The Hotel Nantucket — Chapter no 18

18. Last Friday of the Month: July

The first shot of Shelly Carpenter’s July Instagram post is of a mannequin bust sitting on an antique trunk in slanting rays of sunlight—and Lizbet wonders if maybe she has the wrong account.

But then she double-checks the header and reads the caption. Ahh, she thinks. She clicks on the link in the bio just as Adam (who has come to the hotel specifically so he can dish with them) and Edie

step into her office.

Together, they read.

Hotel Confidential by Shelly Carpenter

July 29, 2022

Sea Castle Bed-and-Breakfast, Hyannis Port, Massachusetts—3 KEYS

Hello again, friends!

There are bed-and-breakfast people…and then there is yours truly. However, in the spirit of reviewing every kind of lodging, I bring to you my thoughts on the Sea Castle B and B in the bustling hamlet of Hyannis Port, Massachusetts, on storied old Cape Cod.

Sea Castle is a Victorian mansion that was restored by its owners to meticulous period detail in 2015. It has eight guest rooms and a first-floor living-and-dining common area that offers a breakfast of champions each morning between eight and nine.

My room, on the second floor, had a king-size canopy bed that was so high off the ground, an actual wooden step was provided.

There were, in my humble opinion, too many layers of bed linens for summertime—a top sheet, a velveteen blanket, a duvet, and a heavy brocade coverlet. The other furnishings were straight out of Grandmother’s house in a fairy tale—an Eastlake dresser covered with a faintly stained doily, a rocking chair, and a trunk at the foot of the bed. When I opened the trunk, I found a bald, featureless bust that startled me so badly, I dropped the lid of the trunk and smashed a finger. What was a bust doing in the trunk of my room? When I asked the proprietress, she told me the original owner of the house had been a milliner, and that was her hatmaker’s dummy.

This, friends, is my number-one issue with a B and B: you’re living in someone else’s home.

I felt churlish asking that the head-and-shoulders be removed; however, ask I did.

The bathroom was tiny with no surface for toiletries, so I placed mine on the back of the toilet, a decision that landed my moisturizer in the bowl. The bathroom had a fuzzy pink rug, and, friends, you know how I feel about rugs or carpeting of any kind in bathrooms. The sink’s drain was sluggish, and the shower, while giving decent pressure, was subject to sudden drastic changes in

temperature (probably due to the Hubertsons, on the same floor, flushing their toilet).

Although I bristled at the strict timetable for breakfast, I was in my seat promptly at eight. The proprietress brought out freshly squeezed orange juice and a fruit salad that included blueberries, raspberries, blackberries, sliced peaches, and fresh figs. (She won me over with the figs.) The “main course” was a mushroom, herb, and gooey Brie frittata with a side of crisp bacon and a golden hash-brown patty. Also on offer were banana pecan muffins and cheddar scones. The breakfast was the most delicious I’ve eaten in my life—yes, friends, better than the croissant with butter and apricot jam at the Shangri-La in Paris, better than the congee at the Raffles in Singapore—but my infatuation with the food was mitigated by the need to chat with the proprietress and the Hubertsons about which shop in town had the best penuche fudge and how much of a rip-off the whale- watching trips were. By the end of the meal, I was longing for the freedom and anonymity of a proper hotel.

In the end, I balanced the mediocrity of the Sea Castle accommodations (the sluggish drain, the unsettling contents of the trunk) against the extraordinary breakfast, and I arrived at three keys. Those of you who love quilts, stained glass, oak sideboards, cross-stitch, green-apple-scented candles, “country charm,” and good-hearted chitchat may have arrived at four keys,

but on this point we’ll have to differ.

Stay well, friends. And do good.

—SC

“I can’t believe she went to a bed-and-breakfast,” Adam says. “Has she ever done that before? Next thing you know, she’ll be reviewing Airbnbs.”

“I thought she was harsh,” Edie says. “My mom wanted to buy the Winter Street Inn a few years ago when Mitzi Quinn put it up for sale, but my dad talked her out of it. It’s a lot of work, running those places. I like bed-and-breakfasts. I think they’re quaint and cozy.”

Adam groans. “Death by cross-stitch.”

Lizbet happens to agree with Adam but she won’t weigh in; she has something bigger on her mind. “Hyannis Port,” she says. “Shelly Carpenter is getting closer.”