Ruins of bone, p.15
Ruins of Bone, page 15
“Indeed not. I’m glad you came to me. Do you have any idea what could make the sort of sounds you’ve heard?”
“I don’t rightly know, but I . . . I’m feared someone is trapped somewhere inside.”
“What makes you think that?” I asked softly.
She twisted her apron in a way sure to leave indelible wrinkles. “I’ve had such dreams, and I’ve tried to tell Danvers of them, but he says it’s all stuff and nonsense and that I won’t be excused from my tasks for making up tales.”
I rubbed my temples. Her story appeared to confirm the theory that something was imprisoned behind the mysterious door below Wyncourt. I’d come seeking answers and instead found new problems.
Yet Wyncourt had offered assurance of their safety, which must mean whatever was inside remained bound. “Don’t worry. I’ll look into the matter, but if you feel you must leave, then I’ll see to it that you’re given a good character reference. I will say I agree with Danvers that you’re safe here.”
“Yes, miss.” She bobbed her head and slipped from the room as the mantel clock chimed five times.
I’d lost hours in the depths of the manor, only catching glimpses of all it held within—and now I’d run out of time.
Dreda poked her head into the room. “Miss Caldwell gave me strict orders that we’re to depart at five. I hope you don’t mind.”
I did, yet I could scarcely confess why. In just a few hours, Lord West would fetch me for the theater, doubtless with some new torment he’d devised—and I’d no hope of protection.
After Lianne finished sweeping my hair into an elaborate affair of curls woven with starflowers, Aunt Caris bustled into my chamber. Her soft features warmed with pleasure as she regarded me, her gaze meeting mine in the mirror. “You look lovely. Lord West will be enchanted.”
Despite my efforts, she must have perceived something of my fears in my expression. “Does something trouble you, my dear?”
So many things, but only one she might help with . . . that of my past. I turned to her. “I’ve been thinking about Mother more often of late.”
“I understand, my dear.” Sorrow laced her voice. “I’d wondered if you might feel her absence more when Lord West expressed his interest. It’s natural you’d wish for her guidance as you contemplate your future.”
I fiddled with an abandoned starflower. “Do you remember how she felt when she learned she was expecting me? She had two others so close in age, so perhaps—”
“She was delighted, my dear. She gloried in her daughters, to the point she was scarcely willing to let the nursemaids tend you.” A soft smile crossed Aunt Caris’s face. “I must confess, when Alden wed her, I thought she’d never take to motherhood. She was so lively, so very determined in all things. Yet nothing pleased her more.”
“So she was never . . . low in spirits when she carried me?”
A faint shadow crossed her face. “There’s no need for you to worry about such things.”
“Aunt Caris, I’m no longer a child that I need my feelings spared. I’d like to understand, truly.”
“Then I will tell you that her oppressive moods never worsened during confinement. If anything, she was her brightest with the three of you.”
It fit with my recollections of how she’d called us her golden ones, how she’d always made herself available to us. Yet something had caused her melancholy—just as something had caused the abilities I displayed, which were unnatural to mortals. I could theorize all I wanted, but I needed more information. If Aunt Caris couldn’t offer further insight, then perhaps Father would, though it pained him to speak of Mother, even now.
Aunt Caris stepped close and added a pin to secure a flyaway curl. “I know I’m a poor substitute for her, but—”
I clasped her hand before she could pull it away. “Don’t say that. You’ve done nothing but love us well our entire lives, and I can’t imagine where we’d be without you.”
Her features softened further. “My dear girl. She would be so pleased with all of you—as I am.”
Only because Aunt Caris did not know what I truly was. If I couldn’t conceal it, if I had to see her affection turn to fear—a knife-blade of pain pierced my chest. I ducked my head, pretending to rummage for my gloves.
Then, blessedly, Gaile entered, providing a further distraction. “Lord Bradford has arrived.”
“What of Lord West?” Aunt Caris asked.
“No sign of him yet, Miss Caldwell.”
