Victoria “Vic” Gray walked up the stone stairs of the enormous Charles House looming in front of her to the ornate wooden door. She pushed it open, stepped inside and the house woke up. Hoisting her bag over her shoulder she walked into the large reception hall and through to the great hall. The tiled floor stretched out before her, and the ceiling hung far overhead. Several large chandeliers hung from the ceiling casting light into every corner. Sad, old wallpaper and antique furniture finished off the room.
Vic stood there in her wind-blown brunette hair, bundled up against the chill, autumn air, and watched a woman with black tresses and a flowing, white dress as she chased after two young boys. An older woman with gray hair came trailing behind. They round up the boys and the younger woman sends them off with the older woman. She came over to Vic.
“Hi, you must be Victoria.” She extended her hand for a shake. “I’m Megan, Michael’s wife. I’m the designer.”
Victoria shook her hand, “It’s just Vic. This is quite the house. I can’t wait to help you restore it.”
“It sure is. We’re happy to have you. Why don’t I show you to your room first and then I’ll introduce you to Michael and we’ll tell you about the project.”
“That sounds good, my bag is a little heavy.” Vic readjusted the strap on her shoulder.
Megan led her from the reception hall into a short hallway, with a thick, faded carpet runner that led to a grand staircase that rose to a wide landing with a giant, stained glass window. The landing split into two staircases on either side of the window and continued up and turned again to the front of the house to the second floor. The stairs creaked in places as the two women took the right staircase up to a hallway with worn, peeling wallpaper, crumbling plaster, and a threadbare carpet runner. There were some ornate wall sconces, but many were missing and replaced at some point with ugly, modern alternatives. A few places had wires that stuck out of the wall. The hall was dark, gloomy and had an air of uneasiness about it.
A short walk down the hall brought the two women to a nondescript door. Megan pushed through it into a large bedroom. Along the right wall stood a large 4-poster bed with modern bed linens and blankets. A brick fireplace stood on the outer wall opposite with two windows on either side. Each contained the original wavy glass. A large, round rug covered the worn, wooden floor. A small writing desk sat against the wall opposite the bed next to a smaller door. Old paintings hung from the walls covered in faded wallpaper. A modern lamp stood on a side table, and another contained an old-fashioned oil lamp.
“Here is your home for the duration of the project. It’s one of the better rooms. There’s a bathroom through that door. It’s hideous. Somebody retrofitted the smaller room sometime in the 50s.” Megan said.
Vic walked over to the bed and set her bag down. “This is great! I’m sure the bathroom will suffice until it’s renovated.” She walked to one of the windows and looked out. Dead leaves swirled about the street, pushed by the wind. Small houses dotted the other side of the street; the other mansions were torn down long ago. She turned back to Megan.
“After you get settled, meet me in the dining hall and I’ll introduce you to Michael and our project.” Megan left and closed the door behind her.
Vic walked over to the bathroom door and opened it. The room was small, containing only a standing shower, a small sink, and a toilet. The whole bathroom was tiled in the 50s pink tile. It was garish and didn’t belong in a stately Victorian home. She closed the door. Back in the bedroom she sat on the bed and opened her bag. There was a knock on the door. Megan must have forgotten to tell her something. She called “Come in.” But nobody entered. She got up and crossed to the door and opened it to an empty hallway. A faint hint of roses hung in the air. Huh, She must be hearing things. It was probably a creak that sounded like a knock. She closed the door and went back to her bag. She pulled out a photo of her grandmother and great-grandmother and set it on the bedside table. She reached into her bag again and pulled out a photo of her and her mother when she was a baby. She placed it next to the other photo. She pulled out her clothing and put it away in the wardrobe. She could do the rest later.
Outside her door, she got a good look at the hallway stretching through the middle of the house. It was dark and claustrophobic. The staircase was grand, even worn as it was. Everything was worn. This house had seen better days. Those days were long gone. Now it was their job to restore it to its once stately glory. She followed the stairs down to the short hall and through that down another hall. This one was once grand, now it had the same characteristics as other parts of the house that she had seen. She found the dining room. Floor-to-ceiling windows adorned the opposite wall. A long mahogany table stretched out down the room, wooden chairs tucked under the table except for two at the end where a man who looked to be in his thirties with dark hair sat, Megan talked to him. Three chandeliers hung from the ceiling, and several tall urns stood about the room filled with faded fake flowers.
