“Oh, Verity.” He sighed. “How awful.”
I frowned. “And the thing is…now that she’s told me about them, I’m certain I’m going to walk into the bathroom and see Elizabeth floating facedown in a bloody tub, or see Octavia’s broken body in the study. I can’t get the pictures out of my mind. I’m seeing my sisters everywhere.”
His thumb traced a warm circle across my knee. “It sounds terrible. But, I mean…” He paused. “It’s not as though you really are.”
“You don’t believe me.” I folded my arms over my chest, suddenly cold despite the brilliant sunlight.
“I believe they unsettled you—and that’s perfectly natural; you don’t need to be embarrassed about it. But you don’t really believe Verity is seeing ghosts—do you?”
“I don’t know what to think. If they’re not real, why would she draw such awful things?”
He shrugged. “Maybe they’re not so awful to her. Think about it. She’s been in mourning since the day she was born. When has she ever not been surrounded by grief?” Fisher pushed his tousled hair from his eyes. “That has to affect a person, don’t you think?”
“I suppose.”
He squeezed my leg once more. “I wouldn’t worry too much about it. It’s probably just a phase. We all went through odd ones.”
“I remember yours,” I said, an unexpected smile spreading across my lips.
He groaned, pulling back against the waves. “Don’t remind me, don’t remind me.”
“I’ll never forget the way you screamed.” He grinned, but for a moment, I had the strangest feeling he didn’t know what I was talking about. “The sea snake,” I prompted, raising my eyebrows.
Fisher’s eyes lit up. “Oh, that. There’s nothing wrong with screaming when you spot a snake that large. That’s just self-preservation.”
“But it was only a bit of rope!” I exclaimed, laughing at the memory. We’d been combing for seashells on the beach when a length of netting washed up. Fisher had grabbed my hand and hightailed it, hollering his head off about poisonous snakes and our impending doom. We girls left out strands of rope for Fisher to find for the rest of that summer.
“Rope, snake, it’s all the same,” he said, laughing along with me.
The boat struck the black sands of the islet, thudding us from the topic. I hopped from the dinghy and helped Fisher drag it ashore. Farther up the beach, near the rocky outcrops, were a series of tide pools. At high tide, the tiny island was completely underwater, but as the water pulled away, it left behind all sorts of treasures trapped in the basalt. You could always find starfish and rainbow-hued anemones, sometimes even seahorses, stuck until the tide returned. Long clumps of kelp often became entangled in the jagged edges. Tide pools were the perfect place to find more supplies.
“Did you enjoy the ball last night?” I asked as we searched.
“It was certainly the most glamorous evening I’ve ever had. And you?”
“I’m very grateful you were there. None of us would have danced otherwise.”
Realization dawned across his face. “You said your father and Camille were fighting about the curse. People really believe that?”
“Apparently.”
“Your family has had a terrible run of luck, but it doesn’t mean…” He swatted his hand at a fiddler crab, fighting him for a bit of kelp. “I’m sorry.”
“It doesn’t matter quite so much for me. But Camille is the heir now. She’s expected to marry well, and she’s worried she’ll never find a husband if she’s sitting on the outskirts of every ball she attends.”
He cocked his head, musing. “If only there was a way to get everyone off the island…get you far enough from Salann that no one has heard of the Thaumas curse.”
“That’s what I said last night! But she thinks it’s impossible.”
Fisher’s eyes drifted off the island, searching the shores of Salten as if trying to recall a buried memory. “I wonder…” He shrugged, laughing to himself. “It’s probably just more whispers. Forget I said anything.”
“What is it?” I asked, joining him to dump my catch.
“Growing up in the kitchens, you hear lots of stories. And that’s probably all they are.”
“Fisher,” I prompted.
He sighed. “It sounds a little crazy, okay? But I remember hearing something about a passageway, a secret door. For the gods.”
“The gods?” What would gods be doing at Highmoor?
