The Guests on South Battery (Tradd Street #5)(89)
“It’s sad to think all this is gone,” I said. “Not just the house, but most of the people; the memories. It’s almost like none of it ever existed.”
“It is sad,” Sophie said, stacking more albums in one of the boxes. “It’s how I feel when I find an abandoned or dilapidated old house. How can a structure that was a family’s home for more than a century suddenly become obsolete? Especially when so much is left behind—personal items, even. As if they’ve simply been erased.”
I handed her the last album, catching sight of the year embossed on the spine—1985. “Hang on. I think we skipped one. The last one I gave you was 1983. Where’s 1984?”
Sophie began shifting the albums, reading aloud all the years from the spines. “Nineteen eighty-two, eighty-three, eighty-five.” She turned to the other box and did the same thing, reading out consecutive years from 1960 through 1979. “It’s not here. Hang on.” She moved to the armoire and knelt in front just as I had, and stuck her hands in the dark corners to make sure I hadn’t missed any. “Empty,” she said, frowning. “I wonder what happened to it.”
“Maybe it wasn’t with the rest when Button brought all of them from the lake house. Which is sad because if it was left behind it’s gone forever. Just like that beautiful house.”
“Not necessarily,” Sophie said as she folded up the box flaps. “The architectural plans still exist, so it’s possible it could be rebuilt somewhere else if anybody is so inclined. I was at the Historic Foundation archives with my students working on another project, and decided to see what I could find out about Hasell Architecture and Construction. That hidden staircase and door were not designed by amateurs. I’m curious as to their provenance. Jayne’s allowing me to use the restoration as a project for my grad students, and it’s an important detail.”
She straightened and handed me a box before picking up the other. She led me down the stairs while she spoke. “Most, if not all, of the company’s records are there—including blueprints for many of the buildings they designed and restored.”
“And?” I said, my muscles straining as I reached the landing, aware again of being watched. There was definitely more than one presence; I could sense the tug-of-war going on along the periphery of my vision. I rested the box on the banister, trying to get an impression of whether it was safe to continue. I took a step and paused, suddenly awash in the awareness that I was being kept safe. From what and by whom, I wasn’t sure. I reached the foyer and dropped my box on top of Sophie’s, trying to pretend I wasn’t out of breath.
“Anyway,” Sophie continued, without even a hint that she’d just carried a heavy box down a flight of stairs, “Anna’s name was prominent on many of the designs. Meaning it was truly a family business, and her father wasn’t pandering to her by putting her name on the letterhead. I mean, she did have an architecture degree, so it makes sense. But that was the early seventies—and design and construction was definitely still very much a man’s world.”
I worried my lip for a moment, thinking. “So Anna would have had the knowledge needed to design the hidden door in the attic once the staircase was discovered.”
Sophie nodded in agreement. “Not to mention the door into the butler’s pantry—it’s pretty sophisticated the way it opens and closes so that it’s seamless. The old steps continue past the cement wall, which makes me believe that they were definitely used to get to the outside once upon a time and the entrance into the butler’s pantry was added later.”
“Was there an earlier door leading from the attic to the old set of steps?”
“Definitely. It’s apparent from looking at the studs that a larger opening once existed and then must have been closed off when the lower level was filled in and the steps didn’t lead anywhere anymore. It would make sense that both the new hidden attic door and the butler’s pantry access were put in at the same time, and since Anna was in the business, she probably knew a painter who could replicate the mural Sumter had painted so no one was the wiser about the hidden stairway.”
“But why go to all that trouble? It’s the same number of steps if you take the hidden stairs or the attic stairs.”
Her eyes met mine. “Exactly what I was wondering. And the only answer I can come up with is that whoever put them in—and I’m assuming it was Anna or at least on her instructions—did so to keep their comings and goings a secret.”
“That makes no sense. Anna was Hasell’s mother, in charge of her care, so of course she went up and down from the attic room often.”
“Unless . . .” Sohie said, then stopped.
“Unless what?”
“Unless she was trying to hide the comings and goings of somebody else.”
I frowned. “But who? It would help if I could speak with either Anna or Hasell. They’re both here—now. I feel them. And I think I could see them if they wanted me to—nothing’s being blocked like before. But one of them doesn’t want to be seen, and the other is protecting me.”
“Protecting you?”
I nodded. “I have no idea from what, but I definitely get that feeling.”
Sophie nudged the boxes with her foot. “Let’s get these to my car.”