The man stood when she entered and walked over to her, extending his hand. “Vic, It’s so good to finally have you here. I’m Michael and you’ve met my lovely wife Megan. Have you settled in yet?” She shook his hand.
“Almost, I put some of my things away, but I wanted to jump right in.”
“Well, come sit down and tell us about yourself. We already know a little, but we want to get to know you better.” He pulled a chair out for her on the opposite side of the table and she sat in it. He sat in the seat he’d been sitting in before.
“Would you like any coffee or tea?” Megan asked her.
“Tea would be nice. I don’t like coffee. I never have. I just can’t get over the bitter flavor, no matter how much cream and sugar goes in it. The bitter tea is different. That’s a flavor I love. Not Darjeeling, as that is too bitter for me, but a good English Breakfast does it for me.”
Megan walked over to a sideboard that held an electric kettle and began making tea.
“So, what do you want to know?” She looked at Michael.
“Tell us what you like about architecture and history to start, what your plans for the future are, and how this project fits in with your plans.” He said.
“Oh, so the easy stuff you mean.” She laughed. “Well, I’m in the final year of my doctorate in architectural history. I’ve always been fascinated with history and old architecture. It’s not easy to find work as a historian, but as an architectural historian, there are plenty of old buildings waiting to be restored.
Megan brought her a mug of tea and sat down beside her with her own cup. “Are you from around here?
“Yes, I grew up right here in Detroit. My mom’s family goes back several generations. Before that, my ancestors came from England and Germany, but we don’t know our history on my mom’s after a couple of generations back. It was apparently scandalous and so it was never talked about. That’s one thing that made me curious about history. Other than that I’m a 26-year-old woman who works on restoring old buildings, and just dumped a cheating boyfriend and has a complicated relationship with her mother. I like 90s rock, staying in and reading a book over a hot cup of tea, and my own company over going out. Did I leave anything out?”
A large, orange tabby walked into the room and came over to her, gave her a sniff, and rubbed up against her legs. She reached down and petted it.
“That’s Kitty,” Megan said. “She came with the house.”
“Poor thing, did nobody want you?” She gave it one more pet and then straightened in her chair. “What about the two of you? How did you meet and decide to renovate houses?”
Michael sat back and ran his hand through his black hair. “I started working construction with my dad when I was in high school and worked my way up to contractor after. At some point, I started flipping houses on the side and liked that. I’d hire the guys I used to work for.”
“I went to design school and Michael hired me to work on one of his houses. I fell for his down-to-earth charm. Eight years ago he popped the question. Seven years ago we welcomed our first son, William, and five years ago our second son Liam. And last year we had the vision of restoring this grand house and turning it into an inn.” Megan's eyes twinkled.
“This house is it. This is the first time we’ve taken on a project of this magnitude. Before this, we had only done small family homes. This mansion, this house, The Charles House is a piece of Detroit history. To be able to be here and restore this great beauty, built by the great lumber baron Edward Charles himself, an early leader of Detroit. It’s all a big grand, isn’t it?”
He stood up, “Here, follow me into the library.”
“I’m going to go check on the nanny. I’ll be in shortly” Megan stood up and walked out of the room. Vic followed Michael into the hall.
Down a short hallway and across the reception hall they entered the library. The large room was dark despite the large windows on one wall. Tall bookshelves filled with old tomes lined two of the walls. A photograph of the house when it was first completed hung on the remaining wall next to the door. A large antique desk sat in front of the windows, two old armchairs in front of it. Old newspapers and books cluttered the desktop. Cobwebs and broken plaster hung from the ten-foot ceiling.
Michael led her to the desk and she followed. “What do you know about this house?” He asked.
“I know it was built sometime in the 1890s by Edward Charles. You said he was a lumber baron. There were so many lumber barons in the 1800s. That’s how many early families made their fortunes. It’s much easier and cheaper to build a house out of wood, not to mention faster than it is to build out of brick or field stone.” She looked at him and thought was handsome. He had sharp features, dark skin, and gorgeous eyes. “Wasn’t he on the city council? He had some sort of high standing in the city.”
“He was an alderman. In those days they had alderman, which functioned similarly.” He picked up a book off of the desk and opened it to a page that had been marked. The page had a listing for Edward Charles. “He was born in Pennsylvania in 1848. His family had been in the lumber business there. They sent him to Michigan to oversee their lumber operations here in 1875. He wound up buying his own pine forests, a few iron mines, and some steamboats to haul it all to Detroit. He quickly amassed his fortune. Very civic-minded he spearheaded several initiatives for the city.”