“A long, long time ago, they were much more active in the affairs of mortals. They liked being consulted on everything from art to politics. Some of them still do. You know Arina is always showing up at the opera and theatres in the capital. Says she’s an important muse.”
I nodded.
He rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, it’s not as if they can take a carriage from the Sanctum, you know? They need a way to get to our world. So there are these doors. I remember one of the footmen saying there’s one somewhere on Salten—for Pontus to use when he’s traveling. You say some sort of magic words and they take you to places, far-off places like that.” He snapped his fingers. “But it’s just a story.”
Such a door must be marked as special, and I’d certainly never seen anything like that on Salten. It was probably nonsense. But…
“Did he ever say where Pontus’s door is?” I asked, cringing at the hope I heard in my voice.
Fisher shook his head. “Forget about it, Annaleigh.” He picked up the basket and shook its contents. “This enough, you think?”
“It’s plenty, thank you. Morella will appreciate it, I’m sure.”
We forced the boat down the beach, letting it meet the water. The sun beamed down, warming everything with a golden glow. My eyes fell on Fisher. Studying the way his forearms flexed as he rowed across the bay, I dared to remember how they’d felt wrapped around me.
A splash sounded ahead of us, breaking my daydream. A green flipper caught my eye.
A sea turtle!
Fisher winced, scanning the waters ahead. “Annaleigh, don’t look.”
A red tentacle thrashed out of the water, flailing aggressively. My smile faded. Red like that meant squid, and it looked enormous.
As the boat sailed past, I wanted to cry. The sea turtle was fighting for his life. The squid’s arms wrapped around him, grasping and writhing and trying to pull the shell apart. Squid, even one as sizeable as this, did not eat turtles.
It only went after him for spite.
My fingers trailed over the piano keys, working out a series of notes. It was a complex piece, full of rapidly descending glides and swooping rhythms, requiring absolute concentration. Unfortunately, my mind was not wholly on the piece, and the sound made even me wince.
Papa had been gone for over a week. He didn’t immediately send word of his arrival, and an uneasy panic descended over Morella, certain the curse had struck. When we finally received a letter, she snatched it from the silver tray and raced upstairs to read his words in private.
She’d begun to show, a small swell in her stomach that quickly expanded into a round curve. The baby was growing too fast. We summoned a midwife from Astrea, and when she emerged from Morella’s bedroom, her face was grave with concern.
“Twins,” she said. “Active ones too.”
The midwife gave me a salve to rub into Morella’s belly twice a day and said she needed to rest as much as possible, keeping her feet elevated and her emotions in check.
After another run of wrong notes, I clunked to a finish and swatted at the sheet music, studying what I should have done.
A maid poked her head into the Blue Room.
“Miss Annaleigh?” she asked, and gave a small curtsy. “There’s a Mr. Edgar Morris here.”
My breath hitched. Edgar at Highmoor? “For me?”
“And Miss Camille.”
I pressed trembling fingers into my skirt. After the boat ride with Fisher, I’d written a dozen letters to Papa, trying to explain my suspicions and begging him to come home soon to help. They’d all ended up in the fire, reading like the musings of a madwoman. A letter wasn’t the way to go. How could mere words convey the dark feeling growing in my stomach?
“Miss Thaumas, hello,” Edgar said, entering the room. Once again, he was dressed in full black, still observing deepest mourning.
I turned on the bench, watching him take in the room post-mourning. The sconces made the mirrors sparkle, and even with the overcast morning, the room looked a great deal more cheerful than when he’d last seen it.
“Mr. Morris.”
Though it was the height of disrespect, I remained at the piano bench, too surprised to move. It was as though I was truly seeing him for the very first time, spotting details I’d never noticed before. A small scar slashed just above his upper lip, the same lips Eulalie must have kissed. And those were the hands Eulalie had undoubtedly grasped as he secretly proposed to her. Had she run her fingers through that pale blond hair? Taken off the tortoiseshell glasses to gaze into his squinting hazel eyes?
