Betty added a log to the fire before she continued. "When we first purchased the house twenty years ago, it had not been occupied for over fifty years. Although we did extensive renovations, we chose to add few modern conveniences. You will find the plumbing is quite modern, but everything else is as near to the original house plans as our limited knowledge would allow."
"You did an exceptional job," Olivia said, turning around in the room that felt so familiar. "Was this not once the master's study?"
"Why, yes, although not many people know that. I'm sure I never wrote you about that-did I?"
"No. It just seems obvious."
"Yes, I suppose so. Logically it would be advantageous to the master's needs," Betty admitted. "As you know," she continued, "tragedy befell the daughter of the man who built this house. Although it was hushed up at the time, it is reputed that young, beautiful Jade St. Clair was tragically slain by the man she was to marry. Not many details have come down to us, although we know that soon after Jade's death, her fiancé, Raige Belmanoir, disappeared. Some say he went into the swamps and never came out because he couldn't live with what he had done."
Olivia felt as if a hand had just clutched her heart. "It was not his fault. Jade St. Clair stepped in front of his sword."
"So you wrote in your letters," Betty said dismissively. "Everyone who comes here has a theory on just how Jade St. Clair died. While some try to glamorize her demise, the probable truth is she was slain by the man she loved while he was in a jealous rage. Some overimaginative guests have sworn they saw Jade's ghost roaming the halls in her wedding gown and veil, and I must say that at times even I have seen things out of the ordinary. I know it adds to the romance of the inn to have a legendary ghost, but I hope Jade St. Clair has found peace."
"Do you have a portrait of her, or any other possessions besides the wedding veil you named the inn after?"
Betty shook her head. "No, nothing else of hers has survived. But come with me-you will not be disappointed."
Olivia followed Betty Allendale up the wide stairs to the second-floor landing. There, on a rosewood table, covered with a tall glass dome, was Jade St. Clair's faded lace wedding veil.
"It's so delicate, so beautiful," Olivia said in a trembling voice, reaching out toward the glass enclosure and then allowing her hand to drop away. "The pearls are from the Orient, and the lace was made in Brussels."
"You have done your research," Betty said, becoming disturbed by Olivia's obsessive interest in Jade St. Clair. This had been apparent in her letters; it was even more apparent in person. Betty thought there was something very sad about the lonely young woman.
"May I… would it be possible to try on the… veil?" Olivia asked hesitantly.
Betty looked horrified at the thought. "I never take it out of the protective case. It is fragile and very valuable."
There was pleading in Olivia's eyes. "I will be careful with it if you will only allow me to touch it."
Betty felt a rush of pity for the plain young woman who was so entranced by the legend of this house that she had saved her meager salary for almost two years so she could make the trip. "I suppose it will do no harm," she said, at last capitulating. She lifted the glass and laid it aside. "You can see that it really is quite delicate."
With trembling hands, Olivia reached for the veil, almost touching it and then drawing back, only to reach out again. At last her fingers brushed softly against the lace and she felt as if a shock of electricity had gone through her body. She had touched this veil before; she knew she had. It had once sat atop her own head.
Seeing the longing in Olivia's eyes, Betty Allendale made a quick decision. “If you will never tell a living soul, I'll allow you to put the veil on. But just for a brief moment, and just this once."
Olivia stood statue-still as her hostess gently lifted the lace veil from the wooden form. When the material floated across Olivia's head and brushed her cheeks, Betty Allendale faded from view and another woman stood in her place, a woman dressed in a floor-length gown-a woman that Olivia knew was Jade's mother, Emmaline St. Clair.
"Jade, dearest, you will make a lovely bride. Wait until Raige sees you!" her mother exclaimed.
Olivia felt paralyzed and she wanted to cry out. She was so frightened that she wanted to rip the veil from her head, but then the ghostly face of Emmaline St. Clair faded and Betty Allendale once more stood in her place.
Olivia carefully removed the fragile lace veil that had given her a glimpse into the past and handed it to Betty, who did not seem aware of what had occurred.
Betty smiled as she took the veil and replaced it under the glass dome. "Now," she said, turning to Olivia, "I'm sure you are tired after your long flight. I'll show you to your room."
As they walked down the long hallway, Olivia only half listened to Betty's chatter. She was trying to close her mind to frightening sensations-the feeling of familiarity, the knowledge that she had walked these halls before.
“Dinner is at seven; we are rather informal. Breakfast is served in your room unless you are an early riser and wish to dine on the veranda."
"I'm an early riser. I was always the first one to arrive at the library."
Betty didn't doubt it. She opened the door and the strong scent of roses permeated the air, a smell so nostalgic that Olivia leaned against the wall, trying to stop her body from quaking.
"Are you ill?" Betty asked in concern, noticing how pale her guest was.
"No. I'm just tired. You must have other things to do- I can get settled in myself."
Betty looked concerned. "If you are sure. Perhaps I should send Rosalie to help you unpack."
"Thank you, but that won't be necessary. I like to do my own unpacking."
Betty smiled. "If there is anything you need, just let me know."
Olivia watched Betty Allendale move down the hallway with a gracefulness known to a bygone time, or perhaps it was a gracefulness inherent in Southern women. Then Olivia entered the bedroom and closed the door behind her. For a long moment, she kept her eyes cast downward, almost afraid of what she might find. She had requested Jade St. Clair's bedroom, and she already knew what it looked like.
Slowly she raised her eyes-yes, the double doors that led to a balcony, the fireplace carved with cherubs, the poster bed, they were all the same. Here, as downstairs, there were changes, but subtle ones. Olivia hoped that the rose arbor she had so often dreamed about would still be in the garden.
Stiffly, almost reluctantly, she moved across the room, holding her breath. Taking her courage in hand, she stood on the balcony, her hands gripping the cast-iron railing. Yes, there it was, the white arbor covered with climbing roses. It hadn't changed at all!
"I'm home," she said to no one in particular, wondering how she could explain her knowledge of a house she had never been in before.
The last crimson rays of the sun lingered against the horizon as Olivia descended the stairs to the dining room. Soft candlelight mellowed the rooms she passed through and she felt more alive than she had ever felt before. She dined on baked chicken served in wine sauce. Afterwards she went into the parlor and curled up on the overstuffed sofa while Betty Allendale played the piano and the maid served fruit punch and coffee.
At last, feeling contented and at peace, Olivia wished her hostess good night and made her way up the stairs. For so long she had imagined herself here at Bridal Veil, and she was not disappointed by what she had found. Boston seemed so far away, another world, another time-mis was where she belonged; she knew that now.