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Vic picked up one of the brittle, yellowed newspapers that sat on the desk. The headline ran Philanthropist Edward Charles to hold fundraiser ball for the city’s poor. Scanning the article Vic discovered that Edward Charles had taken to philanthropy shortly after acquiring his fortune and funded an orphanage, a hospital for the poor, and a local library. Which he said was “A duty I have to the people of this great city. I already own several means of production, have a grand house, and a beautiful family. What more could I want than to help make this great city of Detroit the best in the nation?”
“He sounds too good to be true.” Vic put the newspaper back on the table.
“He was beloved by the people. On paper, he is a little too perfect. He had a young wife named Virginia, and two small children. He seemed the perfect husband and father. He married Virginia after his first wife died of a fever and he was left to care for their teenage son. That son died in an accident when he was 15. It’s said that he fell into a deep despair despite having a wife and two other young children to care for. He built this house for his family. Historians say that he threw himself into designing and building this house. It took four years to complete this house. Once it was done he held a lavish party and invited the who’s who of the time. It’s rumored that Andrew Carnegie and Henry Ford both attended this soiree. He then threw himself into being a leader for the city. He hosted a social club for prominent men in the city and his wife Virginia headed several social clubs for the women. They were also interested in spiritualism, which was a popular thing amongst the wealthy of the time. They hosted many seances. Many people who attended these gatherings claimed to have spoken with loved ones who had passed on.” He told her.
“Ghosts aren’t real,” Vic murmured.
“I agree. They are not.” Megan said, walking into the room and taking a seat. “There’s no reason to be talking about this.”
“I disagree. Whether real or not, the fact that they believed in spiritualism has historical merit.” Michael stated.
“I also agree on that point,” Vic interjected. “Ghosts are not real, but looking back at a people who believed in it and claimed to actually talk to them is a fascinating look at the human psyche, which always searches for patterns and things to make sense. Death is a hard one. It’s easier to believe your loved one is still hanging around after death and looking out for you. To believe if you try hard enough you can still communicate with them than it is to believe in the harsh finality of death.”
“We don’t know everything and we can’t say that they didn’t communicate with the ghosts of their dead loved ones,” Michael said.
“There has been no documented proof of ghosts, only anecdotes and cleverly faked videos.” Vic replied.
“Enough, I don’t want to talk about this anymore. Why don’t you give her a tour of the house and I’m going to try to get some work done.” Megan stood and headed for the dining room.
“Would you like a tour of the house?” Michael asked. “There are 10 main bedrooms, and about 20 if you count the servant's rooms on the third floor. You’ve seen this room and the dining room, but there is also a ballroom, drawing room, music room, a breakfast room and that’s all on this floor not even counting a couple of other rooms. Let’s start in the basement where all the servants worked.”
Outside the library, Michael opened a door to the left that led to the basement. It was a narrow and dark staircase leading not only into the bowels of the house but up to the second and third floors. It was lit by a single bare bulb, shadows stretched into the darkness below.
“Back in the early days of this house the place would have been bustling with activity,” He told her as they descended single file. A cold dampness crept up from below. “All the lights would have been on, and servants would have been going about their duties. The cook, maids, butler, housekeeper, groundskeeper. You name it, they all worked here.”
In the darkness at the bottom of the stairs, Vic could feel an eerie dread before Michael flipped a switch and a bank of lights turned on illuminating the utilitarian hallway. It stretched in either direction. He took her to the right and through the door at the end of the hall. It opened into the kitchen. A large fireplace stood against the outer wall, and several small dirty windows high up on the wall let in only the barest hint of light. A modern stove sat amongst antique appliances, the walls and ceiling dirty with the grime of decades. Several doors led to a cold room, a room for kitchen coal, and to a pantry, which had its own staircase up to the dining room.
“It’s so creepy down here.” Vic said, wrapping her arms around herself, “and chilly.”
Michael led her out of the kitchen and down the hall. “The house has been vacant since the 60s. “Virginia was 102 when she died. The house passed to a relative who enthusiastically tried remodeling, but ultimately gave up but chose to keep the house instead of selling it. That’s where most of the hideous updates came from.”
“What about Edward? When did he die?” She followed him into a cellar.
“That’s an interesting story. He was 62 when he died. Well, at least that’s what the papers say. His body was never recovered.”
