Serafina and the Black Cloak (13 page)

His aunt and uncle lived in a world of extravagant parties, but from a distance, Braeden seemed to find more accomplishment in riding a horse or repairing the wing of a wounded hawk than dancing
with the girls at the resplendent proms. She remembered prowling around outside the windows of the Winter Garden when it was all lit up for a ball one summer’s eve. She watched the girls in
their lovely gowns sashaying this way and that, dancing with the boys, and drinking sparkling punch from a giant fountain in the center of the room. She’d always wanted to be one of those
girls in a fancy dress and shiny shoes. She remembered listening to the orchestra play and the people talking and laughing. Crouched down in the shadow beneath the windows, she could look over and
see the silent gaze of the stone lions guarding the front doors of the house.

She didn’t know how Braeden felt about her, but there was one thing for sure: she was
different
. Different from any girl he had seen before. She had no idea whether that fixed her
as friend or enemy, but it was
something
.

It was the middle of the night now, and she knew that she should sleep, but she wasn’t tired. The day hadn’t left her exhausted. It had exhilarated her. Suddenly, the entire world
was different than it had been the day before. She’d never felt so alive in her life. There were so many questions, so many mysteries to solve. She kept praying that somehow, some way,
despite everything she had seen, Clara, Nolan, and Anastasia were still alive, and she could save them. She wanted to go outside and hunt through the woods in search of clues about the Man in the
Black Cloak.

But she decided to stay where she was, content to remain curled up beside Braeden.

After a while, it began to rain a heavy rain, and she listened to the sound of it on the leaves of the trees and the roof of the carriage, and she thought it was a perfect sound.

Her eyes and ears open, she vowed that if the Man in the Black Cloak came again that night, she’d be ready.

W
hen Serafina awoke the next morning, the gentle rays of the rising sun filtered through the carriage window, bathing her and Braeden in a soft
golden light. Braeden slept soundly beside her. Gidean lay at their feet, quiet and restful.

Suddenly, the dog raised his head and perked his ears. Then she heard the sound as well: trotting horses, turning wheels, the rattle of approaching carriages…

She sprang up. She didn’t know whether the carriages were bringing friends or enemies, but either way, she didn’t want to be seen. If she stayed in the carriage, she was trapped; she
needed space to watch, to move, to fight.

She hated to leave him, but she touched Braeden on the shoulder. “Wake up. Someone’s here.”

Then she slipped out of the carriage and darted into the forest before he had even awoken.

Hiding in the bushes and trees some distance into the undergrowth, she watched Braeden and Gidean exit the carriage. Braeden rubbed his eyes in the sunlight and looked around for her, obviously
wondering where she’d disappeared to.

“Over here! I found the carriage!” a man shouted as he climbed through the branches of the tree that had fallen across the road. Several carriages and a dozen men on horseback had
come from Biltmore in search of Braeden. As the gang of men went to work with great two-man saws and lumber axes to hack away the tree, Mr. Vanderbilt climbed his way through the branches, crossed
over the fallen trunk, and hurried toward Braeden.

“Thank God you’re safe,” he said, his voice filled with emotion as they embraced.

Braeden was obviously glad and relieved to see his uncle. “Thank you for coming for me.”

As they separated, Braeden pressed back his sleep-ruffled hair with his hands and scanned the trees. Then he looked toward the carriages and rescuers.

She knew he was looking for her, but she had hidden herself like a creature in the woods. She felt like a wild animal there, beneath the leaves of the rhododendrons and the mountain laurel. The
forest wasn’t something she feared, like she had the night before. It was her concealment, her protector.

“Tell me what happened, Braeden,” Mr. Vanderbilt said, seeming to sense Braeden’s anxiety.

“We were attacked in the night,” Braeden said, his voice ragged and his face splotchy with emotion. “Nolan was taken. He’s gone. Mr. Crankshod disappeared right when the
battle started, and hasn’t shown up since.”

