A Lasting Impression

estimation of me has been less than stellar. You’ve been brutally honest in conveying that to me, on a near daily basis. But I’ve done my best since coming to Belmont. I work hard. Every day. I perform every task Mrs. Acklen asks of me, and then look for ways to help her more. Yet you seem determined to think the worst of me, and”—a traitorous sting of emotion burned her eyes—“for the life of me, I don’t know why.”
    Mrs. Routh’s eyes fluttered closed, and she sighed, as though tired of their conversations too. “I’m well aware of the job you’re doing for Mrs. Acklen. And contrary to what you may believe, Miss Laurent, I do not seek to think the worst of you. I simply do not trust you.”
    Feeling as if the floor had disappeared beneath her, Claire searched Mrs. Routh’s face. “But I . . .” She exhaled. “Why? I don’t underst—”
    A door squeaked opened in the hallway behind her. Soft footsteps . . .
    “Ah . . . there you are, Miss Laurent,” Mrs. Acklen said. “I was beginning to wonder. Oh, good, you brought our tea. Good afternoon to you, Mrs. Routh.”
    Mrs. Routh looked past Claire. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Acklen. You’re looking more rested, ma’am. Is there anything I can get you or that I can do to . . .”
    As the two women spoke, Claire turned to pick up the tray, sensing a fierce loyalty in Mrs. Routh’s manner and in the way she addressed Mrs. Acklen. And the discovery shed new light on the confrontation of moments earlier. Mrs. Routh was like a mama bear protecting her cub. Which, while sweet, in a way, was also amusing. Adelicia Acklen was hardly a defenseless cub. She was an assertive, powerful woman of enormous wealth and far-reaching influence.
    From what, or whom, could she possibly need protection?
    Crossing the threshold into Mrs. Acklen’s private quarters was like stepping into another world. Claire deposited the tray on the table Mrs. Acklen indicated, unable to keep from staring at her surroundings.
    She felt as though she’d walked into a land of make-believe, of far-off places and ancient times—and she didn’t know where to look first. From baseboard to crown molding, two murals flowed from scene to scene to scene around the room, separated by a decorative chair rail. Every inch of wall space in the spacious room was covered.
    Brilliant blues and reds and mossy greens enhanced the renderings of scenes from a story Claire knew only too well.
    “It’s not your customary decor,” Mrs. Acklen said. “But I like it. It’s from—”
    “ Les Aventures de Télémaque, ” Claire whispered.
    “ Oui, mademoiselle! Très bonne! ” Surprise lit Mrs. Acklen’s expression. “I wondered if you might recognize it. You’ve read the novel, then?”
    “A number of times. It was a favorite of my maman. And mine.” Along with everyone else in France, and the greater part of Europe. And apparently America.
    Mrs. Acklen poured a cup of tea for Claire and then for herself. “This very wallpaper hangs in the Hermitage, the late President Andrew Jackson’s home not far from here.”
    Claire nodded, finding the rendering of a temple in the mural—specifically the rows of Corinthian columns situated along its front—strangely reminiscent of Belmont. She turned slowly, looking at the scenes. “Remarkable,” she whispered, speaking not only of the mural, but also of the room itself.
    A bed of gleaming rosewood in a style reminiscent of a sleigh set the tone for the bedroom, and the matching side tables, bureau, and wardrobe only enhanced the beauty, as did the marble fireplace and gilded mirror hanging above. Velvet draperies framed the windows, and the patterned wall-to-wall carpet—Claire blinked—was almost dizzying.
    “Shall we begin, Miss Laurent? We have much to do.” Mrs. Acklen nodded toward hatboxes stacked in the corner. Seven boxes in all, various sizes, dusty from disuse. “Move them over here, if you would. Closer to the windows.”
    Claire did as she bade, discovering the boxes were heavier than she’d imagined. She followed Mrs. Acklen’s lead and opened one, and found it full to the brim with what appeared to be newspaper clippings. Same as the box Mrs. Acklen had opened.
    After a brief discussion they decided that Claire would begin organizing the articles by newspaper first, and Mrs. Acklen would follow behind to review them and decide which ones to include in Madame LeVert’s memory book.
    Claire briefly scanned the articles as she