Wildest Dreams (Fantasyland #1)(14)

A big, fluffy couch and two deep-seated fluffy chairs with ottomans, all turned to the biggest fireplace. A sturdy desk with chair behind it in a corner. Handsome tables here and there as well as some tall candleholders. It was all rustic, hunting-cabin chic but it looked well-made and definitely comfortable… if cleaned.

I then climbed the ladder and, moving around the loft stooped, which was the only way I could for the ceiling was so low, I saw it had three windows (two either side of the small, stone fireplace that had an iron grate at the front to catch sparks) and one at the side facing the back, all grimy, all with heavy, short curtains. It also had a fluffy, down mattress on the floor covered with a sheet I yanked off and I saw it also had four fluffy down pillows. Last, it had a heavy curtain that ran on a rail the length of the space in front of a short railing, likely to ward off the chill from the bigger space and keep in the heat from the fire.

Bent double, I stared at the bed. Then I thought of crawling into it. Then I wondered about the light, how long the days were here and how I would most assuredly not want to pass out, sleep the day away and be in this loft in this stinking house in the dark without having at least set up the candles and probably be, by that time, ravenous instead of what I was right then, starving.

Not to mention, I had two open fires burning downstairs.

I sucked in breath.

Then I muttered, “I’m never telling Claudia any of this.”

Then I went to the ladder and down to see if I could unearth any cleaning supplies.

* * * * *

There were, indeed, cleaning supplies in the back of a cupboard in the kitchen (if one could call them that, but there was soap, what I took as parallel universe dish towels and rags which weren’t much different from each other but the towels were slightly finer material and definitely cleaner and I found a broom and mop on the back porch).

Therefore, hours and hours and hours later, the sun had long since set (way early if I estimated it right) and I was done.

The floors were swept (and, proudly, mopped). The cupboards wiped down. The rugs and furniture cushions taken outside and beaten with this kind of enormous bent twig fly-swatter thing I found in the shed. All the dishes, pots and pans were cleaned, the cupboards (and the dead insects hiding there) wiped out and dishes, pots and pans put back. The cobwebs were swiped down, the surfaces of the furniture polished. The windows were washed to a shine so I could actually see out. The curtains carefully taken down, pulled outside and shook to within an inch of their lives. The same with the pillows on the bed upstairs.

I put out candleholders and filled them with candles. I filled lamps with fuel and put those out too. I dragged in a bunch of wood and replenished all the stocks and even found this cool pulley thing which helped me load up a stack in the loft (which I did and then I built a fire up there too).

I found a hunk of meat, a loaf of bread and an enormous wedge of cheese. I sliced into all of it, made a huge, honking sandwich and ate it, washing it down with a cup of the fresh, clean, absolutely delicious and very cold water from the pump.

I inventoried the kitchen and found milk in a jug in a cupboard that jutted out of the house (natural fridge) with lots of cheese, meat (some cooked, some raw), some sliceable sausage (that smelled awesome), a slab of bacon, a bowl filled with eggs and a big urn of butter. In the cupboards there were pots of jam. There was also a jar of ground coffee (hurray!) and what looked like an old-fashioned percolator to make it in. There was loose tea. There was sugar. There was flour. There was a salt pig (filled) and a pepper grinder (also filled). There were jars of spices which I made stabs at guessing what they were with sniff tests (oregano, basil, bay leaves, thyme, parsley, cayenne, cinnamon and nutmeg). And there were big sacks of potatoes and onions, smaller ones of oats and rice and a string of garlic.

I could totally work with this.

I was set.

At least for awhile.

I set about perusing my trunks and found clothes, underwear, boots, delicate wool and cashmere stockings, shoes and cloaks all a variety of fabrics and colors, all gorgeous, all obviously expensive and exquisitely made and not meant to be worn in a cabin in the middle of nowhere but… whatever. I also found some seriously sexy nightgowns (again, my new husband was a moron, the nightwear, as well as every single piece of underwear, was freaking amazing).

I found sheets (lots of them), quilts, throws and blankets (lots of those too) so I made up the bed. I also found some china and silver, including an elegant, stunning coffee service, these I put in the kitchen. There were also what I guessed were towels and washcloths which I stacked on some shelves I wiped down in the bathroom type place.

There was hair stuff, jewelry and makeup, bath soap, scented powders, perfume and lotions. This entire small (ish) trunk I also carted into the bathroom type place.

There was another trunk filled with leather-bound books, some printed, some blank (journals?), elegant, ice blue writing paper and envelopes, a wax candle and an elaborate, silver seal to use to close the wax on the envelopes (awesome!), a slim, silver quill pen and a couple bottles of ink. I stocked the desk with these.

And there was even a trunk filled with crystal: wineglasses of three shapes (white, red and flat bowled champagne, two of each), stemmed aperitif glasses (also two) and, overkill but definitely awesome, a beautiful crystal vase and I knew the perfect use for that. I went out to the sleigh, fetched my bouquet of twigs from the floor where it had fallen (as well as my forgotten crown, though how I could forget my crown, who knew, but I did), took them back to the house, shoved the twigs in the vase and put it on the low table in front of the couch.