. I can see movement. I can hear voices. Someone’s laughing. I have to go.”
“I’m texting Owen and Trey.”
“Don’t. Give me a few minutes first.” She handed Cleo her sketch pad. “I’ll be back.”
She stepped through.
And into the servants’ hall.
As they were now, the walls were paneled. But instead of white-draped furniture, the space held a long table. Two women in black dresses and white aprons and caps sat there, chatting away as they polished silver.
Another, older, wore gray like her hair. She sat in a chair by a small table sewing. Darning? Sonya wondered.
The older woman shook her head at the younger girls.
“You sound like a couple of chickens clucking. And over the new footman.”
“He’s very handsome,” the girl on the right said. And they both giggled.
A man walked in, wearing a black suit, a stiff white shirt. “I’d best not see streaks or spots on that silver.”
“No, sir, not a one.” The one with blond hair and freckles answered respectfully, even as she slid her gaze—with a little roll of her eyes—toward her companion.