“He doesn’t seem like the sort to arrive late.” A slight frown crossed her face.
“Perhaps his business delayed him, and he’d no time to send word?” A little spark of hope flared within. Could I be so fortunate as to gain a stay?
Evidently so, for when we could delay no longer without missing the performance, Aunt Caris consented to our departure. Along with many of society’s finest, we entered the Crescent Theater. Gas chandeliers cast a brilliant glow over ornately gilded walls and white marble floors, a sparkling array of beauty to feast the senses.
Under other circumstances, it would have been a pleasant treat. But confined to a box with Lord Bradford, it proved a torment.
I sank back into the plush red velvet seat, watching the two of them. The music held Ada enraptured, but not so Lord Bradford—his attention rested on her.
Then he leaned over to whisper something to Ada, and his gaze dropped decidedly lower than her face.
I half-rose from my seat, and Aunt Melisina clutched my arm with a talon-like grip. “Sit. Now.”
I’d promised Aunt Caris not to make a scene, so I subsided, chafing beneath the conventions that bound me. I forced myself to look beyond Lord Bradford—wait, was that Lord West? I leaned forward. In the shadows of a box across the theater lurked an indistinct figure, something in its bearing reminding me of him.
But if Lord West was here, why had he kept at a distance? Was this another test of sorts?
I sat very still as the music and dialogue swirled about me. At intermission, I hurried to get a better view of the spot where I thought I’d seen him, tucking myself behind a fluted pillar. If he was here, I wished to know it, yet avoid him taking note of me—were such a thing possible. Yet it seemed he was not. A party of strangers occupied the mysterious figure’s box, and no pricking sense of Other hinted at Lord West’s presence.
I whirled about to return to my family, and in so doing, caught sight of Mr. Ludne, the Vigilist who’d handled Ibbie’s murder, greeting an unfamiliar gentleman.
Of all the people I did not wish to see. Only Lord West would have been less pleasant. I shrank deeper into the shadows, willing him to take no notice of me.
The two men exchanged pleasantries, then the gentleman said, “With the Crimson Tattoo Killer apprehended, I thought you’d have welcomed the chance to return to your Vigil-house. I know you have no particular fondness for Avons.”
“I find myself dissatisfied by several irregularities that came up during the case.” Mr. Ludne’s long fingers clutched his raven-head cane. “I don’t intend to leave the city until I have the answers I require.”
“You always were single-minded.”
The two men fell into step alongside each other, their voices blending with the general hum of conversation. I hurried back to my seat, my mind whirling with speculation. If Mr. Ludne had suspicions about the affair of the killer, would he eventually trace them back to me?
Between such thoughts and those of Lord West and Kilmere and Lord Bradford, the play felt interminable, the applause it provoked overloud, the exchange of wit flat. At last, it reached its finale, and we could make our escape.
The cheery fragrance of sweet pinks, clustered in stone planters outside the doors, greeted me, and I breathed a bit easier as we trundled into Aunt Melisina’s carriage.
When we emerged before our townhome, the gas lamps burned bright, casting great pools of light into the darkness. Yet a chill pricked down my spine. I hesitated on the stairs, surveying my surroundings. Then I saw it: a spiraled shadow resting in a pool of light.
Nothing nearby could have cast it; it was an impossibility. A sentinel left by Lord West, perhaps? As if in response, the bracelet burned bitter cold at my wrist.
Shoulders tight, I turned my back on the odd shadow and entered our row home.
If only it were Wyncourt.
Chapter 14
In the light of morning, I could almost dismiss the shadow as a phantasm birthed by night and my own fears. Unquestionably, the knowledge that as yet I possessed no means to escape Lord West had left me shaken. Perhaps it also made me see his influence where it did not exist.
Or perhaps he in fact watched and waited to spring some particularly unpleasant surprise. I couldn’t simply wait for him to strike again. Whatever its cause, his absence offered me time, and I’d put it to good use.
What about the Cloister library? The old logbook I’d discovered there had contained hints of the Forgotten War. Why not also some reference to the defenses used then as well?