Mr. Vanderbilt frowned in confusion. He put his hand on Braeden’s shoulder and turned him toward the gang of workers cutting through the tree and clearing the road. In addition to the
servants, Serafina recognized a dozen other men from the house, including Mr. Bendel, Mr. Thorne, and Mr. Brahms. She let out a small gasp. There was Mr. Crankshod, working among them.

“Mr. Crankshod said a group of bandits attacked,” Mr. Vanderbilt said. “He fended them off, but when he attempted to pursue them, he became separated from the carriage and
decided it was best to head back to Biltmore as fast as possible to fetch help. I was furious he’d left you, but in the end, he was the one who led us here to you, so maybe he was right to do
what he did.”

Serafina saw Braeden look at Mr. Crankshod in surprise. The ugly man looked right back at him, his eyes betraying nothing.

“I’m not sure it was bandits, Uncle,” Braeden said uncertainly. “I only saw one attacker. A man in a black cloak. He took Nolan. I’ve never seen anything like it.
Nolan just vanished.”

“We’ll send a mounted search party up and down this road until we find the boy,” Mr. Vanderbilt said, “but in the meantime, I want to get you back to the
house.”

As Braeden and Mr. Vanderbilt spoke, Serafina watched Mr. Crankshod. She wondered what the old rat was up to. Something wasn’t right with him. He hadn’t fought any bandits. He had
simply disappeared. And now here he was again with a crooked tale of his own heroism.

The only good news was that it seemed like he hadn’t spilled the grits about her existence to Mr. Vanderbilt. Was Crankshod a hero? A villain? Or was he nothing more than a common
rat-faced coward? She looked around at Mr. Vanderbilt, Mr. Crankshod, and the other men. She was beginning to see how difficult it was to determine who was good and who was bad, who she could trust
and who she had to watch out for. Every person was a hero in his own mind, fighting for what he thought was right, or just fighting to survive another day, but no one thought they were evil.

Gidean wasn’t so forgiving. He charged toward Mr. Crankshod right away and started barking and snarling at him.
Maybe dogs really can smell fear,
Serafina thought.
Or at least
cowardliness…
It didn’t look like Gidean was actually going to bite Mr. Crankshod, but he wasn’t going to let him off without a good barking-to. The other men watched in
amusement, but Mr. Crankshod was none too pleased by the dog’s attention.

“Oh, shut up, you stupid mutt!” Mr. Crankshod shouted, and raised his arms to strike the dog with his ax.

Braeden and Serafina were too far away to help, but Mr. Thorne clamped his hand onto Mr. Crankshod’s arm and stopped him mid-blow. “Don’t be a fool, Crankshod.”

“Aw, what the…Just keep that mangy cur away from me,” Mr. Crankshod grumbled and stomped away.

Braeden ran over to Gidean and Mr. Thorne. “Oh, thank you, sir, thank you so much.”

“It’s good to see you’re all right, young master Vanderbilt,” Mr. Thorne said cheerfully, patting Braeden’s shoulder with his leather-gloved hand. “Sounds
like you’ll have some big stories to tell everyone at dinner tonight about your adventure through the forest.”

“Did you see anyone else when you arrived?” Braeden asked him, still holding Gidean but looking around again for Serafina.

“Not to worry,” Mr. Thorne said. “Those yellow-bellied sorts aren’t the type of men to stick around after an attack. I’m sure they’re long gone by
now.”

Despite his reassuring words, Serafina noticed that he was wearing an elegant dagger on his belt and wondered if he had half expected to encounter the bandits himself.

“I’m sure you’re right, Mr. Thorne,” Mr. Vanderbilt said, shaking his head angrily as he walked up to them. “But it’s hard to believe that bandits would
venture such a brazen attack so close to Biltmore. I’m going to ask the police to increase their patrols of the road.”

Braeden didn’t seem to be listening to much of any of this. He just kept looking out into the trees. Serafina wanted to let him know she was all right, but she couldn’t let all those
men see her, and she definitely didn’t want to have to explain who she was or why she had been in the carriage with Braeden, so she stayed quiet and out of sight.

Braeden squatted down and put his hands on Gidean, who was looking out into the trees in her direction. “Can you smell her, boy?” he whispered.

