Dust and Violets Read online

  an imprint of Torquere Press

  Dust and Violets

  Copyright © 2005 by Mike Shade

  All rights reserved. No part of this eBook may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information address Torquere Press, PO Box 4351, Grand Junction, CO 81502.

  ISBN: 1-933389-14-1

  Printed in the United States of America.

  Torquere Press electronic edition / Augst 2005

  Torquere Press eBooks are published by Torquere Press, PO Box 4351, Grand Junction, CO 81502.

  http://www.torquerepress.com

  Prologue

  He wandered through the house, straightening the odd lamp, rifling through a book left open on the spindly-legged table. Once, before hard times had befallen him, this house had been rich, bright, full of dresses and women that shone like jewels simpering on the perfectly-tailored arms of perfectly-bred men.

  Dinner parties and intimate dances -- they weren't the Lincolns or the Jeffersons or the Saint-Benets, but they were proper society. Old money. The right sort.

  He sighed, wandering alone down the dark halls, admiring the fine weave of the carpet, the delicate woodwork, the high ceilings. His step was light, his grey-green eyes fond as he explored the space he knew better than his own visage.

  Things changed, of course, as they often did. War was hard on business, cholera and consumption harder. So much lost, so much changed from those happy, light-hearted days. Still, he had the house.

  Samuel grinned suddenly, the look changing his face from genteel and stable to wickedly mischievous. He turned and slipped through a secret door in the main dining hall, suddenly cloaked in the deepest shadows.

  Of course, the very best thing about being old money was breaking the rules and playing with the wrong sort.

  No one knew Violet House as he did. No one else had played here so well, so long. No one else had made love in the secret rooms, terrorized the servants and horrified the governesses. No one else had brought a bat in from the attic and set it loose in the kitchen.

  Danced above the well in the yard.

  Seduced the stable hand in the tack room.

  His laughter, light and airy, echoed for him as he left the dark hall for the bright warmth that was his own room.

  Things changed, of course. They always did. Still, the house was his.

  Violet House belonged to the Ogletrees and with the Ogletrees it would stay.

  Chapter One

  Jason sat on the top stair, coffee cup warming his hands.

  He'd come early to soak up the ambiance of the house before the movers arrived with his meager possessions.

  The veranda went around the whole place, but needed some work, probably even more than some, and he wasn't sure if the wide swing chair would hold him. Better not to risk it -- his long feet tripped him up enough as it was, he hardly needed to tempt fate, especially on moving day.

  So he was sitting on the top stair, the wood damp and badly in need of paint. He sat, learning the feel of the place. It was a dilapidated old Victorian manor done in the gothic revival style, a little run down, but Jason thought all it really needed was some tlc. Okay, it needed a lot of tlc, but that meant the place was cheap.

  It hadn't hurt that the former owner was in the loony bin. Her parents had given up on her ever getting out and were anxious to get rid of the place.

  His plan was to do all the restoration himself, taking the year off after finishing his degree in architecture. The place was big enough he could use one of the front rooms as his office and he couldn't think of a better advertisement for his skills in restoration and renovation than being able to present his own home. Sort of the architectural version of "you're soaking in it".

  It was situated, naturally enough, in an older neighborhood with big yards -- front and back -- and big old trees that had probably been around as long as the houses had. Most of the places had that old gracefully falling apart charm to them. His own was the worst, the others in various states from near perfect renovations to hodgepodges.

  It made him grin. Professor York would have been horrified by them, but he liked the way they looked, style and function and expense meeting somewhere in the middle.

  A breeze blew, making him shiver just a little despite his oversized sweatshirt -- it seemed cold for April. The porch swing set to rocking in the wind, the joints creaking creepily.

  All right, time to go inside and wait for the moving truck there.

  He fished his key out of his pocket and opened the screen door. He shook his head; the plain steel screen was an eyesore on the house. He'd take it off until he could build a proper replica.

  The main door was solid though. It would need to be stripped and painted, as would the rest of the house, but, aside from the extra modern lock, it was just as it would have been when the building enjoyed its heyday. His fingers slid along the heavy wood panel. It was cool and smooth. It made him wonder what other treasures he was going to find relatively unscathed within.

  He'd been through the house before of course, but hadn't been able to do more than give most things a cursory look, so as he stepped over the threshold, it was as if he was entering for the first time. It was certainly the first time on his own, and he could feel the mantle of that ownership settle around his shoulders as he gently closed the door behind him.

  The foyer was dark, the beautiful stained glass panels beside the doors boarded up, but the wood was rich and warm beneath the dust, the crystal light fixture mostly intact. There were doorways leading off into different sections of the house.

  The wall facing the door was papered in dilapidated red and gold wallpaper, but the ornate silver mirror, surrounded by coat hooks and topped with ornate carved violets, overwhelmed everything else. He was drawn to it, curious at the way it shone. He slid his finger along one side, eyebrows rising as it came away clean. There was no dust on the mirror. At all. It made him wonder why the mirror had been cleaned when so much of the rest of the place hadn't.

