Grimaldi Curse Trilogy

PROLOGUE:

Catherine Winterthrope didn't want to be in her grandmother's house. She didn't have much choice. Her grandmother appointed her as executrix of the estate. Catherine didn't know why Grandmother Agatha would have wanted her, she hadn't stepped foot in Winterthrope Estate since she was ten years old when her Grandfather Stewart died.

"Might as well get this over with," she said out loud.

Opening the massive solid oak door into the foyer, Catherine surveyed her surroundings. Nothing had changed in twenty years. Her grandmother had kept the house just like Catherine remembered from a child. Everything still smelled of mothballs and beeswax furniture polish.

Catherine descended the oak staircase to the second floor and made her way to the attic. The door creaked when she turned the brass knob.

The room was dark. Catherine searched for the light switch. Flipping the switch to the on position, she was taken aback with all the junk in the attic.

Junk was piled all over the room. She spotted what she was looking for in the corner. Her grandmother's Jenny Lind steamer trunk. Catherine marveled at the detail of the pine trunk and its condition. The trunk was frowsy, the brass keyhole tarnished with age,the four iron bands rusty, the large brass buttons almost black, the iron hinges coated with rust, the leather handles tattered and it smelled musty like most of the attic contents.

The trunk brought back found memories of her grandmother. Tears formed in her eyes as she remembered her grandmother. She was about ten, right before Grandfather Stewart died. Her parents had send her to stay with her grandparent's the summer they went to Europe. They said she was too young to travel to Europe and it would be an adventure to stay at Winterthrope Estate. She cried of course but Grandmother Agatha made it better with her stories about her first trip to London.

Hands trembling she removed the skeleton key from her jeans pocket and opened the warded lock to reveal the her grandmother's possessions inside the antique trunk and a lady's fashion print from a popular ladies fashion magazine brittle and yellowed with age inside the lid.

She was surprised at the contents. On top was her grandmother's wedding dress. It was well preserved and smelled of mothballs. It had turned yellow with age, but it was still beautiful. Catherine was amazed at the detail. It was a simple but elegant cotton gown covered in lace with a high wedding-ring collar and a beautiful cummerbund made of pink silk-roses. She could almost imagine her grandmother wearing the gown on her wedding day to grandfather. Catherine removed the dress carefully from the trunk placing it aside.

Catherine dug a little deeper and found several old photographs. A couple of family photograph's showed her grandparents with her father John Robert and her aunt Matilda. They looked like the perfect family. Then another photograph caught her eye. Her grandparents. She turned the photograph over.Inscribed on the back of the photograph were her grandparents names and the date they were married.

Studying the hand tinted photograph Catherine noticed how much she was her grandmother. The same color hair, auburn red some would say, whiskey eyes, alabaster skin. The only difference her grandmother looked fragile and unhappy, not like Catherine who was happy in her life and strong-willed. Her grandfather looked ominous. So stanch and proper and not at all happy. His steel grey eyes staring back at Catherine like they could pierce her soul. She wondered about her grandparent's. Where they happy? Where they in love?

She shook those thoughts from her head. Enough dillydallying. She had work to do. Searching deeper into the treasure trove she found a book. Picking it up, it was leather bound, not cheap leather. It was also monogrammed.AOE, Agatha Elizabeth Oslo.

This was her grandmother's diary. Catherine felt like a spy. Like she was betraying her grandmother.

The first entry was dated exactly six months before her grandparents wed. Some of the writing was smudged. Catherine could not make out the first entries.

Twenty-fourth of November, Eighteen-hundred ninety-eight

Winterthrope Manor

Catherine could not believe what she was reading. Her grandmother's most intimate moments. Who was her grandmother writing about? Was she just dreaming? Catherine wanted to know more of her grandmother's secrets.She was mesmirized, intrigued. She turned to the next page.

Thirty-first of November, Eighteen-hundred ninety-eight

Winterthrope Manor

The more Catherine read of her grandmother's diary, the more she wondered just who her grandmother really was and who was the mysterious man her grandmother kept speaking about and was obviouisly in love with.

Catherine wanted to read more, but first things first. She needed to get organized and decide what she was going to keep and what she was going to auction off. Her grandmother was left penniless.Her grandfather has sqaundered away the family fortune on gambling and bad investments.

She knew the steamer trunk and all of its contents would go with her. All the rest including the house would go on the auction block.

Kristoff Grimaldi stared at the newspaper article in the London Daily. The Winterthrope Estate in Boston MA was going to be actioned off including all its funishings. He couldn't believe what he was reading. After all these years the mere mention of the name Winterthrope came back to haunt his thoughts. Kristoff wondered about the steamer truck and its contents. Would it be part of the Winterthrope collection to be auctioned off? He scanned the newspaper article for any familiar names. One name quickly caught his eye. Catherine Winterthrope granddaughter of Agatha Winterthrope would personally be handling the auction.

Memories suddenly flooded his mind. The nights so long ago he spent in Agatha Winterthrops bed chamber before she married Stewart Winterthrope.

A beautiful young women of seventeen. He could still picture her. Auburn hair flowing over her shoulders, her alabaster skin unblemished, her eyes, the color of whiskey. He knew the moment he had entered her chamber that he could not take her life. Damn the Grimaldi Curse!

The last night they spent together is so fresh in his mind, except that was eighty years ago. She was dead now and he is immortal, ageless in time. It's the night she told him how much she loved him but couldn't be with him.

It's the night he told her of the Grimaldi Curse. The night secrets were revealed. The night she recited the sonnet of love.

Words Kristoff will never forget. Words etched in his mind, in his memory.

© 2008 Debra Ann Elliott