Unless Mr. Heard was right, and we’d never possessed any. Either way, the old tomes hoarded within might offer some direction.
Outside my window, a sudden gust of wind tossed the branches of the oak restlessly. Its song surged into my senses, its deep-rooted determination becoming my own. I turned from the window and left my bedchamber, descending the stairs to join my family. Jade kept close to my side, as she had all morning. She acted as though I’d abandoned her for days instead of mere hours to attend the theater last night. When we settled at the breakfast table, she perched vigilant on the chair next to mine, even going so far as to growl at Holden when he parceled out the early post.
We all had an assortment of letters and invitations, all except Dreda. She sat eating quietly, yet something in her downturned shoulders hinted at disappointment.
The sweet roll in my mouth turned dry. “Dreda, if you wish to write to your family, you’re welcome to use the supplies in the secretary.”
“Thank you, Miss Jessa.” She sipped her tea, then returned the cup to its saucer with care. “But they’re not much for letter-writing.”
Because they did not enjoy correspondence or because they’d shunned Dreda after her affliction? Or had they simply forgotten her now that she was of no use to them? I could scarcely ask without causing greater pain, so I let the matter drop.
While Aunt Caris engaged Dreda in light conversation about the caps she’d remade, I slit open my first letter, skimming down to the signature.
It was from Mr. Burke, and it had arrived sooner than I’d expected.
Miss Caldwell,
You’ll be pleased to hear the investigation of the local authorities continues to point to the suspect I mentioned when I called. The choice of victims—all old families in the region, whom he has reason to hold a grudge against—appears to confirm his involvement. Our suspect will shortly be taken into custody. I trust you’ll keep this to yourself, but I wished to ease your mind.
As of now, these deaths don’t appear to relate to Kilmere. If you should have any further concern about the situation, only write. I intend to remain in Withern-at-Sea until our suspect appears before the local Magister and his guilt or innocence is conclusively determined.
With respect,
Mr. Burke
I folded the letter slowly. While he’d divulged more than I’d expected about the case, he’d said little about Kilmere. Surely if he’d discovered any sign of Other within, he’d have found a way to hint at it, whether or not it related to his case.
Unanswered questions churned in my gut. If only I could go to Kilmere—or at least ask him face-to-face. If I composed my reply with care, perhaps I could draw out a bit more.
I lifted the second letter, one written on the finest linen paper. It bore an inscription from Lady Hampton. My spirits lifted. When I’d written to some of Ibbie’s oldest acquaintances, I’d only the smallest of hopes that I’d receive a response.
Miss Caldwell,
I have considered your request to discuss the matter of Kilmere. I must say I found a great deal that happened then peculiar. Some of it I’d prefer not to revisit, yet I feel it my duty to speak the truth.
If you call this afternoon at two, I would be delighted to receive you.
Best regards,
Lady Hampton
I rested the letter in my lap. Perhaps she might offer one of the missing pieces I required to understand the nature of the curse and in turn Lord West’s interest in Kilmere. Ibbie couldn’t have spoken openly of it, of course, but Lady Hampton’s observations and memories could hold valuable clues.
If I called on her at two, I’d have time enough to visit the Cloister library afterward, assuming they’d receive me after I’d led a Vigilist into their hallowed halls. Perhaps I still had a chance of constructing some defense—or finding information I might use to bargain further with Lord West.
I folded the letter. “Aunt Caris, what do you know of Lady Hampton?”
“She’s become a bit reclusive in her old age, but she still comes to Avons every season—and her patronage is coveted.” Aunt Caris inclined her head. “Why do you ask, my dear?”
“She was an old connection of Ibbie’s, and she’s sent an invitation to call this afternoon.”
“How delightful.” Aunt Caris stirred a half-spoon of sugar into her tea. “She rarely welcomes visitors, so that’s quite an honor. I’ve already promised to call at Penwick Hall, but perhaps Dreda will accompany you?”
“I’d be pleased.” She offered a shy smile.