“What are you doing?” Mr. Vanderbilt asked gruffly.

Braeden stood, knowing that he’d been caught out.

“Who are you looking for, Braeden?” Mr. Vanderbilt asked him.

Serafina sucked in her breath. That was the question she had been dreading. Who was Braeden looking for? This is where her and her pa’s secret would come out. Braeden’s answer to his
uncle’s question had the power to destroy her life.

When Braeden hesitated, Mr. Vanderbilt frowned. “What do you have to say, Braeden? Spit it out.”

Braeden didn’t want to lie to his uncle, but he shook his head and looked at the ground. “Nothing,” he said.

Serafina breathed a sigh of relief. He’d kept his promise. He wasn’t going to tell.
Thank you, Braeden. Thank you,
she thought, but then his uncle lit into him.

“You’ve got to buck up, son,” Mr. Vanderbilt said. “You’re twelve years old now, and that’s plenty old enough to handle yourself properly. Don’t be
scared of what’s going on here. You’ve got to take charge of yourself. Be a man. We’re only dealing with bandits here, thieves.”

“I don’t think it was bandits,” Braeden said again.

“Of course it was. This is nothing a Vanderbilt can’t handle. Do you agree?”

“Yes, sir,” Braeden said glumly, looking at the ground. “Just hungry, I guess.”

Mr. Thorne stepped in to rescue him. “Well then, by all means, let’s get some food in you,” he said enthusiastically, putting his arm around Braeden. “Come on, I raided
the kitchen on my way out. I brought a sack full of pulled-pork sandwiches, and if that doesn’t suit, we’ll dig right into the raspberry spoon bread.”

Braeden glanced one more time into the forest, then turned and followed Mr. Thorne.

Serafina desperately wanted to give poor Braeden some clue that she was out there and that she was safe. If she had been any other kind of girl, she would have left some sort of token for him
when she left, a signal of their connection—perhaps a silver locket, a lace handkerchief, or a charm from her bracelet—but she was a wild girl and didn’t have any of those
possessions to give.

As the men gathered around Braeden, happy and relieved that they’d found him, Serafina noticed Mr. Rostonov, the bearded and portly Russian ambassador, step away from the others and stand
alone at the edge of the road. Braeden had told her that Mr. Rostonov didn’t know English too well. The poor man gazed tearfully into the forest, as if wondering whether his dear Anastasia
had been murdered by what lurked in its shadows. He took out a handkerchief, wiped his eyes, and blew his nose. Braeden had said that Mr. Rostonov and his daughter were only scheduled to stay at
Biltmore Estate for a few days before they returned home to their family in Russia in time for Christmas. But when Anastasia disappeared, he had stayed on, continuing the search for her. Mr.
Rostonov couldn’t bear the thought of returning home to his wife without his daughter. Back over by the carriages, some of the men went over to Mr. Crankshod, who was still put out by the
incident with the dog, and thanked him for leading the search party to Braeden. But there was something about Crankshod, all smiling and greasy, that raised Serafina’s hackles. What was he
really
doing? Where was he when the Man in the Black Cloak attacked? Did he work for him? Or was he him?

She looked suspiciously at Mr. Vanderbilt, too. She didn’t like the way he was so tough on Braeden, telling him what to do and not to do and how to feel. He had no idea what Braeden had
been through. He didn’t listen any better than her pa, and he seemed far too quick to accept Mr. Crankshod’s story that it had been bandits.

Braeden had said that his aunt and uncle had secretly sent him away for the night, so few people would have known he was going to be on the road at that time. And he had said that his uncle
trusted Mr. Crankshod. Were they working together?

She tried to think it through. Was it really possible that Mr. Vanderbilt was the Man in the Black Cloak? Did he have some terrible need to swallow up
all
the children at Biltmore?

After the men cleared the second tree from the road, those who weren’t continuing on to search for Nolan climbed back into the carriages. The coachmen began the intricate task of turning
all the carriages around in the tight quarters of the narrow road so that they could head back to Biltmore Estate.