  A strong breeze blew through the foyer, the front door slamming open with a bang that shook the light fixture. It made him jump and he went back and looked outside. The truck wasn't there yet, the street looked quiet. Shrugging, he closed the door again and started to head toward the staircase that would take him to the tower room. He wanted a last look before the movers came, to confirm it was where he would set up his bedroom.

  The staircase had been repaired and replaced multiple times, but the iron railing was original, the curls and stylized violets still keeping their beauty. He bypassed the children's floor, with its lovely, feminine governess' suite, and continued up, shivering as the air grew colder and colder.

  The heating was supposed to have been updated, but he had a feeling he was going to have to work on it before fall rolled back around; he really wanted the tower room -- it appealed to the boy in him. The room was fascinating -- long, thin windows, French doors that opened up onto a third floor balcony. There were built-in shelves, a window seat with original carvings and a remarkable, locked roll-top desk.

  He might have made a noise, a cross between a whimper and a moan. He didn't know which to examine first, the window seat or the roll-top desk. He was hoping to find a key for the latter, he'd hate to have to destroy even a bit of it to open it.

  He still couldn't believe his luck.

  The house was groaning, creaking beneath his feet, protesting the sudden change of temperature. Surely it wasn't so cold outside as this. Any colder and he'd almost be able to see his breath. Perhaps he'd sleep in the master suite until the heating system was overhauled or the weather turned warmer.

  Another shiver went through
him and he decided the master suite was definitely the way to go. It wasn't like he had a lot of furniture anyway and it would be kind of nice to build some custom made stuff for this room, to fit the round walls, maybe a round bed to sit in the middle of the room.

  He stroked the desk one more time, leaving its mysteries for another day and headed back downstairs, sneezing from the dust by the time he reached the first floor landing. Odd, there hadn't been any dust at all on the desk.

  As he entered the west wing, he thought he heard a door slam shut, the sound definite and sharp.

  Old Victorians were supposed to be draughty, but really, this was a little ridiculous.

  The sound of Old Dixie came from the bell box by the front door and he frowned. That bell was the first thing he was going to rip out and replace.

  It didn't belong here.

  He headed for the door to let the movers in. Time to take proper possession of his new home.

  ***

  Jason decided to set up all his stuff in the master suite. It was pretty funny actually because, small as the rooms seemed compared to more modern buildings, there was still more space in the master suite here than he'd had in the one-room apartment he'd been renting near campus.

  It had suited him fine -- much of his time spent in classes, the library and roaming the streets, staring at architecture. When he was home he usually had his head buried in a book, glasses slipping off his nose. He'd rarely entertained, much to his mother's chagrin. He just wasn't interested in that kind of thing right now. His focus had been on his studies and now on his house.

  The bedroom itself held his futon bed, just barely big enough for his 6'1" frame, but he managed pretty well if he slept at an angle. He could keep it opened up as a bed full time now. The room only held two other items, his dresser and a side table he'd picked up at a garage sale that badly needed to be stripped and varnished. What had sold him on it was the violets carved onto the front of the little drawer. It could have been made for the house.

  There was a walk in closet that he knew would make his mother green with envy and it made him laugh to think that he could come up with something to make her want, that was usually reserved for her fellow socialites.

  It still had the original light fixtures in it, though they didn't work, shelves at the bottom and top, a built in wardrobe with a mirror along the back wall. He wasn't going to need his dresser if he decided to stay down here.

  There was a small stepping stool designed for climbing up and reaching the top shelves. He'd found a hatbox in the very back of the right hand shelf, complete with one lady's hat. It was dusty and bent, but he had a friend who could clean and reshape it. It would look pretty neat on a table in the main hall. For now, he put it back in its box in the closet.

  The closet turned out to be slightly bigger than the bathroom, but the water ran hot and cold, even if there wasn't a shower. Instead, there was a huge claw-footed tub that looked big enough even for him to be comfortable in. The sitting room of the master suite held his two arm chairs, near the fireplace, half facing each other, two bookshelves and his desk.

  The wallpaper in this room, like in most of the others, was in very bad shape, but it was the original, which would give him something to work with in finding replacements. There was a firm that specialized in custom-made wallpaper, he was going to give them a lot of business.

  Every room in the house had been done differently, only the violet theme carried throughout. Even the children's rooms above him carried the flower theme.

  The lights flickered. Again. The electricity was modern enough to make code, but it flickered enough to belong in a gothic manor such as this one. He'd have to have an electrician in as soon as possible to check on the wiring and effect whatever repairs were necessary.

  The only other room he was occupying at the moment was the kitchen, which seemed huge after the little kitchenette in his old place.

  As the lights dimmed and returned to full strength once again, he set his book and reading glasses down on the bedside table and turned off the lamp.