The air in the cellar felt electric and Vic momentarily felt sick as the contents of her stomach threatened to come up. She groaned as she doubled over, hands on her knees.
Michael placed a hand on her arm, “Are you okay?”
Vic straightened back up and let out a breath, “Yeah. I don’t know what hit me. One minute I was fine and then the next I felt like I was going to vomit. It’s gone now.” She looked around the brick room filled with shelves full of old junk and what looked to be the electrical panel for the house. “What do you mean they never found his body?”
“The papers said that on December 31st, 1910 a fire broke out at a social club meeting during the Charles’ annual New Year's Eve party. The men excused themselves from the party and met in private. In the morning Virginia Charles found them and called the police.”
“Wait? How did the house not burn down? How did she not notice that her husband didn’t come to bed?” Vic asked.
“Midnight meetings of the club were common and Virginia often wouldn’t see her husband for days at a time. As for why the house didn’t burn down, they held their meetings down here in the basement somewhere. You can see that everything down here is made from stone and brick. I think they must have been drinking a lot and then a tablecloth or curtain must have gone up in flames and caught them all on fire and in their drunkenness and panic couldn’t get out of the room.”
“That’s horrible.” A cold draft chilled the room further.
“The servants found the body of one of the members in the hall. He was the only one to escape the room before he expired. Most of the servants quit after that.”
“You said that Edward Charles’ body was missing?” She asked.
“Edward's body was not among the dead. At first, they thought he was safe, but he was never seen again. Some thought that he chose to leave his wife and child to start a new life elsewhere, but there was no missing money or personal effects, and he loved his job with the city. He had sold off most of his lumber operations but held onto the iron mining. After a time they declared him dead, despite not having a body.”
A cold draft, almost a breeze flowed through the room. They wondered where it had come from. There was no window in this room. It was as if somebody had opened a door and left it open. They stepped back into the hall.
“Do you know which room they met in?” Vic looked at the doors up and down the hall. She didn’t see any doors open.
Michael closed the door behind him as he stepped out of the cellar. “I don’t know. The location was never listed. When we bought the house it was disclosed that people had died here, but not where in the house.” He showed Vic the rest of the basement. There was a 1950s boiler in the boiler room and a modern washer and dryer that were brand new in the laundry room. The model that was there before was from the 1950s. There was the servants' dining room and hall, plus a wine cellar, store room, another cellar, and some small miscellaneous rooms.
They returned to the main floor and toured that. The ceilings were high, and the wallpaper faded and peeling. Some of the doors were missing, along with various lighting fixtures. The house had been through a lot over the years. They took the main staircase to the second floor. It really was a grand staircase. At the end of the west hallway, there were double doors that led to a balcony overlooking the ballroom. Around the corner at the end of the west hallway stood a short corridor that led to the rooms that had belonged to Edward and Virginia. Michael and his family had claimed those rooms for themselves. Back down the west hallway was a room they used as a playroom for the boys. The boys spent a lot of time in there with the nanny when he and Megan were working. But they also ran through most of the house to help keep their poor nanny in shape. At least that’s the way that Michael phrased it. Many bedrooms, closets, and balconies finished off the second floor, including several servants’ staircases. Each room was filled with antique furniture and a mixture of modern elements by way of the 1960s.
The house was a time capsule, especially the rooms that belonged to Edward and Virginia’s children in the east wing. Wooden rocking chairs adorned each of the two children’s rooms. The daughter Charlotte had a large dollhouse that looked just like the house it sat in. Faded pink wallpaper adorned the walls along with a few paintings of flower gardens. The single four-poster bed was made up with a pink thread-bare quilt, moth-eaten and fraying at the edges. A few wooden toys and a doll sat on a shelf. A small closet still held decayed clothing. Vic felt sadness in this room.
“This place looks like a shrine.” She looked through one of the two windows that overlooked the overgrown backyard.
“It probably was. Both Charlotte and William never made it out of their teens. Both died before they were 18. Charlotte died of a fever, and William died in a freak accident when a load of logs came loose and crushed him to death. He had taken on most of his father’s work by age 15.”
“Virginia must have been heartbroken. Her husband died tragically and then both of her children. Her whole family died. Why did she stay here after all that?” Vic couldn’t imagine losing her whole family. Not that she had a lot of it to lose. All she had was her mother. Her father died when she was a toddler and his parents had been older when he had been born. She didn’t have any extended family on his side. Her mother’s mother, her grandmother had been around when she was young but died when she was in her teens. Her grandfather died when her mother was young. Her mother didn’t have any siblings and so it had always been just them. “I can’t imagine how she must have felt.” The darkness in the closet was so dense that it seemed almost solid. It gave her the creeps. She closed the door.