What secrets of hers did this man keep?
“Mr. Morris, what an unexpected surprise.” We heard Camille’s voice before she entered. Edgar still stood near the threshold, unsure of what he ought to be doing. “Annaleigh, have you sent for tea?”
I shook my head.
“That’s quite all right, Miss Thaumas, I don’t intend to stay long,” he stammered, holding his hand out as if to stop her.
“Martha?” Camille called out, overriding him. “Tell Cook we’ll need tea and perhaps a plate of those lemon cookies she made yesterday.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Have a seat, please, Mr. Morris. Annaleigh?”
“What?” I asked, stubbornly remaining on the bench.
“You’ll join us, yes?”
After a long pause, I stood. “Of course.”
Martha wheeled in a tea service. As eldest, Camille set to work readying everyone’s cups. Once we were served, she straightened, eyeing our guest. “What can we help you with today, Mr. Morris?”
He took a sip of the tea, fortifying himself for the conversation to come. “I wanted to apologize for my behavior in the marketplace. I fear I wasn’t wholly myself that day. It was such a surprise seeing you both out in public and looking so…” His jaw clenched. “Well…your faces reminded me of Eulalie. It caught me quite off guard. I also…I hoped to speak with you. About…that night.”
If Camille was surprised, she was far more skilled at hiding it than I.
“What about it?” she asked, stirring her tea so smoothly the spoon never once clinked.
He squirmed uncomfortably. “I suppose I can admit this now, but I was here…the night it happened.”
“I know,” I murmured, my voice so quiet I wasn’t wholly certain I’d spoken.
Edgar’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Eulalie told you about me?”
I shook my head. “The inscription, in the locket…”
He dabbed at his forehead with his handkerchief. Even it was black. “I was surprised to see it on her at the funeral. She never wore it in life. It was our secret.”
“She must have had it on when she fell, but I don’t think anyone ever noticed it…. The fishermen who found her read the engraving. If they hadn’t, I would never have known Eulalie was engaged.”
“Engaged!” Camille snorted. “Don’t be absurd. Eulalie wasn’t engaged.”
Edgar shifted to the edge of his seat, focusing his attention on me with an unnerving intensity. “How did you know it was me? We were so careful.”
“I found the pocket watch she’d hidden, with the lock of hair. It wasn’t until you took your hat off in the marketplace that I realized you were a perfect match.”
“You found the watch?”
“What watch? Annaleigh, what is going on?”
For the first time during his visit, Edgar truly smiled. “I thought for certain it was lost to the Salt. I gave it to her in lieu of a ring.”
Camille’s mouth fell open. “A ring?”
I rubbed my forehead. “The night that Eulalie…she was leaving Highmoor to elope with Edgar.”
She burst out laughing. “Is this some sort of prank?”
Edgar shook his head.
“I don’t believe you. Eulalie was heir to Highmoor. She wouldn’t leave that. She had a responsibility here.”
“She didn’t want it. She never wanted it.”
He wasn’t lying. Papa had to all but drag her to visit the shipyards in Vasa and coerce her into studying ledgers and accounts. How many times had I sat at the piano and watched her fall asleep during one of Papa’s lectures on family history?
“Even if that’s true, she would never have married a lowly watchmaker’s apprentice. She wanted better things out of life.”
“Camille!”
She silenced me with a look as lethal as a dagger.
Edgar ignored her insult. “We were in love.”
Camille let out a laugh. “Then she wouldn’t have run away with you. She would have married you in a proper ceremony.”
“She was scared.”
“Of what?” she snapped.
