An Intimate Tour of Courtesan Casa
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Image by Michelle Maria from Pixabay
The Butler’s tour of Adrianna’s Casa far surpassed my expectations.
What I agreed to do because I was restless and needed something to do seemed more like an odyssey through a strange and exotic place.
We started in the courtyard before the front door.
The spring snow from a few nights ago had already melted, gone as if it had never happened. On this afternoon, the air was crisp and fresh and the sky blue.
I inhaled. The phantom scent of roses was still in the air, just as it had been this morning when the Wanderer left.
“It always smells like roses here,” the Butler explained, as if he read my mind. “Even on the coldest day of winter.”
“How is that possible?”
The Butler shrugged.
“I don’t know. It’s an eccentric quirk of the Casa, I suppose. But Madame loves it. The roses will start blooming on the south side of the house in about a month. Then the progression of blossoms will open on the east and west around the same time, and finish in the north.”
“Are they planted all around the house? I didn’t see any bushes along the back patio.”
“The ring of roses extends through the garden, rather than edging the house. There’s a lovely maze of paths between the Casa and the dormitories.”
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The Butler pointed to the four-tiered fountain that I hadn’t noticed yet.
It had been buried under snow on the day of our arrival, and the carriage must have hidden it when the Wanderer left.
The structure seemed upside down with the largest bowl on top and the smallest on the bottom.
Mischievous satyrs and playful nymphs carved into the marble cavorted along the pillars and bowls, evoking exuberance and lustiness.
“The most celebrated sculptor on the continent carved this fountain from a giant piece of marble. Once we’re certain the warmth will hold, we’ll fill it with water. Probably next month.”
“It’s stunning.”
I ran my hands along the shapes carved into the smooth stone, and wondered at the concentration it must have taken to chisel with such precision.
There was no room for error with a sculpture such as this.
“The fountain was a gift to Madame.”
“That’s a very significant gift. This must have taken him at least two years.”
“Three years. He works on multiple pieces at a time.”
“Was he one of her benefactors?”
“Benefactors?”
The Butler raised his brows and paused.
When I shrugged and nodded, he continued, his impassive expression broken with a knowing smirk.
“The sculptor was one of Madame’s finds. She introduced him at her salons, where he made important connections. Now he’s famous and his work is all over the continent. So who benefitted who here?”
“I see.”
“Good. And you will see much more. All the art here was gifted to Madame. Many people found their lucky star at the Casa.”
Image by Gavin Banns from Pixabay
“Like the musicians on the back patio?”
“They’re a bit different. Madame has sponsored them from the beginning to develop their talents. But she caught their potential immediately, from the first moment the girls picked up a guitar. They struggled to strum, yet still made a melody.”
The Butler smiled.
“That was a good day at the Casa. Madame always gets so excited when something unexpected like that happens.”
I nodded slowly and stared at the fountain again. How serene it would be once water flowed from its tiers.
“Isn’t it peaceful?” the Butler continued. “Some of the maids prefer to pray here rather than in a chapel or the church.”
I stared at the Butler in surprise.
“Several members of the staff are very devout.”
“How do they justify working here?”
The inscrutable dignity of the Butler disappeared when he burst out laughing.
The boisterous sound of mirth set me off balance; and the gleam in the Butler’s pale gray green eyes betrayed mischief and a strong sense of humor; and in an instant, the illusion of the perfect servant dissipated and revealed the man.
“You must be joking! Most of their prayers are to give thanks and show gratitude for their splendid fortune.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You really don’t know where you are, do you? A post with Madame is the most coveted servant position in the Capital City.”
I was taken aback.
But the Butler’s impenetrable demeanor returned and he waved me back inside the house.
As we stepped in, the marble floor cooled my feet, and I was overwhelmed again with the incessant pink, the warm glow of the foyer and the stairs.
For the first time, I noticed that the giant chandelier was held up with six chains.
Two stewards were standing on tall ladders and replacing the candles that had burnt out or were close enough to the end of their wicks.
“This chandelier is maintained twice a day,” the Butler explained. “In the morning and early evening before dark.”
“You run the entire household?”
“I do.”
“How long have you been in service here?”
“I came here twenty-five years ago right before the Mayor’s office changed to our current one.”
“You were in service to the Mayor?”
“I was.”
Image by Werner Weisser from Pixabay