“Who knows, maybe staying helped her remember them.” He escorted her into the east hall, they looked in on several more rooms and then took the servant’s stairs to the third floor. The same stairs they had taken to the basement not that long ago. Up here there was a window that let in some light, but not much, and another bare bulb lit the landing. These stairs creaked as they ascended single file.
They came out in the servants’ hall, which had six small bedrooms. This section of the house was as utilitarian as the basement had been. The plain wood floors were scratched up and in need of a good sanding and staining. The walls were a dirty, dingy white. Each of the servants' rooms had a small threadbare bed and side table, with a small dresser. Most of the rooms oddly shaped from being tucked up under the gables. They went through a small door that led to the west hall. This hall looked the worst. Large sections of plaster lay on the floor, the walls showing the slats they had been adhered to. The air felt heavy and oppressive bringing anxiety to Vic's mind. Nothing good was up here, only death and decay. She shrugged the thought off.
Along this hall lay a few more bedrooms, and what must have been a school room, which now held all manner of junk and pieces from the house. Things like chandeliers, wall sconces, trim, doors, lamps, sofas and chairs. Pieces not wanted, or were broken and never fixed.
“I bet your wife is going to have a field day in here.” Vic's eyes glittered as she looked at this room of forgotten treasure.
“She definitely will.” Michael closed the door and they continued down the hall. Three more bedrooms, some miscellaneous closets and they descended back down to the main floor.
Michael and Vic met Megan in the dining room. She held up a sample of wallpaper. “What do you think of this design for the reception hall? It had a solid pattern in black.
“That’s a bold choice, but what about this one.” Vic pointed to the pattern on the opposite page that was similar but held just a touch of whimsy.
“I thought about that one at first. I think that one will go better in one of the sitting rooms or the library.” Megan pulled out carpet and paint samples. I thought this oriental rug, with this dark cream paint for the ceiling, would bring this look together.”
“Sophisticated choices,” Vic looked through the wallpaper samples and chose a pattern with shiny, multicolored peacocks on them. “What about this for the main hall?”
“It’s too busy, you don’t want that for the main hall,” Michael interjected. Both women gave him a look that said he had no idea what he was talking about and he should butt out. “Point taken.” He put his hands up in mock surrender. “I’ll leave you two to the designing and I will retreat to the library. I have several calls to make. The crew will be here in the morning to begin work.”
“Wait, let’s go over our thoughts for the main hall.” Megan grabbed a project binder labeled, “Main Hall” and walked over to the main hall, Michael and Vic following.
“The ceiling in here is in really good shape. There are only a few cracks that need to be patched, though the wallpaper needs to come completely down. Once that’s done we’ll get a good look at the condition of the plaster. We’ll assess that as it’s done. It’s too expensive to replace plaster. If any of it is damaged we’ll replace it with drywall. It’s not the same, but nobody will mind too much. Replacing the plaster would take about a quarter of the budget.” Megan handed Vic the binder. “Here are my thoughts on the design of this room.”
The binder was full of design choices. Wallpaper samples, curtain styles and colors, to furniture choices. “I like most of the furniture that is already in here, but those 1950s setees have to go. We need to inventory the paintings in the house, along with every single antique in the place. We’ll repair what we can and buy what we can’t.” Megan said.
“We want to finish the main floor first. We want to hold dinners, and dinner parties to paying guests to help fund the renovations. We’ll be putting in a state-of-the-art kitchen and have a small restaurant on this floor for the public to come to. Later guests will be able to have full meals here as well.” Michael said.
“That’s quite the ambitious plan,” Vic said.
Megan and Vic returned to the dining room, while Michael retreated to the library. The two women went over the design choices. Megan was amazed at the other woman’s knowledge of nineteenth-century aesthetics. The cat jumped up on the table and laid down right on top of their stuff. Megan tried shooing it away, but Vic picked it up and snuggled it against her. The two women continued working throughout the afternoon and into the evening. The nanny came down and said goodbye at five o’clock sharp and bid them both a good evening. Megan and Vic decided to call it a night, and she decided to order delivery. When it came she retreated to her room. The long day had exhausted her mental faculties and she wanted to eat and watch reruns of an antique show on her laptop.