by Emma Beaven
She slipped back into the darkness, pausing for only a second before fleeing up the stairs after Sarah, whose door was closed. But feeling a rush of exhilaration from her unusual courage, Rose banged hard on the door. “Sarah,” she called, “it’s Rose.” Hearing nothing from inside, Rose slammed her fist against the door again. “Let me in!”
“Get away!” came the muffled reply, but Rose still detected tightly wound threads of rage and fear.
“Please, Sarah! Let me talk to you!” Rose waited but was met with only silence. Suddenly feeling self-conscious, she whirled around. As far as she could see, the hallway was empty.
She tapped more softly on the door that time. “Please….”
After receiving no response, Rose returned to her own empty room, lit a lamp, and called for Violet to help her undress.
Even though Sarah refused to talk to her that night, in saying those few words to Father, Rose felt different. Powerful. Rose slept easily, sure in the thought that more would change the next day.
But she had been wrong.
The next day, Rose had risen with her head pulsing only faintly, and she felt slightly less exuberance than the night before. She wished for Maggie, but then Rose pushed those thoughts aside, dressed hurriedly, and burst into the dining room where she assumed everyone would be eating, only to find the places set but empty. Rose turned toward the kitchen. “Hello?”
Rachel shuffled into the hallway, bits of dough stuck to her hands and forearms. “Miss Rose.”
“Where is everyone?” Rose gestured toward the dining room.
“They’re tending to Miss Sarah. She’s sick.”
Rose shook her head hard, trying to remove the memories and thoughts that lay inside her head, taunting her.
“Not sick,” she mumbled. “Not sick.”
Rose wanted desperately to tell Maggie, but she knew her sister would never believe her. Who would ever believe something like this? Rose hardly believed it herself.
There had to be a way out of this house, away from whatever was creeping about in the hallways at night. Rose let the dwindling hope of rescue slip through her mind again. It was a fantasy, nothing more, but she could do nothing but indulge. Maybe, maybe he would still come. Someone had to, Rose knew, because she couldn’t bear it. She would have to do something. Soon. Or the wardrobe, and what lay inside, waited.
Twenty-Four
Maggie stood at the back windows flanking the porch, watching the storm bleed the summer sky. From here, she could see her sister lying in the grass, tossing to and fro as a light drizzle fell. In her hand she held the crumpled note. She wanted desperately to show it to Rose, but Rose was in no condition to look at something like this. Even Maggie was chilled by it. There was no telling what Rose would do if she saw it. And, Maggie supposed, her father would continue to pretend that nothing was happening, that his eldest daughter was not going mad.
It had seemed for a while now that everyone in the house was keeping some secret from her, excluding her for no reason she could understand: Rose and her father and Mariotta. The air was always thick when they were together, thick and heavy. And Rose refused to let her in to share whatever hidden thing she kept secret. And now, Maggie reflected as she pressed her face against the glass, she was out in the yard for everyone to see.
Maggie steeled herself and flung open the door. “Rose! Get in here. It’s raining.”
Rose sat up suddenly and looked around, seemingly lost. Her dress was dirty and wet again, her hair tangled with pieces of grass. Maggie sighed and banged on the door with her fist. “Rose!” she yelled as loudly as she dared.
Rose turned toward her, shielding her eyes as if the sky were sunny rather than leaden gray. She stumbled once and, with some effort, dragged herself to her feet. She walked a few steps forward and looked up at Maggie from the ground below the porch. “I like it out here,” she shouted over the rush of rain.
“Get in here, dammit!” Maggie went outside and made her way toward Rose. The rain picked up at that moment, soaking through her dress as her anger rose. “I’m not standing out here with you and getting sick, so get in here right now!”
Rose sighed and shook her head but moved toward the stairs, nevertheless. “I don’t want to go in there. I’m sorry, Maggie, but I can’t.”
Maggie shuffled forward and stretched out her arm. “Please, Rose, just come in. I won’t leave you tonight, so you don’t have to worry.”
