The formality of registering and paying six months rent in advance took only a few minutes. When they were done, Kate led the way back down the hall to the stairs.
“There is an elevator. It was put in years ago, and it’s pokey, but if you’d prefer to use it we can.”
“That’s okay. I don’t mind the stairs.”
At the base, the stairway was at least ten feet wide, with massive, hand-carved newel posts and spindles. Six steps up, at a wide landing, the stairs split and turned at ninety-degree angles, one flight going right, the other left.
Kate took the flight of stairs to the right, continuing her spiel as they climbed, but J.T. listened with only half an ear. He was too busy studying the stained-glass mural that made up the outer wall of the next landing.
It depicted a woman in eighteenth-century dress strolling through a garden, carrying a basket full of freshly cut flowers. J.T. darted a quick look over his shoulder and spotted a companion stained-glass mural on the opposite landing of a gentleman astride a white horse. Light streamed in through both windows, bathing the entire stairwell in shafts of rainbow hues that created an almost surreal atmosphere.
To have the enormous pieces commissioned, then hauled up to this remote mountain town by horse and wagon must have cost old Elijah a mint, J.T. mused in awe, craning his neck for one last look as he followed Kate up the next section of stairs.
“Excluding the servants’ quarters on the third floor, the house has ten bedrooms. I rent eight of them to guests.”
Which leaves one available for your brother whenever he decides to drop in, J.T. thought.
“Originally there were fourteen bedrooms on this floor, but four had to be sacrificed when the house was remodeled around 1910 to add bathrooms.”
“Fourteen bedrooms, huh. That’s a lot, even for a millionaire.”
“Not really. The Smithsons had a large family. There were already three children when the house was built and eight more were born after they moved in.”
Kate stopped outside a door at the end of the hall. “Since you’re the only guest, you may have your choice of rooms, but I think this one will best suit your needs.” Opening the door, she led the way inside.
“As you can see, being a corner room, it is quite large, and there’s a desk in the alcove that you may use. There’s also a private bathroom right through that door. The fixtures are antique but you’ll find the plumbing is sound.”
“I’m sure it’ll do fine.”
Kate stayed just inside the door as J.T. strolled to the center of the room. He looked around, impressed with the room’s size and immaculate condition. Even though heavy emerald-green velvet draped the four tall windows on the two outer walls, plenty of light streamed in through the lace panels that covered the panes.
The cabbage-rose wallpaper and the rose-patterned rug covering most of the oak floor were not to J.T.’s taste, but they were in keeping with the Victorian structure. So was the massive antique furniture. It was all right, he supposed, but not something he’d choose for himself.
Then the bed caught his eye, and he instantly revised his opinion. The thing was magnificent. The mahogany headboard stood at least eight feet tall and the footboard three and a half or four. Both were intricately carved. The mattress looked bigger than the king-size bed he’d just put into storage and was almost as high as his waist. For someone Kate’s size the small set of wooden steps beside the bed would be a necessity.
“Wow. Now that’s what I call a bed.”
“It belonged to Mr. Smithson,” Kate explained. “He was a big man. I believe he had it custom-made. It does have a new mattress, though. I’m sure you’ll find it comfortable.”
“No wonder he had eleven children.” J.T. sent Kate a flirtatious glance and winked. “A bed like that would inspire any man.”
To his amusement, the talk of beds seemed to make her uncomfortable. Color bloomed in her cheeks, though she held her head high and pretended to be unaffected.
“The closet is small, I’m afraid. They were added at the same time as the bathrooms, but between it and the armoire, I think you’ll have adequate space for your clothes.”
“I’m sure they’ll do fine.” He watched her fidget and struggle to cover her discomfort. Well, well, well. So Ms. Kate Mahoney was uncomfortable with the subject of sex, was she? Now that was a puzzle worth looking into.
He judged her to be in her late twenties. Most women her age were experienced and worldly and would have barely noticed the mild innuendo.
“Good. Then I’ll leave you to get settled.” She started to leave, then turned back. “Oh, by the way, Mr. Conway—”
“Please, call me J.T. We’re going to be sharing this house for the next six months, so I think we can dispense with formality, don’t you?” he said, giving her a coaxing smile.
An appalled look flashed over her face before she could control it. Obviously, the lady would prefer to keep a safe distance between them. The question was, why?
J.T. watched her frantically grope for a reason to refuse the suggestion and saw the instant when she realized there was nothing she could say without sounding like a stiff-necked prig. “Very well. If you insist.”
“As I was about to say, meals are served in the dining room. Breakfast is at eight, lunch at one and dinner at seven.”
“Okay. But if I don’t show up, go ahead without me. When I’m working and it’s going well, I don’t stop for anything.”
“But, you have to eat.…”
“Don’t worry about me. Just stick whatever you’ve prepared in the fridge and I’ll zap it in the microwave later.”
Kate looked horrified by the suggestion. He watched her struggle with the idea, but finally she nodded. “Very well,” she said, making no attempt to hide her disapproval. “If that’s what you wish.”
She turned again to leave, but he stopped her.
“Actually, I don’t like to be disturbed at anytime when I’m working. So if the sign is out,” he said, pointing to the small needlepoint Do Not Disturb sign hanging from the inside doorknob, “I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t knock on my door except in case of an emergency.”
“I clean the room every morning. How am I supposed to do that if I can’t get inside?”
“Don’t worry about it. I sure won’t. You can muck out when I come up for air.”
“Mr. Con—” One of J.T.’s eyebrows shot skyward, and she grimaced. “That is…J.T., the Alpine Rose has built a reputation on excellent service, good food and spotless accommodations. Guests don’t “zap” their own food nor are rooms allowed to get into a state where they require ‘mucking out.”’
“Don’t worry, your reputation is safe. I won’t tell anyone if you don’t.”
She didn’t look pleased, but after a moment she sighed. “Very well, if you insist. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”
When she had gone, J.T. stared at the closed door, his expression thoughtful. Kate Mahoney was not at all what he had expected.
His mouth twisted ruefully the instant the thought ran through his mind. He wasn’t supposed to “expect” anything. He was a reporter. He was supposed to approach an investigative assignment unbiased, with no preconceived ideas or opinions. True, he wasn’t there to get a story, but he wanted to apply the same fairness.
The trouble was he was finding it wasn’t quite so easy to hold to that ethical standard when the matter was personal.
J.T.