by L C Kincaide
“I’ll drink to that.”
“Thank God you’re okay. That’s one crazy storm out there! I don’t ever remember party night turning into a fiasco.”
“I guess there’s a first time for everything.”
“And the chandelier coming down…”
“It’s a good thing nobody was under it when it crashed.”
“God! And the candelabrum. It must weigh a hundred pounds! How in hell did it fall over? It barely missed you!”
Ivy held out her glass for a refill. She had no words for the accident except what she suspected, but she’d never be sure.
They sipped their wine in silence, each in her own thoughts. Ivy’s room faced east, so the rain wasn’t pelting against the windows, but the north wind wailed in the eaves, and thunder rumbled overhead. Thankfully, the heavy curtains blocked out the worst of the lightning strikes.
Emma’s gaze swept the room. “This reminds me of being away at school. We used to sneak around to each other’s dorm rooms and drink after lights-out.”
Ivy had no experience of boarding schools, but she had been to a party or two, the occasional sleepover at a friend’s house when she was young, only wine wasn’t involved.
She put another log on the fire and poked at it absently. She really wanted Mason to knock on her door, check up on her. Ivy sighed and replaced it. Maybe later. Her eye wandered to the orchid. The white blossoms with the dusky centers glowed in their pristine brilliance.
Emma watched Ivy over the rim of her glass. “What happened out there?”
“What do you mean?”
“In the hall. We were all in the parlor then the clock started at eleven and you got up and went out there like a zombie as if you were in a trance or something. Then you just stood there, and a minute later you passed out on the floor.”
Ivy cringed. She might as well tell her before she makes it into a supernatural event and gets all worked up over nothing.
“I don’t remember. But when I was a kid, I used to get petit mal seizures, I’d tune out for a little while and that’s all. They came back. It isn’t serious. I may never have one again.”
Ivy was glad to offer an explanation that made sense. On a stormy night, Emma could have easily imagined her friend had become possessed by a spirit entity. How could she blame her when everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours supported such notions?
“I think we should leave.” Emma said.
Ivy looked at her, perplexed.
“Not again. It didn’t work out that great the last time.”
“You’re right. We’ll go in the morning.”
“Emma, tomorrow’s Monday. We’re all leaving.”
”Oh, right. How time flies…” She considered her glass. “What a night. Jeez, I’ve never seen one like it. I’m so glad it’s over.”
“That makes two of us.” Ivy took a sip. “Is there anything special planned for tomorrow?”
Emma shook her head and winced. “Nope, That’s it. Over for another year. Then I get to do this all over again. Lucky me!”
Thunder rumbled from a distance, the storm having moved farther away. Emma refilled their glasses.
“Ooops!” The last few drops fell into the tumbler. “Have no fear, I planned ahead!” Emma slid off the bed, nearly landing on her butt. She giggled and cracked the door open, reached out and brought in another bottle. She winked at Ivy. “I had a feeling…” she said knowingly and tried to center the point of the corkscrew into the cork. It slipped twice. “Damn! Why can’t she ever buy wine with a screw-on cap?”
Ivy took it from her and opened the bottle. She still had a way to go before being fully drunk. Since this was their last night in the manor, Ivy asked her what had been weighing on her mind for the past two days.
“What can you tell me about Mason Everdon?”
“No more than what I already told you.”
“No, not the one in the gallery. I mean the other Mason, his namesake.”
Emma gave her a puzzled look. “There is no other Mason that I know of. My family is too superstitious to have named anyone after the man who cursed us all. No, our dear, great uncle Mason died in this house, and if not for his cousin Lucy, he would have been alone for the rest of his miserable life.”
Ivy’s blood ran cold. “Lucy?”
“Yep. She was — lemme think, the only daughter of his uncle Morgan. She was completely devoted to him and took care of him until he died. So the story goes.”
Ivy wanted to sit on her hands to keep them from shaking. “Is her portrait in the gallery?” Her voice came out thin and strained.