Rose, who had been trudging slowly up the stairs, stopped. “I’m not worried,” she snarled through gritted teeth.
Maggie sighed. Rose was just close enough for her to reach, so she extended her hand again, her face plaintive. “Fine. Just come in, please. The neighbors will see you.”
Rose jumped and gazed behind herself suspiciously. “Was someone out here?”
“Just get in here.” Maggie led her to the door.
“Oh no. I look like a fool!” Rose pulled Maggie close. “Was anyone out there?”
“No!” Maggie shoved Rose lightly in the chest. “And you’re telling me there’s nothing wrong with you.”
Twenty-Five
Rose tapped the foggy window with her fingernail. It was impossible to see outside, especially with the lamp flickering on the ledge, but she strained her eyes to try. Had Henry seen her earlier? He could have been out on the lawn, and she probably wouldn’t have noticed.
Footsteps tapped lightly through the hallway and across the oriental rug. Rose didn’t turn; she knew her sister’s footsteps easily. Fingers closed on her shoulder, and she moved backward. “Are you going to sleep now?”
Maggie nodded. “Come with me.”
Rose followed obediently, grateful for the company as they mounted the stairs. She gathered her dress as they walked, trying not to look behind her in the dark. Maggie had only a candle, and its flame sputtered and crackled, threatening to go out at any moment. And the second-floor hallway was no better. The window at the front of the hallway let in silky strands of moonlight, which created a strange ethereal glow that Rose had never liked.
As they passed the first door, Rose cringed. It was the room where she’d awakened after her nightmares had slipped daintily through cracks to crouch in the passageways. She pushed against Maggie, trying to rush her along to their bedroom. Tonight, with the wardrobe gone and her sister by her side, Rose hoped blissful, dreamless sleep awaited.
“Do you think anyone saw me today?” Rose asked again as she helped Maggie undress.
Maggie snorted. “How should I know? Certainly someone could have seen if they’d been looking. I saw you, after all.”
“I hope no one saw me.” Rose slid onto the bed and pulled the blanket up.
“Oh, come on, Rose. It’s really too hot tonight.” Maggie walked to the other side of the bed, past the space the wardrobe used to occupy. “Keep the blankets away from me.”
“Fine,” Rose said. “But did you notice anyone… you know, looking?”
“You mean Henry McCann?”
“No!” Rose’s face grew hot. “I just don’t want to embarrass myself.”
Maggie giggled. “What about me?”
“He left his card here.”
“Daddy?” Maggie laid her head on the pillow and placed her fingers against the lamp, waiting to turn it off. “Can I?”
Rose nodded reluctantly. “You know who I mean.”
“He could just want to visit Daddy.” Maggie watched as the small smile that creased Rose’s cheeks fell. “Or it could be you.”
Rose fell back onto the pillow as Maggie put the light all the way out. She tried not to think about the darkness, instead focusing on the dwindling thoughts of Henry once again. She felt the familiar warmth of her sister’s body close beside her, and for a moment, she relaxed until she remembered how this same warmth preceded her nightmares. Her eyes popped open again, turning first toward the empty corner and then toward the still form of her sister.
She could still feel the phantom presence of the wa
rdrobe crouching near her. And since the dream, she was wary of even Maggie. Rose peered suspiciously at her sleeping sister, looking for signs of wakefulness, but her face was relaxed and calm, her body curled up in her usual position with a hand flung out to the side and over the bed. There were none of the sharp bodily contortions and glistening wide eyes of the night before.
Rose settled back beside her, trying to slow her breathing and concentrate on things outside the house. Anything to take her mind off it. She had to sleep sometime, even while things crept upon her in the night. Better not to think about it.
Twenty-Six
Rose was happy to wake in her own bed, her snoring sister still beside her. She poked Maggie gently just to make sure she was really there. Her sister mumbled something incoherent and rolled over.
The curtains blew lightly in what was quite an enjoyable breeze, and Rose soon found herself pushing back the curtains and enjoying the wet, slightly cool morning air. Still, these outwardly agreeable days had turned on her before. Perhaps if she could stay focused, she could force the day to conform to her liking.
