She shook her head. “I should.”
“It would be nice to know what happened. Callaway was once a respected name.”
“You don’t know? I thought you would have been able to see.”
“It doesn’t work that way. I get impressions, not the detailed history.”
“I know there was a gambling debt, and I know Gran’s husband died in World War Two. I don’t know why she opened Callaway House as mistress hotel. I’m sure her husband must have rolled in his grave.”
Caspian glanced at the fancy ceiling and the old-fashioned light fitting that had been converted to electricity. “Something went wrong. And I’m sure it wasn’t an easy choice.”
Lydia followed his gaze. “You don’t see what I do. I grew up here and took it all for granted. I thought all houses were like this, full of art and chandeliers.”
He laughed before he could help himself. “My brother and I shared a room. We had linoleum on the kitchen floor and green kitchen counters. Our house would’ve fit in here three times.”
She raised one eyebrow. “You weren’t that poor.”
“I never thought we were. Everyone I knew lived the same way. When I was in high school we moved to a bigger house. My parents still live there.”
“You see them often?”
“Not as often as I should.” He wanted to see them in case all the fairy stuff went pear-shaped, but on the other hand he didn’t want to bring Shea to their door. That would be a shock his mother wouldn’t forgive him for.
His mother had a fear of all things fairy so he’d stopped mentioning anything he saw after she’d been horrified by his gift. For a while he’d tried to suppress and ignore it. But he couldn’t. It had been easier to learn how to manage it and mold it than pretend it didn’t exist. He was sure his mom knew that he used it daily in his business but she never said anything. She’d been there during the divorce. His dad had put his hand on Caspian’s shoulder and told him, Son, bad things happen to good people. Don’t be scared to try again.
He’d never managed to follow that piece of advice. And until now he hadn’t wanted to. But Lydia was tempting him to walk the paths he’d sworn never to take again. In her arms he believed he could love again. He brushed a strand of hair off her face, unable to resist touching her and yet knowing that if he didn’t step away soon he’d get nothing done. And as much as he enjoyed being here, it would be simpler if he wasn’t working here.
“I should get to work. A bit left in the stable, and then I’ll have a look in the attic.”
“Then that’s it except for the cabins.” She sounded disappointed, as if she wasn’t sure she’d ever see him again once he’d finished the job.
They looked at each other for several heartbeats. Then he stepped forward and kissed her. She didn’t have any idea what this meant to him. She knew what he was and wasn’t afraid. He wasn’t about to give her up. Her lips moved against his, tempting and teasing, but if he stopped to play now he wouldn’t get any work done. Slowly he broke the kiss and they drew apart.
Her tongue traced her lower lip as if considering the same thing he was thinking. Forget working and dinner—there were other things to do. And he wondered how long it had been since she’d had a boyfriend. There were so many things he didn’t know about her.
She gave a little sigh as if reluctant to do the right thing. “Okay then, I’ll let you get on with it.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Find out how the mistress hotel started.”
He picked up his satchel ready to go out the back. “Will you tell me over dinner?”
“Maybe.” She grinned, then walked away. He watched her hips sway then followed her down the corridor wishing he didn’t have to spend a few hours working before relaxing upstairs with Lydia.
Fortunately much of the stable was filled with junk, the same as most people’s basements. Just because it was old didn’t make it valuable junk—a lot of people came to his shop thinking old equaled valuable. They often thought he was trying to rip them off.
He locked the stable door, knowing if Lydia sold she was going to have to make the decision about whether to keep or discard. Just because it wasn’t valuable didn’t mean there wasn’t sentimental value. There were old dolls in a box that had probably belonged to Lydia’s mother. While he’d found a brush with a tarnished mirrored back, it wasn’t the Window. It would have been much easier to find if he could sense it… but then all fairies would have been able to and it would have fallen into a Grey’s hands long ago.
Lydia stuck her head out the back door. “Pizza is here.”
“Okay, I’m done.” He went in and washed his hands.
They ate at the table that had seen many morning afters and a few rendezvous. He tried not to think about what people had done on the table as he ate. Across from him Lydia concentrated on her food.
“I opened the second trunk. You might want to log the crystal, plates, and silver candle holders.”
He glanced at the trunk, now closed, hopefully. “What else was in there?”
“A wedding dress.”
“She packed away her dress and wedding presents?”
Lydia nodded and picked up a photo she’d hidden on the seat. It was beautifully framed. The couple smiled surrounded by the bridal party. She handed it to him and he braced for the flood of memories. The stronger the emotion the greater the residual impression. The first ones were of great sadness and tears as everything was packed away, anger lingered underneath, but beneath that there was great joy.
He put the picture on the table so they could both see Nanette Callaway. “Have you solved the mystery?”
She nodded and swallowed what she’d been eating. “While most people know that Callaway House was making liquor during Prohibition, that isn’t the full story. The reason Mr. Callaway Senior got involved in liquor was because he liked to gamble. The debt was huge apparently and his son inherited it with the house. Apparently old Charleston blood doesn’t forgive and forget some debts. Which was fine while he was alive and earning an officer’s salary.”
“But once he died—”
“Gran either had to give up the house to pay the debt or find a way to keep going.”
Caspian frowned. “Why didn’t she sell?” Surely that was the easy option.
“The house was all she had left of her husband and child. Their little daughter died while he was away fighting. She couldn’t give up the only home she’d known, the place that still held their memories.”
“The outbuildings had already been sold?” Caspian asked.
Lydia nodded. “Callaway Senior sold them along with some of the land. This used to be a proper farm. What my grandfather inherited was a reduced property and a big debt. Gran was working in a factory to help with the war, barely getting by and someone—she doesn’t say who, just calls him the doctor—asked if she’d be willing to let his friend stay. Of course she knew what he as asking, but she saw the opportunity. Soon there were half a dozen women here. The men coming out to spend their weekends partying and playing.”
“And no one said anything?”
Lydia shook her head. “Rich men had mistresses and stashing them out here away from town made it easy. Gran took board and lodging money and also put on the parties. That was when the poets, painters, and musicians got involved.”
“Ah, and then its reputation really took off.”
She grinned. “And then some. Apparently they had to turn people away because the house was too full.”
“Did she pay the debt off?”
“Yep. By then she had an established business as a mistress hotel and a bit of an exclusive club.”