Serafina and the Seven Stars: Chapters 8–13

She raced through the garden, hurrying past the finely dressed ladies and gentlemen strolling casually along the flowered paths, and dashed toward the lake.

What if he had come home last night but then something had happened to him after she left him? Had some sinister new adversary found its way into his bedroom?

She ascended the stone steps and entered the long promenade of the Pergola, with its profusion of wisteria hanging down from the lattice above and its line of vine-entangled columns that overlooked the flowers and trees of the garden.

The other side of the Pergola ran along a stone wall adorned with fanciful statues and exotic plants. Gentle spouts of water poured from the mouths of scaly stone fish and mythical creatures, splashing into small bubbling fountains.

Serafina was surprised by the speed at which the girl had surmised that she was a resident of Biltmore rather than another guest.

When she arrived in the workshop and saw that her pa wasn’t there, she hurried down the corridor, past the clattering din of the busy kitchens and workrooms, all bustling with servants, and went down the brick stairs into the subbasement.

Ember walked with jaunty steps along the stone ledge above the benches, chirping complaints and looking down at her with her round, feline eyes.

But even saying these words out loud made her feel like a naive little child. How ridiculous it was to think that Mr. Vanderbilt actually needed her. He was the richest, most powerful person she had ever met. Why would a man such as that need her help?

It had been torn to pieces during her battle with the Man in the Black Cloak that fateful night in the Angel’s Glade, but she’d always loved that gown.

The ivory-colored limestone steps of the Grand Staircase blazed in the morning light, with the elegant, deeply filigreed wrought-iron railing on one side and the curving cascade of windows on the other.

She had assumed she’d go down to visit them in the basement every once in a while, but here they already were, all moved in.

“Well, just because we’re up here now, don’t think you can shirk your duties in the basement,” she told them firmly.

It was a lavishly appointed, oval-shaped bedchamber with a gently domed cream ceiling and elegantly curved walls—the wallpaper, draperies, pillows, and even the upholstery on the gold-leafed, French-style furniture, all done in a fine silk fabric of red peony flowers.

If Braeden was here, that’s where we’d sit and have our meals, she thought wistfully, but then the bad thoughts started creeping into her head again.

But here she was, a denizen of the basement and a devout creature of the night, swimming in a world of silk and gold and blazing light.

The room Mr. V had picked for her didn’t just provide the perfect position to guard the stair’s entry point onto the second floor; it was also an ideal spot from which to observe the front courtyard, and all the comings and goings of the house.

It was a stark and welcome reminder that she wasn’t on the second floor because she was a cherished member of the family or an honored guest. She was a guardian.

As she looked around at the opulence of the room, it was still hard to believe she was here. Even this felt like a dream. How was it possible that a little rat-catching girl from the basement was suddenly living in a beautiful bedroom on the second floor?

He was a lean but not quite gangly bachelor in his mid-twenties, with a sharp-looking face and slicked-back dark hair.

It amused her how he was the quintessence of formal reserve and stately decorum when he was upstairs in view of the Vanderbilts and their guests, but quite the boisterous rogue when he was downstairs in the kitchens.

It amused her how he was the quintessence of formal reserve and stately decorum when he was upstairs in view of the Vanderbilts and their guests, but quite the boisterous rogue when he was downstairs in the kitchens.

The servants of the house didn’t know exactly what her purpose was—rumors had run rampant over the past few months—but more and more, they were getting to know her and see her as one of them.

And she knew from experience that she couldn’t trust a single one of them until she caught the devious rat she suspected to be hiding among them.

The grand room’s barrel-vaulted ceiling was so high that a flock of Braeden’s crows could have an aerial battle in its heights, and its massive carved stone fireplaces were blazing with great fires, but it was the silk-wearing denizens of this magnificent cave who held her attention.

She was an elderly, stately woman, in an expensive gown and wearing an elaborate diamond necklace.

“That’s a very nice name. And from where do you hail?”
Serafina thought it might be a bit melodramatic to say “The basement,” so she said, “Around these parts.”

If she was wearing an extravagant gown, and hobnobbing with the most fashionable members of society, did that make her a civilized person?

Dressed for dinner in an immaculate black tailcoat and white tie, and freshly shaven and prepared for the evening, he looked so different than the bristled, haggard man she’d seen earlier that morning.

“Thank you, Edith,” he said, “And thank you for arranging this wonderful gathering here for all of us tonight.”
Enthusiastic cheers of agreement exploded from the crowd, everyone thanking Mrs. Vanderbilt, who beamed in modest gratitude.

But then he turned more serious, and a contemplative expression came over his face as he folded his hands in front of him and bowed his head in prayer.

We have come down to these Southern mountains to be with our good friends, both new and old, in this year of 1900, the start of a bold new century. As you all know, it is tradition in our families to come together at this time of year to spend the hunting season with one another. And I, too, look forward to our ‘time in the woods,’ for the challenge and the camaraderie it brings.

Serafina thought for a moment that he might try to speak with her, but as the footmen around the table began to serve the first course, a loud, overbearing voice at the other end of the table broke in.

“But since you’re asking the question,” the man continued, his booming voice filled with self-importance, “I do my hunting with the most effective weapon that has ever existed, the venerable 1873 Winchester Henry Repeating Rifle.”

Many of the people around the loudmouthed hunter seemed enthralled with him, but Serafina noticed that Lieutenant Kinsley, who was trying to eat his soup, glanced at the man with a flicker of distaste.

Most everyone was listening to the colonel with rapt attention, but Serafina noticed that Mr. Vanderbilt seemed far more alarmed by this loudmouthed guest than impressed by him.

Well, the boys and I were out scouting for signs of game last night, just minding our own business, and one of the local varmints attacked our group totally unprovoked, just pounced on us out of nowhere for no reason.

...ever since that first run-in that mangled my arm years ago, and now this encounter last night, the mountain lion is the only game animal—on any continent, mind you—that’s gotten away from me. And I take that as a personal affront.

When Serafina glanced over at the colonel’s friend, Mr. Turner, the poor man looked positively sick to his stomach that he’d made the mistake of bringing this rude and vulgar man into the private dining room of George and Edith Vanderbilt.

As the colonel carried on with harrowing tales of his “astounding skill” with a rifle, and people encouraged him with questions, Serafina’s blood boiled.

“Listen,” Jess said, leaning toward Serafina with a conspiratorial whisper. “Don’t let him fool you. He’ll drink and gamble most of the night, but that won’t stop him from getting up early in the morning to go hunting. You need to leave here and warn whoever you need to warn.”