The Restoration
J.H. Moncrieff
The Restoration
FLAME TREE PRESS
London & New York
•
For Thomas McLeod,
with thanks and gratitude
Prologue
It was love at first sight.
Terri thought she’d done a decent job of concealing her reaction, but she must have been fooling herself, because Miss Vandermere turned to her and smiled.
“It’s gorgeous, isn’t it?”
It was. Gorgeous, and a whole lot of work. The older woman hadn’t been kidding about that. The red-brick, three-storey house loomed over them, doing its best to appear imposing, and to an amateur, Terri bet it would look breathtaking. An amateur wouldn’t notice the fine cracks along the stone foundation, the way the wraparound porch wasn’t quite level, the cloudy windows, and that trim – the color was all wrong for the time period.
“When was the trim last painted?”
Vandermere frowned as she stared up at the mansion. “Dreadful, isn’t it? That was the committee’s contribution two summers ago. Wrangled a high school football team into doing it, and some of those fools nearly killed themselves, from what I understand. I told them the color wasn’t right, not that anyone listens to me.”
Terri was surprised. As the last living descendant, Vandermere owned Glenvale – didn’t she? Best to find out now, before she’d undertaken a lot of work that wasn’t sanctioned.
“But the estate belongs to you, doesn’t it?”
Vandermere flapped her hand. “Well, yes and no. Since I hired the committee to run the museum, I agreed to give them a say in whatever happens to the house. I won’t be around forever, and I have no real use for the place. No one wants an old lady hovering over them, interfering in their business. I’ve mostly tried to stay out of things, but hiring you – that was my decision.”
“I’m sure they don’t mind,” Terri said because it seemed expected, not because she had any clue whether it was true or not. She was relieved she’d be dealing with Vandermere directly. Judging by her remark about the color of the house, the woman had good instincts. Terri had dealt with committees before – they were par for the course with old estates like this one – but it had never been her preference. As the cliché goes, it’s impossible to please everyone.
When she craned her neck to see the roof, a flicker of movement caught her eye. In one of the attic rooms, a curtain twitched. She peered at the window high above them, using a hand to shield her eyes from the afternoon sun. “Is there someone in the house?”
“No, I shouldn’t think so. We’re closed for the summer, so it’s the perfect time to start restoring her to her former glory.” Vandermere’s brow creased for a moment as she studied the structure. “I suppose Gertie could be hanging around. She loves the place. It’s always difficult to convince her it’s time to close up shop.”
“Gertie?”
“She was the house manager. Organized the staff, managed the registration desk and greeted the public when they arrived for their tours, things like that,” the woman said, taking a set of keys from her purse. The sight of the ornate iron keys thrilled Terri. She’d never get over her love affair with these old places – she was hooked. “Sadly, I had to lay her off. This economy has been hard on everyone. It was probably for the best. She’s very efficient, but I don’t think she ever quite warmed to me.” She glanced up at the window. “We never did get her keys back, though. If someone’s here, it must be her.”
“Would she be in the attic?” Terri wasn’t sure why she asked, but something had bothered her about that flutter of curtain. It struck her as furtive, sneaky.
“No, I shouldn’t think so. Why do you ask?” Vandermere led the way up the wooden steps of the porch, which creaked under her stacked heels. Terri winced at the audible warning, picturing the rotting wood giving way and the lady of the house breaking her ankle. No coat of paint could hide that sound. She’d have to do something about the stairs before her daughter arrived in Pennsylvania.
“I saw the curtains move in one of the attic rooms. It looked like someone was watching us.”
“Oh, the attic rooms are closed. The committee uses them for storage, but it’s a bunch of old junk, mostly. You can barely get past the door.” Vandermere’s faded blue eyes studied her face. “It must have been the wind.”
Right. Wind in a closed-up room.
“You know how old houses can be,” she went on. “They’re drafty.”
“Yes, of course.” Terri’s initial excitement was tempered with concern now. Why was Vandermere lying? Was this ‘Gertie’ unhinged? Was the former house manager going to be a problem? Or was there something else wrong with the estate? The work required on the house was extensive, but the figure that had been quoted was staggering. Terri was surprised the job had remained available as long as it had, long enough for her to find out about it and snag it. Already, the paranoid side of her brain was working overtime. Maybe there’s a reason no one else wanted it. Maybe Gertie is the reason.
“Are you an imaginative woman, Ms. Foxworth?”
The question startled her, and Terri was unsure how to answer. “How do you mean?”
The woman sighed. “There is something I didn’t tell you on the phone.”
Oh no. Here it comes. This is where I find out that my duties involve humoring a deranged ex-employee. “What is it?”
“You’re not the first person I’ve hired for this job, I’m afraid.”
“No?” Part of her was offended. What about all the wonderful things Vandermere had said about her work, about how she was the only one capable of restoring Glenvale to its former splendor? The other half was resigned. Sometimes having a paranoid mind was an advantage. It kept you from being shocked.
