Mary, standing unobtrusively at the edgeof the room, went to wish her sister luck, but before she knew it, Edith hadbeen enveloped into the depths of the house without so much as a glance back ather twin. A few years ago Mary might have been irritated at her sister’sindifference but, for some time since, Mary was growing used to her sister’sincreasing aloofness and detachment. She supposed that was just whathappened to twins as they grew up and wanted to assert and be known for theirown personalities.
Mary looked blithely around the kitchen,wondering at the uses of the implements, pots and pans hanging from giant hooksaround the room. To her, many of them looked like instruments oftorture. A myriad iron pipes of varying sizes led from a giant blackrange, leading to goodness only knew where. A huge copper pot, largerthan anything that she had ever seen before, caught her attention. Shewent over to it, almost mesmerised by its splendour. It was so perfectlyshiny and smooth that she could see her own curious face staring back ather. As she stared at the distorted bronzed-hued reflection, Marysuddenly became aware of the stillness of the kitchen. The orders hadstopped and the maids had all vanished.
A stark shadow passed behind her and shefelt hot putrid breath on her neck. She turned quickly to see the chef’squizzical face glaring at her.
‘Prends ça à la bibliotèque,maintenant!’ he barked.
Mary froze, staring at his harsh features,only understanding fragments of his order. The chef thrust a steaming silvercoffee pot towards her.
‘Prends!’ he repeated, his coldeyes swelling intensely. ‘Tiens!’
Did bibliotèque mean library? Marywondered, struggling to recall her French lessons from school. The ideaof even catching a glimpse of the wonderful, celebrated Blackfriars’ libraryfilled her with a joy that far outweighed the potential stupidity of herdecision to reach across and tentatively take the silver coffee pot. ‘Biblotèque?’ she said softly.
Angry yellow teeth appeared between thechef’s cracked lips. ‘Oui, la bibliotèque,’ he said, slowly repeatingeach word. Spit flew from his mouth on the final word.
Mary gave a submissive nod of her head andwalked purposefully from the kitchen with the coffee pot. ‘What adisgusting creature!’ she mumbled to herself, entirely unsure of where she washeaded exactly. Ahead of her a long, narrow corridor with plain,whitewashed walls fed several closed doors. She knew that she needed tofind a staircase which led to the east wing, having once caught sight of the grandlibrary during a summer fete. As she reached the end of the corridor,Mary shuddered from the cold, having left the reaches of the hot kitchenranges. She found herself at a corridor which ran perpendicular to thelast. Standing still, Mary closed her eyes and tried to imagine a birds’eye view of Blackfriars. If she was not mistaken, then she needed to takea left turn into the bowels of the east wing, then search for a staircase tothe next floor. The library should then be somewhere close by.
As Mary began to walk along the flag-stonefloor, she quickly spotted a staircase and smiled. She climbed the stepsand, at the top, she pushed open a heavy-set wooden door, appearing in a grand,decadent hallway which stole her breath away. Mary’s eyes flitted anddanced across the huge family portraits that hung on beautifully elaborate rubyand gold wallpaper, across pieces of ornate furniture, enormous porcelain andpottery pieces, which would take up most of her tiny bedroom, and a giganticcascading chandelier. Whilst her twin sister dreamed of workingher life in a grand place such as this, Mary dreamed of living her life in it, becomingLady Mary Rothborne and owning all of these precious things. She knewthat it was an impossible fatuous dream, but it was one that had failed torelease its childhood grip on her ever since she had first met Cecil Mansfield,heir to the Blackfriars estate, at a summer fête in 1902 to celebrate KingEdward’s coronation. Although she was just nine years old at the time,and he was thirteen years her senior, that moment cemented Mary’s infatuationwith him and his family. The childish games that Edie had just mocked herfor, the annual family attendance at the Blackfriars fêtes, were always atMary’s initiation and insistence. Her infatuation was knocked but notdiminished when Cecil became married to Philadelphia Carnarvon.
The sound of laughter jolted Mary from hermusings. She cursed herself for her silly daydreams and fantasies—theywere always getting her into trouble. She tucked herself against a largestone pillar and peered to the side. Two gentlemen whom she did notrecognise headed across the hallway, chatting animatedly as they went. They disappeared from sight and Mary quickly moved into the east wing of thehouse. Once there, the library was impossible to miss and, as she reachedthe open doorway, she had to remind herself to move inside the room where shewould be out of sight, rather than stand dumbstruck at the sheer marvel of theroom.
Mary set the coffee pot down and took inthe splendour of the library. An eerie grey light caused by the fallingsnow fell through the tall, latticed windows. Her eyes danced excitedlyaround the room, unable to focus on any one aspect. Thousands uponthousands of books lined floor-to-ceiling shelving, set within intricatelycarved walnut panels. An open fire stacked with seasoned oak pumped lifeand heat into the room; Mary knew that if she had been the lady of the house, thiswould have been the place that she would spend her days. Mary, unlike hertwin, had an insatiable appetite for books of all kinds: she read about kingsand queens, nature, history, science, foreign countries and, on her father’sinstruction, she read the Bible. Under Mary’s bed was a veritabletreasure trove of fiction books—stories which she read over and over, livingher life vicariously through the protagonists’ exciting lives. Howeverdreary and unpalatable her life really was, Mary always knew she had a wholedifferent, more exciting and exotic world waiting
