| CHAPTER 1: Across The Pond
Eighteen months after she swore to never let anyone betray her again, Caroline moved into her great-uncle’s mansion. Charles McAlister IV had left his entire estate to her, his only blood relative, ten months previous. She had easily cut the remaining ties of her life in Chicago after that horrific night and transported what few worldly possessions mattered to her across the Atlantic ocean to Ireland. The most challenging part of the move was the goodbye to Brooke, the only family she had left, and Noah, a friend she’d had since elementary. Even so, she was glad to be gone, as far away from everything that had caused her pain as possible.
Staring out of the taxi’s window, Caroline saw the June sun reflect bright rays off of the window of a large, grey-stoned castle.
Wow. It looks like heaven, she thought. It would be nice to restart my life in that place. It’s so majestic, so whimsical… I’d have to change my name if I even stepped foot in there!
No sooner had this crossed her mind than she realized that the car had turned onto the stone-paved driveway. “Uh, driver,” she began. All of a sudden she caught sight of the gate. It had a horse rearing on its hind legs carved out of black iron, the exact same as the stationery of Uncle Charles’ will.
“’Ere we are, miss,” announced the cab driver in a thick Irish brogue. “Blue Creek Manor.”
“Thank you,” she paid him in an absent manner, gazing in wonder at the size of the building before her. She hauled her suitcase to the door and stared at the regal knocker in the shape of a horse shoe. She suddenly felt awkward and unsure whether she should walk in as owner or knock as guest. Choosing the latter, she reached for a round doorbell that seemed to echo a chiming chorus within the manor.
Before Caroline could gape any longer at the beauty of her new living arrangements, the massive oak door was answered by an older woman with a polite smile. She wore a black and white straight-out-of-Hollywood maid’s dress and her hair was pinned back in a bun without a stray strand. “Ms. Parker, I presume? Welcome to Blue Creek Manor. Please, come in.”
“Yes-um, thank you,” Caroline faltered, stepping into an elegant entryway.
“If you would like, Ms. Parker, I can have one of the servants bring in your things and I will show you up to the master bedroom where you can freshen up,” the housekeeper informed her in an accent one could only call "European."
“Call me Eden,” she said, surprising herself. “I like to go by my middle name.”
For the first time, the older woman smiled genuinely. “Alright then. Eden, I am Ivy, the housekeeper. After you freshen up, dinner should be ready. You can meet George, my husband and the landskeeper, once you have finished.”
Eden nodded, noticing for the first time the entryway that led into a formal living room with several doors. Ivy opened the first one and Eden followed her down a wide hallway with windows on the left. Eden’s heels clicked on the hardwood floors. The second door on the right opened into a gigantic room. The canopy bed was draped in rich reds and a brick fireplace drew her awed attention.
Smirking at Eden’s expression, Ivy offered, “I assume you like it. Pull the bell rope if you need anything.” With that, Ivy exited, closing the bedroom door behind her.
Eden dropped her bag, yanked the clip from her hair, and fell onto the bed, sighing with exhaustion.
An hour later, Eden awoke and blinked several times. The events of the day returned to her as she looked around the fancy room. She rolled off the side, reaching for her bag. After about ten minutes, she decided she was “freshened” enough to venture into her new home.
She proceeded down the hallway, checking door after door, one spare bedroom or close after the next. The windows did not display much of a view, unfortunately. They merely allowed in the remaining daylight that could be seen from the East-facing view and otherwise only advertised a cluster of trees. Sighing, Eden couldn’t decide if she was famished or disappointed. Just as she began to turn toward the dining room, Eden caught sight of a handle carved into the wood of the wall. A feeling of guilt overcame her and she glanced to either side.
Oh, don’t be insane. You do own this house, after all, she told herself, carefully pulling the camouflaged handle. A slight creak escaped the hinges but otherwise the hallway was silent as Eden took a step in. It faced directly into another doorway, and, through that, she saw three stories of stairs leading up and over in a steep fashion. Piled atop each other like grapes on a vine, each wooden step seemed to fall over the next. There was a rope hanging by the first step and Eden regarded it timidly for a moment, trying to logically weigh the possibilities. It was then she discovered how much she hated practicality. With a burst of courage, she reached out and tugged the rope. A whirring sound filled the tiny room and caused Eden to glance worriedly over her shoulder at the open door. To her right another door slid open, disappearing into the wall. An elevator! With a glance down the hallway, Eden shut the first door and entered the elevator. A quick survey revealed that the elevator stopped at all three levels of the house. With little hesitation, she selected the third number. A slight jerk and two shakes later, the elevator doors opened into a room similar to the one she had just been in. The difference was she was at the top of the seemingly endless flight of stairs. Twisting the brass doorknob, Eden was disappointed to find that it was locked. Fortunately, she looked up and saw an old-fashioned key hanging from a worn ribbon. She smiled to herself and slipped the key into the knob.
As it turned, a chill traveled up her spine. The door swung into a room that was sparse of decoration. A desk sat in the corner with a lamp atop its surface, all covered in a thin layer of dust. The desk was a solid oak number with three stacked drawers on either side of the wooden chair and it was tidy, meticulously so. But the rest of the room was contradictory to the neatness of the dusty desk. An easel leaned against the far corner and crates of paint, canvasses –some used, others not—, brushes, palettes, and many other tools, each organized by type but nothing more. A drop-cloth was thrown on the floor, looking as if it may have once been white but was covered in multi-colored pain splotches. A radio was plugged into an outlet, immediately detracting from the old-fashioned feel of the room. In the corner tucked to her right, a mini-fridge buzzed as though dust did not cover its surface like it blanketed every other object in the room.
Eden’s hazel eyes scanned the room again, absorbing the oxymoronic state. It smelled faintly of pipe tobacco and the odor of paint –acrylic and oil—filled her nose. She felt as if she had just stepped into someone else’s life. In truth, she had, for this was old Charles McAlister’s secret room. For the first time, Eden noticed a window. Light peeked form the edges of heavy curtains. When she pulled a thick curtain cord, the heavy black drapes parted, disclosing a floor-to-ceiling window and freeing the sunlight as it spilled into the room.
Through the clear glass, fields stretched out and when Eden caught sight of the river running amidst the trees the realization dawned on her: she had crossed the entire distance of the house! Watching the sunset over the acres of fields and forests told her she had reached the west end of the castle. Just as she realized what time it must have been, her stomach let out a low rumble, and she hurried back to the elevator and toward the dining room before anyone could miss her.
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