“There have been others.” Seeing Terri’s expression, which Terri could guess was a mixture of horror and dismay, the older woman amended, “Not many others, but a few. I didn’t lie to you on the phone. I do think you’re the only person for the job. I simply didn’t think we could afford you.”
Another lie. You didn’t get this rich by being dumb, and even though Vandermere had inherited her fortune, she’d managed it well and increased it exponentially through wise investments and holdings. A woman like this would have done her research, just as Terri had. She would have known the going rate for this kind of job, and deliberately tripled it. But why? Was this Gertie that much of a problem? A heaviness settled on her shoulders. It wasn’t the money; there would be other work. Well, not just the money. Dallas had been so excited about spending a year together in an old mansion, and Terri hated the thought of disappointing her daughter. Though she was ten, Dallas was already showing signs of adolescence. It was hard to get her excited about anything.
“What happened to them?” Terri asked, bracing herself. Whatever it was, it had to be bad to get them to walk away from that much money. Gertie must be a terror, maybe even homicidal. She shuddered at the idea of having her daughter around that kind of madness. Good thing she’d noticed the curtain. If she hadn’t, would Vandermere have told her?
“They had too much imagination.” The woman’s nose wrinkled as if she’d smelled something foul, as if having an imagination was the worst possible crime. It was confusing, to say the least.
“It’s…kind of a requirement for the job, Miss Vandermere. You have to be able to see these estates as they once were in order to restore them, and some of these places require more imagination than others. So far, Glenvale looks like it’s in fairly decent shape, but I’m sure there have been some renovations made over the years that will need correcting.”
She’d seen it a million times. Beautiful woodwork covered with layers of heavy paint, ornate grates hidden under linoleum, those lovely iron keys replaced by moderate plastic cards or, even worse, buzzer systems.
“I’m not referring to your vision for the house, Ms. Foxworth. That isn’t the sort of imagination I’m talking about.”
“I’m afraid I don’t understand.” What did imagination have to do with an insane house manager? Had the others imagined Gertie to be worse than she was? Glenvale was beginning to seem like more trouble than it was worth.
“You know how old houses are.” The woman leaned against a column, brushing a strand of silvery hair away from her eyes. “They make strange noises. Things shift. Radiators clank. There are drafts.”
Vandermere studied her face again, clearly trying to gauge her reaction. Terri decided to be direct. She didn’t know any other way to be, and in this case, she had nothing to lose, because one foot was out the door. She was already deciding how to break the news to Dallas. “You were honest with me when we spoke on the phone.” Except for the ‘you’re the only one’ bit. “Please be honest with me now. What are you telling me?”
“They thought the house was haunted. Surely you see how ridiculous that is.” Vandermere laughed, but it sounded forced. Looked forced. Not a hint of a smile touched her eyes. “All old homes have their quirks. You know that.”
It wasn’t a statement, but a question, a plea. You won’t abandon me like the others, will you? Terri’s instinct was to say no, of course she wouldn’t. No ghost story was going to scare her away from paying for her daughter’s first year of college. But still, it troubled her. Restoration experts tended to be creative, yes. However, like Vandermere said, they were familiar with old homes and their quirks. They knew them intimately. They weren’t the type to leave a job because of a few drafts or radiators clanking. “Do you think Glenvale is haunted?”
Vandermere met her eyes without flinching. “No, I don’t.”
“That’s good enough for me. I’d love to see the house.”
Brightening, the woman strode to the door and unlocked it with a minimum amount of fumbling. She had to have been close to eighty, but her hands were steady. As Terri followed Vandermere inside, she wondered what she’d gotten herself into. It wasn’t too late to say no, of course. Never too late until the first check was cashed and the first sledgehammer slung. But in another way, it was. She was already in love with the house and excited about the possibilities. Her fingers itched to lift that sagging porch to its rightful place and to get rid of that nasty blue paint. The estate spoke to her, whispering in her ear. Glenvale wanted to be returned to its natural ivory trim, or perhaps a nice, pale yellow. Its lines demanded elegance, nothing too garish. She knew this house. Everything was going to be fine.
But if black goo started dripping from the walls, she was getting the hell out of there, exorbitant fee be damned.
Chapter One
“I want this room.”
“Really?” Terri attempted to see the space through her daughter’s eyes. It was the smallest of the mansion’s bedrooms, complete with bubbling, stained wallpaper, pockmarked floors, and a musty smell. “Are you sure? The other rooms are a lot nicer.”
The girl nodded, her ponytail swinging. “Uh-huh. I like this one.” She folded her arms, as if preparing herself for a fight, but Terri was hardly going to fight her on this.
“The other ones are bigger, but if you want this room, you can have it.” Heaven knows she had no big plans for it yet. Certainly that horrible wallpaper would have to go, and the floors would need restoring, but she could leave it to the end. “Why do you like it so much?”
Dallas shrugged. “I dunno. I just do. It feels…friendly.”