  Light from the street shone in. He had to decide if he would get temporary drapes or wait until he could have era pieces made up. He'd have to have Diane over soon -- she was going to love the place. She was going to love being given carte blanche even better. It would be worth it though -- he figured once they were both established they could give each other a fair bit of business.

  He'd have to explore the rest of the place thoroughly tomorrow. Who knew what other finds like the hatbox were just waiting for him?

  He'd wanted to do it today, but by the time all the furniture had been settled, his boxes unpacked, groceries bought and put away, he'd been too tired to explore more than the master suite.

  It was going to be a grand adventure.

  Chapter Two

  The next morning found him working his way through the house with a notebook and pen.

  The coatroom was temporarily for storage, his empty boxes and one or two full ones pushed against one wall. He wasn't sure what he was going to do with this room. Perhaps keep it for its original use. Out of all the rooms in the house, it would probably need the least amount of work -- it seemed that he wasn't the only one at a quandary as to exactly how to use the room, which was about twice the size of the closet in his room.

  The entrance hall didn't need much work either. The floors and woodwork would need to be cleaned and polished and the wall paper might not stand up to the light once he got the boards off the stained glass windows. He'd probably just put regular windows in for now and have the stained glass done later.

  He wanted a table on the left hand side, where he'd display the hat. He needed to find a tray for cards like there would have been when the house was enjoying its heyday. Antique stores always seemed to have several of the silver trays on hand, it would just be a matter of finding one that carried through the violet theme.

  Beyond the hall on the left side the swinging door had been removed. He seemed to remember there being a number of doors in the basement -- he'd have to see if any of them were originals. The west staircase, the formal sitting room, dining room and kitchen lay beyond the doorway.

  The sitting room would work very nicely as his office and he had a desk on reserve at McIver's Antiques, complete with secret drawers and an old high backed gentleman's desk chair. He was sure Diane could hook him up with some Tiffany lamps that carried the violet motif and he'd cruise the antique stores himself for a couple of client chairs.

  The fireplace in this room was boarded up, but he hoped it was still functional -- usually when folks just boarded them up they weren't gutted or closed down in any way and he hoped that was true here. There was nothing like a warm fire to give an old home warmth and atmosphere and the mantle over the one in the master suite was ornately carved with the violet theme. He had high hopes for this one as well. He'd wait to pry off the boarding though -- if he let himself get distracted there was no way he'd make a thorough inspection of the house today.

  The fireplace reminded him he had to call someone for wood this summer. He added that to his ever-growing list.

  The dinning room was completely empty, the wallpaper here badly ruined. It looked as if the original layer had been covered and then the extra layers stripped back down.

  There was a grand window seat in here though, the woodwork surrounding it ornate and lovely. It felt almost soft, so smooth beneath his fingertips, almost as if it were worn down by use instead of crafted that way.

  There were a lot of window seats in the house and he was going to deck each one out with cushions, make them comfortable and inviting to sit in.

  There was a window seat in the living room of his mother's house and he'd always loved sitting in it, curled up with a book or his homework, or just watching the world go by. More often than not he'd be shooed out of it. "What will the neighbors think?" What the neighbors would think had always been a prime motivator in his mother's life.

  The west stair
case was quite wide as it led to what used to be a ballroom and had to accommodate the grand dresses ladies had enjoyed back in the house's heyday. It had an ornate balustrade that of course had violets carved in. In contrast, the kitchen staircase was narrow and dark, no doubt used only by the servants and perhaps the children. Certainly, none of the guests would ever see it and so no attempt would have been made to dress it up.

  The kitchen itself had a lovely nook where the cook or cook's assistant would sleep. He decided a table and some chairs would turn the space into a friendly little breakfast nook. One of the former residents had already put in windows, which were currently boarded up. There was an absolutely huge fireplace in the kitchen, which would have kept the dining room warm in the winter, as well as the ballroom above. It was currently boarded up as well. He'd obviously be spending a lot of time clearing areas of plywood.

  There was a door in the kitchen as well, that let you out at the side of the house. Jason figured that the neighbors right next to the house were on what used to be Ogletree land. In fact there would have likely been a small stable there, for the Ogletrees were quite high society and would have wanted to be able to house their guests' horses.

  He made his way up the stairs, eager to explore the second floor as thoroughly as he had the first. They creaked as old wooden stairs were wont to do and he laughed at himself as his imagination played tricks on him, making it sound like someone was coming up the stairs behind him. He even looked back a couple of times and laughed again.

  The old ballroom had been split up into three fairly small rooms that were quite plain and ordinary. The walls would need to come down so that the ballroom could be restored to its former glory. In fact, one of the rooms was quite small and he could see that they'd covered the fireplace up and begun the wall where it ended, losing at least two feet of space. His guess was that this fireplace was huge and perhaps quite a showpiece. He was actually quite lucky that none of the fireplaces seemed to have been gutted and bricked up. Boarding them over was obviously a quicker and cheaper solution.