Davina looks around in horror. “Good God. Remind me to get cremated.” With a gulp, Mr. Anderson backs out of the room and disappears. Esme marches over to one window and throws open the velvet drapes. Daylight floods the room. She turns back to us and huffs. “The best reception room, my behind! Who decorated this place? Dracula?” “The Marquis de Sade would be my guess,” says Davina.