He shrugged. “That’s what I hoped you might know. We were supposed to meet at the cliff walk at midnight. I waited for hours, but she never came. I decided to leave and planned to return in the morning. As I pushed my boat from under the cliffs…” He winced, swallowing back a sob. “I’ll never forget that sound as long as I live…. Like the slap of meat landing on the butcher’s block.” He wiped his forehead again, tears streaming down his face. “I can’t stop hearing it. It’s ringing in my ears even now. I fear it will drive me mad.”
“You saw her fall?” I asked, aghast. My eyes were wide, and the horror raced down my spine.
He nodded miserably. “I was paddling by the rocks when she struck them.” He blew his nose with a great honk. “I thought at first she’d slipped. It was dark, a new moon. Perhaps she couldn’t see the path. But when I looked up…there was a shadow peering over the cliffs. When it saw my boat, it jerked away, hiding in the brush.”
“A shadow!” I exclaimed.
Camille took a long sip of tea, seemingly unaffected by his tale of woe. “What then?”
Edgar looked away, his voice growing small. “I left.”
“You left our sister’s body on the rocks.” Her face was a terrifying mask of placidity.
“I didn’t know what to do. Nothing could have saved her. She was dead on impact. She had to be.”
Camille’s calm broke, her eyes flashing with rage. “You didn’t check?”
I put my hand out to steady her. “Camille, no one could have survived that fall. You know that.” I turned to Edgar. “You think she was pushed? By this shadow figure?”
“I do.”
“Was it a man? A woman? Did you see any features?”
“I couldn’t say. I was so close to the cliffs, and the waves were pushing my boat about. It was difficult to see. But I can’t forget the look in Eulalie’s eyes the last day I saw her alive. She was so frightened. She said she’d discovered something she wasn’t meant to and needed to escape. At the time, I thought it was simply dramatic fuel to start our getaway—she always had her nose in those tattered romance novels, you know—but now I wonder…” He removed his glasses and wiped them clean, once, twice, three times.
Camille’s mouth disappeared in a thin line, and I hardly recognized the look in her eyes.
“How dare
you enter our home and suggest that our sister, for whom we are still mourning, was murdered!”
“Mourning?” He bristled, casting his arm around the room with disdain. “Yes, I can see all evidence of that. Fresh-cut flowers and lemon cookies. Polished mirrors and balls. How the cheeriness of that dress must lift your spirits from otherwise abject despair!”
“Get out!” She stood so quickly, her cup dropped to the floor. The spilled tea soaked into the plush weave of the rug, leaving a spot as red as a bloodstain.
“Annaleigh?” He turned to me, imploring. “You know something, you must!”
I dared to meet his pained eyes, but Camille stepped in front of me, blocking my view.
“Roland!” she shouted.
Edgar’s eyes widened. “Not him—no! Not him!”
Fisher burst into the room, obviously having heard the commotion. “Camille? Are you all right?”
“Oh, Fisher, thank Pontus!” she replied, racing over to him. “Please escort Mr. Morris from Highmoor. I’m afraid he’s upset us both terribly.”
Edgar grabbed my hands, his fingers slick and nervous. I went rigid at such an unexpected invasion.
Roland appeared, immediately springing to action. “Come with us, sir.” He grabbed at Edgar’s waist.
“Easy does it,” Fisher said, attempting to pull Edgar away.
“Get your hands off of me!” Edgar snapped. “Annaleigh!”
I shook my head and pressed myself deeper into the chair to keep from being struck by Edgar’s flailing limbs. His cries turned to curses as he was manhandled from the room. After a moment of pandemonium in the hall, the front door slammed shut.
Fisher returned, his shirt pulled free, the sleeve torn. “What on earth happened in here? Who was that?”
“Eulalie’s fiancé, if you believe him. Which I don’t,” Camille said, retrieving her fallen cup.
Fisher took the chair Edgar had leapt from and accepted Camille’s offer of tea. “Should we alert the authorities? Did he harm either of you?”
“I doubt that’s necessary,” she replied. “He’ll probably do something extremely foolish and go to them himself.”
House of Salt and Sorrows Page 10