Though I’d rather conduct the conversation without an audience, I could offer no reasonable protest. “I plan to visit the library afterward, so it may be a long afternoon.”
“It’s no trouble, truly. That’s why I’m here.”
I murmured my thanks and sat quiet as conversation swirled about me. A restless energy churned inside, a relentless desire to do something—though what, I did not know.
When we retired to the morning room after breakfast, Jade refused to calm. She prowled about the windowsills and sniffed at the doorways, as though seeking hidden prey.
At last, Aunt Caris set aside her embroidery. “Perhaps she needs to go out of doors?”
Jade glared at her.
“Perhaps we both do.” I scooped her up and sought refuge in the garden.
Instead of the gentle cool of morning, early hints of summer heat laced the air, along with a stickiness that coated my skin. A distant, heavy, greenish scent signaled the approach of a possible storm, though only a faint smudge on the horizon hinted at gathering clouds.
I plucked at my bodice, wishing for a gust of wind like the one that had stirred the oak earlier, but no such good fortune came. So I fetched my collecting basket, then bent over the garden bed that skirted the glasshouse, one in which I grew medicinal herbs—rue, chamomile, lemon balm, and countless others.
Their multilayered fragrances laced the air, as rich as the songs that danced through my mind as I gently collected leaf and stem and blossom.
The repetitive motions brought some measure of calm, yet Jade remained restive. Did she know something I did not? With increasing frequency I glanced over my shoulder, seeking any misplaced shadows. When a sparrow chirred from the garden wall, I jumped.
The ivy climbing the trellis along the house rustled with an agitation to match my own, though no breeze stirred it. And the sense of pressure within mounted.
Within my skirts, Asrina shifted. Since she’d favored the security of my reticule, this morning I’d made her a nest of sorts in an inner pocket of my gown, where she might rest if she didn’t feel inclined to cling to my shoulder. Now she nestled contentedly inside.
Yet before Lord West had assaulted her, she’d radiated strength and energy, never weary, never still. What had he done to her? If she didn’t survive her injury . . .
I snatched up my collecting basket and pressed to my feet. I’d try the goldhearts. What had I to lose? Though I sensed their restorative properties did not extend to physical ailments, perhaps they’d lift her spirits.
I carried my selections into the compounding room and gently placed some goldheart blossoms in a jar with sweet oil. Then I placed the container on the windowsill, where the sun might draw out their healing properties—at least what little still shone in the rapidly clouding sky.
I eyed the gleaming bracelet and then slid a small tin of my amelior salve into my opposite pocket. Gowns with pockets were uncommon, but now I was glad I’d persuaded Aunt Caris to commission me a few.
When at last we reached the appointed time, Dreda and I rattled along in the carriage, Jade at my side, Asrina still concealed.
Dreda opened her mouth as if to speak, then subsided, studying her hands.
The heavy scent to the air strengthened, the heat thickening about us as I surveyed her. The role of chaperone or companion wasn’t an easy one. She wasn’t a proper servant, nor quite family either. Perhaps it left her uncertain how best to comport herself; perhaps she felt as awkward as I did at this moment. The carriage jostled over an uneven cobblestone. What might I do to set her more at ease?
“Dreda, I know you didn’t want supplies for correspondence, but is there anything else that might make your stay more comfortable?” I didn’t know much about her interests, but she’d likely received some instruction in the ladylike arts. “You’re always welcome to make use of the pianoforte or other instruments as you desire. Or if you wish, I could procure some drawing books and supplies for you? If you’ve any particular interest, you’ve only to say the word, and—”
“You’re very kind, but I’d not want to give your aunts the impression I mean to shirk my duties.” Her lips firmed. “If I’m not needed as chaperone, then I’m sure I may be of aid to your aunt.”
However much she demurred, she must desire something, even if her hopes were so deeply buried she refused to admit them. “Aunt Caris doesn’t expect you to serve every waking moment. She’d not begrudge you having your own pursuits when you’re not required to chaperone.”