Terri took another look around, wondering how her daughter was getting a ‘friendly’ vibe. If anything, the room was bleak, especially compared to the others, with their colorful wall coverings and elaborate light sconces. Aside from the servants’ quarters, it was the plainest room in the house. At least it didn’t have the same hideous plaques on the wall. Imagine sleeping under Thy Work Be Done or Prepare to Meet Thy God. It made her wonder what kind of employers Vandermere’s family had been. The rooms were a generous size, especially for servants’ quarters, but those god-awful signs….
“That’s odd,” she said, almost to herself. It was difficult to tell if Dallas was ever truly listening to her, but so far, they’d been getting along well, and the girl appeared to be genuinely interested in the project. One could only hope it would continue. A long, winding road lay ahead.
“What is it, Mom?” Dallas followed her to the door, where Terri had spotted something unusual. One half of the knob was filigree metal, but the half facing into the room was white ceramic. “That’s pretty, but why don’t they match?”
“Good question.” The white knob didn’t make any sense. She consulted her notes again, confirming what she already knew. The room had once belonged to the son, Niles, who had died of complications from his diabetes when he was a teenager. “See this white knob? Typically, knobs like this were exclusively used in the servants’ rooms.”
“Why?” Dallas asked, twisting it back and forth. “Didn’t other people like them?”
Clearly her ten-year-old would be getting a lesson in classism this year. “See how shiny it is? There’s a reason for that. When the servants touched these knobs, their hands had to be spotless. If they weren’t, they’d leave marks on the doorknob, and their employers would see they hadn’t washed their hands well enough.”
Dallas’s brow wrinkled, a sign that a more challenging question was coming. “Couldn’t the servants wipe off the marks before anyone saw them?”
“Maybe it was a test for them too, a warning to keep their hands clean. Back then people had just started to learn how germs could be passed from one person to another. If their servants had clean hands, it would help keep the family from getting sick. To the Victorians, cleanliness was akin to godliness. They were extremely fastidious people.”
“But why is there a white knob on this door? This isn’t a servants’ room.”
Terri stared at her. “What did you say?”
“This was a child’s room. A boy. He wasn’t a servant.”
“That’s right. This was the room of the Vandermeres’ son. How did you know?” She hadn’t told her daughter a child had died in here, in the room Dallas had chosen as her own. The last thing she needed was Dallas having nightmares or acquiring that dreaded ‘imagination’ Miss Vandermere loathed. Restoring Glenvale would most likely take several years, maybe longer. They’d both have to get comfortable in the house, no matter how old and odd it was.
Concerned by Vandermere’s tales of fleeing workers and overactive imaginations, Terri had lived in the house for a full week on her own before telling her mom it was all right to bring Dallas over. That had given her enough time to shore up the front steps – no one would be falling through on her watch – and reassure herself that there was no black goo dripping from the walls, or disembodied voices urging her to “Get out”. In fact, nothing strange had happened at all. There wasn’t a glimpse of the mysterious Gertie. Terri hadn’t gone near the attic rooms, but hadn’t seen a need to. If they were full of junk, she’d leave them be as long as possible. Often, some of the ‘junk’ stored in homes like this were antiques that could be restored and repositioned in their rightful places.
She adored houses like this: houses with character, houses that told a story. It was why she specialized in restoration work. But she’d never taken on such a huge job before, not since she’d had Dallas. They’d never had to live on site, and she hadn’t been sure how her daughter would handle it.
Dallas shrugged. “I dunno. I just knew.”
“Does it bother you that this was a boy’s room?”
“Why would it bother me? Sometimes you say silly things, Mom.”
Terri breathed easier once she’d closed the door.
* * *
Though most of the furniture had been left in place for her convenience – it was a matter of removing drop cloths if she wanted to use something – Terri opted to set up a small table in the manor’s kitchen rather than eat meals in the formal dining room. The dining room was too grand for her tastes, too cold even in the heat of summer. She often wondered about the families who had commissioned these great old homes. Had they really enjoyed dining formally, or had they insisted upon grand dining rooms because they were expected? In that respect, she was glad times had changed.
Pizza was a special treat, designed to lull Dallas into an agreeable food coma, but Terri needn’t have worried. Despite their differences, the child was her mother’s daughter. Dallas had quickly fallen in love with the house too, perhaps too much. “Don’t get too attached to it,” Terri warned. “We’re only here until my work is finished, and then we’ll have to move somewhere else.”
“I know that, Mom.” Dallas rolled her eyes, and Terri got a glimpse of what she could expect when her daughter reached puberty. “This place isn’t ours.”
“For at least a year, it’s as good as. I want you to feel comfortable here, but not so much it’ll be hard for you to leave.”
“When we leave, we’ll move into another place like this, right?”
“Yes, that’s right. It’ll be time for another adventure.” Or it could be an out-and-out disaster. In her line of work, she never knew what to expect. “Or maybe we’ll rent an apartment for a while.”