Rose dressed carefully, searching through her dresses that had been hung in a new cabinet. Today was the day, she decided, to pay a call to their neighbors. Still, it might be unseemly for her to leave a card. Maybe she could get Christopher to drop off her father’s card on her behalf. Although her father might not expect a visit; after all, she didn’t believe she’d even shown the card to him.
The hallway was empty when Rose went to peek out, barefoot with her hair hanging about her shoulders. Her father’s door stood open, which meant he had already risen—not unusual at all for him, especially if he had business today. She ducked back in and plucked at Maggie. “Wake up!”
Maggie grumbled lazily but finally rolled toward her and cracked her eyelids. “Did you have a bad dream?” she asked, her voice thick and cottony.
“No. It’s late. Can you help me with my hair?”
“Why don’t you ask Violet?”
“Because I want you to help. Can you help or not?” Rose flinched as she suddenly realized she was already beginning to sour the day. “I’d just like you to, is all,” she said more softly, trying to force her stiffened lips into a smile.
“Give me a moment.” Maggie scrambled out of bed, swinging her body around and dropping her feet with a thud onto the floor. She looked around for a moment, seemingly confused, and then shuffled over to her sister. “What do you want me to do?”
“I don’t know.” Rose pondered for a moment. “I just want you to wind it nice and neat with some wisps hanging out, I think.”
“Why do you need me?” Maggie began to pull away.
“Because you wind it so nice. I want it to be neat in the back. You know Violet never makes it as straight as you do.”
“Fine.” Maggie sighed. She ran her fingers through Rose’s dark hair. “Why do you care so much anyway? Is there a party I don’t know about?”
“No,” Rose said softly. “But I’m planning on a visit.”
“With whom?” Maggie smiled wryly and jerked her hand toward the west side of the house. “You think you’re going to visit with him?”
“Well, someone has to,” Rose stated defensively. “He left his card.”
“He or a servant?”
Rose twisted her fingers together. “I don’t know. I found it in the tray, and Christopher claimed he did not answer the door.”
Maggie blew out a breath of air. “So who was it for? Probably Daddy.”
“I don’t know. There was no corner turned down.” Rose began feeling mildly uncomfortable by the questioning.
“It was just an introduction then. Daddy should already have sent a card because of the party anyway.” Maggie yanked at Rose’s hair. Rose pulled a strand out of the tight knot Maggie was forming.
“If you were going on a morning visit, you could have invited me.”
Rose watched in the mirror as Maggie worked on her hair. “You’re invited.” She was unhappy just thinking of Maggie going with her. “You’d better hurry and get dressed, then.”
“Suppose Father won’t go?
“We could have Christopher deliver a card,” Rose said thoughtfully. “Then he’d likely come back. But it would be better to go in person, don’t you think?” At least then Rose could have a chance to speak with him today, she thought but decided not to mention.
When Maggie had finally finished, Rose put on one of her newer muslins, snatched her hat, shawl, and bag, and headed downstairs, hoping her father hadn’t gone out. The door to his study was firmly shut, and a thrill shot through her as she saw it. She banged loudly and a bit too hard on the door and then waited, her fingers resting on the wood, listening. After what seemed like an unbearable amount of time, she heard her father’s voice usher her in.
He was sitting in one of the chairs flanking the cold fireplace, his back to her, a drink in one hand. “Christopher?”
“No, Daddy, it’s me.” Rose scurried in. Her father still didn’t turn. She slipped up behind him, her feet nearly silent on the thick rug, and placed a hand on his shoulder. “I have a favor to ask.”
Her father’s shoulder trembled beneath her hand, and she quickly recoiled, taking a small step back. “What is it?” he asked softly.
Rose smiled despite herself. “Well, it seems our neighbor left his card here a few days ago, and, well, it’s only right if we pay a morning visit.”
“McCann came here, did he? I knew he would.”
