Serafina and the Black Cloak - Robert Beatty Page 0,62
about from Mr. Pratt and Miss Whitney. There she hid in the organ loft, among the seven hundred brass pipes, some reaching five, ten, twenty feet in height. From here she had a wonderful bird’s-eye view of the room.
The Banquet Hall was the largest room she’d ever laid eyes on, with a barrel-vaulted ceiling high enough for a hawk to soar in. Rows of flags and pendants hung down from above, like the throne room of an ancient king. The stone walls were adorned with medieval armor, crossed spears, and rich tapestries that looked extremely old but well worth climbing someday. In the center of the room there was a massively long oak dining table ringed with hand-carved chairs intended for the Vanderbilts and sixty-four of their closest friends. But tonight, no one was sitting at the table. The servants had laid it out with a cornucopian buffet of food. In addition to the selection of roast beef, brook trout, chicken à l’orange, endless trays of vegetables, and rosemary potatoes au gratin, there were all sorts of chocolate desserts and fruit tarts. The pumpkin pie, like all pumpkin pie, looked like something a dog would eat, but the whipped Chantilly cream on top of it looked delicious.
She watched in silence as weary, saddened people streamed into the room, exchanged a few words with Mrs. Vanderbilt, and then joined the gathering. In what appeared to be a valiant effort to stay upbeat, Mr. and Mrs. Brahms came in and tried to eat some food and find some solace in the company of the others. Mr. Vanderbilt went over and spoke to them, and they seemed to find great comfort in his words and touch. He then went over to the pastor and his wife and consoled them about their lost son. He went next to Nolan’s distraught mother and father. Nolan’s father was the blacksmith, but he and his wife were welcome here. Mr. Vanderbilt spoke with them for a long time. The more she watched him, the more her feelings toward him softened. There seemed to be true and genuine caring in him, not just for his guests, but for the people who worked for him as well.
Braeden, following his uncle’s example and looking particularly neat in his black jacket and vest, did his best to talk with a young red-haired girl in a blue dress. The young lady appeared to be more than a little frightened by everything that had been going on. There were other children there as well, looking scared and sullen. Mr. Boseman, the estate superintendent, was in attendance, along with Mr. Pratt and Miss Whitney and many other familiar faces. It seemed to her that the only person missing was poor old Mr. Rostonov. Serafina overheard one of the manservants come in and say that Mr. Rostonov had sent word that he was too heartsick to attend.
She glanced over at Mr. Thorne and Mr. Bendel, who were standing together near the fire. Mr. Thorne looked haggard and tired. When he started to cough a little, he covered his mouth and turned away from Mr. Bendel. It appeared Mr. Thorne might be feeling ill or coming down with a cold. Such a difference from the other times she’d seen him. Nobody was feeling good tonight.
When she saw that nearly everyone was present, Mrs. Vanderbilt turned to Mr. Thorne and put her hand on his shoulder. “Perhaps you would be kind enough to play something for us.…”
Mr. Thorne looked reluctant.
“Indeed,” Mr. Bendel said encouragingly. “We could all use a bit of cheering up.”
“Of course. I would be honored to oblige,” Mr. Thorne said quietly, wiping his mouth with his handkerchief and gathering himself. It took several seconds, but he seemed to find a second wind. He glanced around the room as if looking for inspiration.
“Shall I send the footmen for your violin?” Mrs. Vanderbilt asked, trying to be helpful.
“No, no, thank you. I was thinking I would give that magnificent pipe organ a try…” Mr. Thorne said.
Serafina panicked. She had heard the pipe organ many times before from the basement. She couldn’t even imagine how loud it would be when she was crouching among its pipes. It would break her eardrums for sure! She hurried to wiggle herself out of her hiding spot and escape.
At the same time, Braeden rushed forward and grabbed Mr. Thorne’s arm. “Perhaps you could play the piano instead, Mr. Thorne. I do love the piano.”