Page 44 of Blackthorn
Prying out the secrets of the Aerie proved more vexing than anticipated. Novels, especially the frothy, overly dramatic ones Solenne favored, made it seem so easy. Histories, which Charlotte preferred, were written after the fact and were hardly instruction manuals. Still, she reasoned that she had a natural curiosity, so she never struggled to speak with a stranger. However, directing the flow of the conversation to tease out information in a natural manner while remaining undetected was a struggle.
Either Charlotte completely failed in her subterfuge, or the denizens of the Aerie were completely loyal to Draven. It was admirable that no one would gossip about the vampire’s business.
Admirable and frustrating. The Seventh Evil and other novels of its ilk misled her.
Regardless, Charlotte was not so easily deterred. She had not traveled across the civilized and uncivilized parts of the known world to be thwarted by a lack of tittle-tattle and poor guidance from gothic novels. She was a historian. She excelled at digging up clues from the past in dusty tomes.
First, research. She scouted the physical layout of the Aerie. Done. Next, she needed to understand the social forces within the Aerie. To do that, she learned names and faces.
Orianne proved surprisingly helpful. She appeared to be friendly with almost everyone. She introduced Charlotte to Philip, the head cook. Jane also worked in the kitchen, along with Mary, Hattie, and Martin. Between the lot of them, they kept the Aerie fed. Charlotte wouldn’t have called the cuisine astounding, it tended toward blandness, but it was hearty and plentiful.
Then there was the curious incident with the handsome young man who left Orianne tongue-tied, but Charlotte wasn’t a gossip. A woman was allowed to admire a pleasing face.
Jane—another Jane, not to be confused with Kitchen Jane—kept the greenhouses running.
“You’ll ruin your fine dress,” she warned Charlotte, who currently kneeled to inspect a leafy green specimen.
Charlotte straightened, shaking out the bit of dirt that the hem of her dress collected. The pungent aroma of mint clung to her fingers where she touched the leaves. “Thank you for your concern, but I’ve lived in the country. I’m not frightened of a little mud.”
Charlotte enjoyed the greenhouse, perched at the top of the Aerie and exposed to the winter sky. The structure kept the air warm and humid enough that plants grew even as snow-laden wind howled. Practical plants filled the greenhouse, rows and rows of green vegetables and medicinal herbs. Not an ornamental flower in sight.
Charlotte had never much considered what grew in a greenhouse, despite having one at Vervain. Flowers, she assumed, although she had difficulty believing that her late husband cared about decorating his house with fresh flowers all year long. She never visited the structure and neither the groundskeeper nor housekeeper had asked for her guidance.
The only negative she could say about the greenhouse was the looming presence of Lord Draven’s tower. Stark gray, the tower nearly blended with the miserable winter sky. Windows were dark, creating the impression of a half-dozen eyes watching.
The tower was another thing about the Aerie that did not make sense. Such a structure would, if Charlotte recalled correctly from her readings of Old Earth architecture, be used for observation and defense. Yet no one entered the tower. Ever.
Lord Draven’s private rooms, then. Again, no one entered or left the tower. Surely servants would come and go, keeping the tower in pristine condition for the lord of the, well she didn’t want to say manor, but that was the general idea. From just a week of residing in the Aerie, Charlotte had an inkling of the constant labor required to keep the fortress running. Some of the lower levels were neglected and worse for wear, true, but Lord Draven’s private rooms? Impossible.
The tower—and whatever mysteries held within—remained locked. Stringer’s key weighed heavily in her pocket, but she resisted temptation. He had said she was free to go anywhere but she had no good reason to poke around his rooms, other than burning curiosity. It would be rude, after all.
There was plenty to explore and learn. She did not need to violate the vampire’s personal space. Her husband would come to her when he was ready.
Charlotte turned her attention to the greenhouse and her back to the tower, determined to ignore the prickly sensation of being watched.
Jane, a gardener—horticulturist?—tolerated her endless questions with good humor and patience during her daily visits. Today Jane smiled amiably as she stripped off her gloves and stuffed them in an apron pocket. “What are your questions today?”
“I do not have a list, but I was curious about the medicinal plants. I recognize a few, but there are some I do not know.” Charlotte was hardly an expert, but she had foraged with Solenne often enough to spot the most common plants.
“Not surprising.” Jane waved for Charlotte to follow and disappeared down a crowded, leafy aisle. She stopped in front of a short plant with thick, fleshy green leaves. The leaves were smooth but a ridge ran along the side with a serrated edge. “This is an aloe vera plant, and you’ll only find them here.”
“It looks fearsome.”
“It’s harmless.” She ran a finger down the edge to demonstrate. “They’re succulents, so they hold water, and the inside is a gel. It’s useful for moisturizers and ointments.”
“Fascinating.” Charlotte crouched down to have a closer look. “I have a friend who would give her right arm for a cutting.”
“Ah, I’m afraid I can’t help you there. Lord Draven will not allow any of the unique specimens to leave the Aerie.”
“If it’s medicinal, surely it should be shared.”
Jane shrugged her shoulders, implying it was a problem beyond her control. “We trade aloe vera gel, not the plant itself.”
“Understood.” Next time she visited the greenhouse, she’d have to bring a notebook to make a sketch for Solenne.
Jane enthusiastically showed Charlotte the Aerie’s other rare plants, taking clippings as she went. The pineapple was particularly intriguing with its spiky shell and thick frond on top. Apparently, the inner flesh contained an enzyme that tingled the mouth when eaten because it broke down proteins. Orianne followed, a silent companion.
Charlotte collected specimens as they went. Milk thistle had broad white leaves with green spotting and a fluffy purple bloom. The seeds of the castor bean plant could be made into a useful oil.