The Serafina Series

‘Why would rich and proper folk like the Vanderbilts eat leaves when they could afford to eat something good? Why don’t they eat chicken all day? If I was them, I’d eat so much chicken I’d get fat and slow.’

‘Sera, you need to take this seriously.’

‘I am!’ she said.

‘Look, you’ve got a friend in the young master now, and that’s a good’n. But if you’re gonna be his friend for long you need to learn the rudiments.’

‘The rudiments?’

‘How to behave like a daytime girl.’

‘I ain’t no Vanderbilt, Pa. He knows that.’

‘I know. It’s just that when you’re up there I don’t want you to –’

‘To what? Horrify them?’

‘Well, now, Sera, you know you ain’t the daintiest flower in the garden, is all. I love ya heaps, but there ain’t no denying it – you’re a sight feral, talkin’ about prey and hunting rats. With me, that’s all fine and good, but –’

‘I understand, Pa,’ she said glumly, wanting him to stop. ‘I’ll be on my best behaviour when I’m up there.’

When she heard someone coming down the corridor, she flinched and almost darted. After years of hiding, it still made her scurry when she heard the sound of footsteps approaching.

‘Someone’s comin’, Pa,’ she whispered.

‘Naw, hain’t nobody a-comin’. Just pay attention to what I’m tellin’ ya. We’ve got to –’

‘Pardon me, sir,’ a young maid said as she stepped into the workshop.

‘Lordy, girl,’ Serafina’s pa said as he turned round and looked at the maid. ‘Don’t sneak up on a man like that.’

‘Sorry, sir,’ the maid said, curtsying.

The maid was a young girl, a few years older than Serafina, with a pleasant face and strands of dark hair curling out from beneath her white cap. Like the other maids, she wore a black cotton dress with a starched white collar, white cuffs and a long white lace apron. But from the look of her and the sound of her words it seemed like she was one of the local mountain folk.

‘Well, spit it out, girl,’ Serafina’s pa told her.

‘Yes, sir,’ she said, and glanced at Serafina self-consciously. ‘I have a note from the young master for the little miss.’

As the maid said these words, she eyed Serafina. Serafina could see the girl trying to make sense of the weird angles of her face and the amber colour of her eyes. Or maybe she was noticing the bloody wounds peeking out from beneath the edges of the burlap gunnysack she was wearing. Whatever it was, there was apparently plenty to stare at, and the girl couldn’t quite resist availing herself of the opportunity.

‘Ah, ya see, Sera,’ her pa said. ‘I told ya. Good thing we’ve been a-practisin’. The young master is sending you a proper invitation to the supper this evening.’

‘Here you go, miss,’ the maid said as she stretched out her hand with the note towards Serafina as if she didn’t want to get any closer to her.

‘Thank you,’ Serafina said quietly. She took the note from the maid slowly so as not to startle the girl with too quick a movement.

‘Thank you, miss,’ the maid said, but instead of then leaving, she froze, transfixed, as she studied Serafina’s streaked hair and odd clothing.

‘Was there something else?’ Serafina’s pa said to the maid.

‘Oh no, I’m sorry, pardon me,’ the maid said as she pulled herself out of her stare, curtsied in embarrassment to Serafina and then quickly excused herself from the room.

‘Well, what’s it say, then?’ Serafina’s pa said, gesturing towards the note.

As Serafina carefully opened the small piece of paper, her hands trembled. Whatever it was, it felt important. As she read Braeden’s words, the first thing she understood was that her pa had been wrong. She wasn’t receiving an invitation to a dancing party or a formal dinner. The note dealt with a far darker subject. Just the first sentence tightened her chest with fear. Suddenly, she remembered seeing the black-cloaked Mr Thorne falling dead to the ground, killed by her and her companions. Then another image flashed through her mind: her and Braeden at the gallows, hanging by their necks for the crime of murder. But, as she read the frightening note, there was another emotion as well. She glowed with the knowledge that it was Braeden who was telling her these words. At long last, it was her old friend and ally.

S,

A murder investigator has arrived at Biltmore. He’s the strangest man I have ever seen. You and I have been summoned at 6:00 p.m. for questioning about the disappearance of Mr Thorne. Be careful.

B.

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