Rose was slightly confused. She was sure her father had only just met Henry McCann, yet he was already speaking of him with familiarity. “Well, don’t you think we should go over?”
“I suppose we’ve no choice.” He put a hand out and escorted her to the door. “Let me dress.”
Rose watched him go, unsure of herself. She almost wished she hadn’t approached him. For some reason, her father’s words made her feel strange and unpleasant. Still, she’d be going after all, and that was what mattered right then.
Rose plunked herself down in the entrance hall, folding her shawl close, to wait.
Twenty-Seven
The heavy scent of magnolia had permeated even the air in the front yard. Rose inhaled deeply, all the while watching her sister strut obnoxiously, her arm looped in her father’s. This was a bad idea, especially with Maggie here.
Rose could feel jealousy burn deep inside her, threading its way through her bloodstream. She touched two fingers to her face, expecting it to be hot to the touch.
It was infuriating watching Maggie. It made Rose’s skin itch with annoyance.
They were walking out on the drive rather than crossing the yard, and she thought about calling out to them, asking them to wait.
As they approached the curve in the drive, Rose spun around once, surveying the house. Mariotta stood at the left window beside the porch. Rose put a hand up, half waving, before letting it fall back to her side and continuing down the drive. She could still feel her stepmother’s gaze on the back of her head, piercing into her skull like burning needles.
Rose continued to plod behind Maggie, watching her curls bob around her bonnet. She wondered what her neighbors would think when they showed up without Mariotta. It would certainly lead to gossip. Not that it mattered to her terribly much.
A crow called loudly just above them, startling the trio as they passed the last tree at the end of the drive. Rose stopped to stare at the bird for a moment as it dipped its shiny black head toward her, blinking its beady eyes against the sun. “Get out of here,” Rose whispered, flinging up her hand at the bird, which, to her satisfaction, flew off.
They rounded the corner and approached the house, and Rose was able to get a better look at it in the sunlight. The large windows reflected the light against the gleaming white columns whose bases were covered in clusters of fallen purple flowers kicked toward the porch by the wind. The upper story had several large windows in the center with smaller ones on the sides. Rose wondere
d briefly which one might be Henry’s before she realized Maggie and her father had turned to wait impatiently for her to catch up. She scrambled after them and took her place on the other side of her father, all the while watching Maggie closely. Maggie flicked her head haughtily and pushed her hat back slightly while bringing her curls forward.
Once they got to the door, a cool breeze whipped along the west side of the house, and as it caught her hair, Rose had the distinct impression of fingers gently exploring as they intertwined in her curls. Her father glanced at the windows before raising the brass door knocker and dropping it solidly against its plate three times. Apprehension rose in the pit of her stomach as the long-awaited visit came even closer. Suddenly, her bladder felt full, and Rose was decidedly uncomfortable.
After a moment, the door opened with a small clank of the knocker. A servant watched them expectantly as her father fumbled for a card.
He ushered them into the front hall and disappeared into the main part of the house. Rose grasped her hands together nervously and glanced around. The hallway was brightly lit by the large windows which appeared, curiously, to have no curtains. A couch was pushed into a nook by the stairwell for waiting visitors, but Rose didn’t dare sit down. The heat had made her sticky again, and upon rising, she could imagine the material would be caught in terribly embarrassing places for all to see.
A flurry of movement resounded in the back of the house, and the servant reappeared and ushered them to the parlor. Rose began subconsciously picking at her hair, twisting the strands nervously as she slid into the room behind her father. The servant gestured to two formal chairs posed at opposite sides of the door leading to the hallway. Rose moved quickly to the left and carefully sat down, shooting Maggie a glance of annoyance as she watched her sister seat herself in the other.
Rose’s heart flipped as Mrs. McCann entered. She got up again, a rigid smile plastered on her face as she tried to peer beyond her. The hallway, however, appeared to be empty. Rose’s excitement drained through her skin. She shifted, nearly tripping on the short train that drifted behind her. Maggie giggled and pulled up her own dress near her bosom.