Page 40 of A Season for Scandal

“And we should get your guests inside and show them to their rooms,” Mrs Lavigne said, again with that touch of condescension I didn’t like. She certainly seemed very at home at Lockhart Hall.

If Oliver felt anything was amiss, he didn’t show it. “Yes, thank you. Barker,” he called over his shoulder. “I will show the ladies in, if you could take care of the luggage and arrange with Beth for some refreshments?”

“Right you are,” Barker replied easily, already leading the horses away.

Mrs Lavigne’s nostrils flared, and I guessed she wasn’t too keen on the informality of the household. I had to admit, I was surprised by it myself. Mr Lavigne did not seem similarly troubled, only smiling wider at us all.

Without another word, Oliver strode ahead and through a front door that seemed fifty feet tall and built to withstand battering rams. Inside the entry hall, it became clear at once that this strange house was going to live up to its Gothic promises. The entrance was enormous, with high ceilings and – yes – a suit of armour hunched rather sulkily in one corner. For such a big space, it did not benefit from much natural sunlight, and as a result it felt dark, almost oppressive. The air was significantly cooler in here, the contrast sending a shiver dancing across my skin.

“Welcome to the mausoleum,” Oliver muttered.

“It’s certainly very … atmospheric,” I said, eyeing the enormous and very ancient-looking chandelier still lit by candles.

Oliver snorted. “Oh yes, we’ve got plenty of atmosphere. Beth! BETH!” he yelled.

A woman appeared, wiping her hands on her apron. She was around thirty, with dark curls and wide green eyes. This must be Barker’s daughter because the resemblance between them was striking, her laughing expression so similar to his that I liked her at once.

“What did I say about shrieking like that, Oliver?” she chided. Her eyes slid to mine. “Er … Mr Lockhart, I mean.”

“Beth, the Lavignes are well aware of how informal we are.” Oliver grunted. “There’s no need to go putting on airs for my …betrothed.” He looked slightly less queasy this time, but I noticed Beth press her lips together.

“I am Beth Barker,” she said, stepping towards me. “You’ll forgive Oliver’s poor manners, I’m sure. You must be Miss Bloom.”

“I am,” I said. “And I’m very happy to renounce ceremony too; Mari will suit me perfectly. And this is my godmother, Mrs Finch.” I gestured to her.

Mrs Finch only smiled serenely, offering no one her first name. Personally, I thought this was because she didn’t actually have one. I wasn’t even convinced that Mrs Finch was her real name at all, and no one at the Aviary seemed to know very much about the woman, though Izzy had once told me that there was a Mr Finch somewhere.

“Perhaps you could show Miss Bloom and Mrs Finch to their rooms,” Mrs Lavigne said, directing her words to Beth, while her gaze barely flicked in her direction. “And then we may all take tea in the drawing room.”

I couldn’t help the way my eyebrows flew up at this, and when I met Beth’s eye, the glimmer I saw there made me think this was not the first time she had experienced Mrs Lavigne’s high-handedness.

Oliver, on the other hand, seemed again not to notice. “I’m going to the library,” was all he said, as he turned and stalked away. “Let me know when you want me. And tea had better involve something to eat because I’m starving.”

“Believe it or not, that was Oliver on his best behaviour,” Beth murmured to me in a low voice as she led the way up the staircase. The Lavignes headed off – presumably in the direction of the drawing room.

“Really?” I asked.

“Oh yes.” A smile pulled at Beth’s lips. “I’ve never known him to actually agree to sit down to tea before. Then again, we don’t usually have visitors.”

By this point we had reached the top of the staircase and Beth turned left, leading Mrs Finch and me down a long corridor. The scale of the building was almost absurd, and we passed a number of doors and made several turns before coming to a stop.

“Your rooms are down here,” she said. “The Lavignes and Helene are staying at the other end of the house.”

“A map would probably be most helpful when the time comes to search for them,” Mrs Finch said. “If you could draw one up?”

“Of course.” Beth nodded, reaching out to open the door in front of her.

“Never mind finding the Lavignes’ rooms,” I said. “We’ll need a map to find our own!”

Beth gave a chuckle at this. “You soon get used to it,” she promised. “Besides, almost all the rooms are shut up, so you can’t go too wrong.”

“Shut up?” I repeated as we stepped through to a bedroom that was large and just as gloomy as the rest of the house so far.

“Usually it’s only us and Oliver who are here,” Beth said. “But there are over a hundred rooms in the house. Most of them are left closed. In fact, this is the most people we’ve had in Lockhart Hall since Mrs Lockhart was alive.” She gestured around the room. “I hope this is all right for you, Mari? Mrs Finch, your room connects through the door here.” Beth opened the door in question revealing another room, the mirror image of my own.

“It’s lovely, thank you,” I said, because though it was dark, and though the giant furniture felt heavy and old-fashioned, I hadn’t neglected to notice that the room smelled pleasantly of beeswax and clean linens, or that on the enormous dressing table there was a vase of slender grasses tipped with elegant tufts of pale lavender.

“These are pretty,” I said, touching my finger to one.