“Nope. But there are pictures of her in the album downstairs if you want to see.”
”But you have a cousin Lucy, right?” Ivy thought if she pushed Emma hard enough for what she wanted to hear, she would say it. But so far, her responses defied explanation.
“That could be, but if I do, we’ve never met. The English side of the family likes to stay where they are, mostly.”
Whatever was happening here had her completely baffled. Lucy, Mason — she wasn’t ready to contemplate anyone else yet, were real people. She had conversations with them, had laughed together, touched. She had even kissed him! Ghosts, phantoms, whatever one chose to call incorporeal beings had no substance and were not real, merely comforting beliefs people who had suffered losses clung to, or they enjoyed being scared or got their kicks frightening others. No, Emma must be mistaken. Nothing she said made sense. Lucy herself had warned her she shouldn’t be surprised to see a new face. Besides, she didn’t believe in ghosts.
“You look like you could use another drink.” Emma refilled Ivy’s glass. “You don’t look too good. Maybe we should talk about something else. All this rehashing of ancient history is creeping me out too, and I don’t want to end up like my mother! To be honest, I don’t give a damn about the past, but her?” She took a long swallow. “I wish she’d just let it go, but there’s no way. Nothing ever changes. It just goes on and on like she’s afraid of something. She keeps everything the same. Never moves a thing out of place in case it offends someone or something. Take that stupid hothouse.” Emma flung her arm toward the windows. “It should have been torn down years ago, but no, it has to stay! It should be condemned if you ask me! Same with the outbuildings. Demolished, every last one of them! It’s starting to look like the damned apocalypse happened out here!”
Ivy didn’t understand what she meant. It was a perfectly fine Victorian hothouse. Beautiful, in fact with its curlicues and charm intact. She couldn’t speak of the outbuildings, not having seen them.
“It must still be in good enough shape. How else could the orchids grow in it?”
Emma looked up, her eyes meeting Ivy’s though she was having trouble focusing. “Orchids? Where did you see those?”
Again, Ivy had the singular feeling she shouldn’t have brought them up. What was it about the plants that got them all weirded out?
“In the hothouse yesterday morning. It’s full of them.” She considered pointing out the Miltonia, but thought better of it.
“Oh God, she was right.” Emma’s face blanched. She clamped a hand over her mouth, and with great effort scrambled off the bed and lurched into the bathroom. Ivy winced when the retching commenced. At least she wouldn’t have to worry about Emma drowning in her own vomit in her sleep.
“Feel better?” She asked holding out a towel. Emma pulled herself up on the sink and splashed water on her face, rinsed out her mouth and the ends of her hair.
“I’m sorry, Ivy.” She patted herself with the towel and dropped it in the tub.
“Don’t worry about it. That’s enough drinking for one night. Let’s get you back to your room and into bed.”
Her arm encircling her waist, Ivy led Emma into the
hall. Candles on console tables lighted the way in case anyone was inclined to wander around. It was late, and they were all most likely sleeping off tonight’s festivities. The two of them teetered along the open gallery locked in an awkward embrace. A flash of lightning illuminated the downstairs briefly, but there were no signs of life otherwise.
In her room, Ivy helped Emma into bed and rolled her onto her side. There was no point in taking any chances; she wouldn’t stay awake much longer. Ivy was almost done tucking her in when Emma grasped her hand.
“I’m sorry, Ivy.” She said, bleary eyes trying to focus on hers.
Ivy forced a smile. “There’s nothing to be sorry for.”
“I should have left you alone, not gone chasing after you to be my new best friend. Now look at this mess…”
Ivy watched her, wondering what she was talking about. Emma had never sought her out. If anything, it was the other way around. One day Ivy asked to share her table at the crowded cafeteria in the building where they both worked, and they ended up chatting and made plans to see the band that was playing on the weekend. And the next time it was she who suggested they go clubbing, something Ivy didn’t do much of, but Emma did. Yes, she wanted befriend Emma who was her age, carefree, genuine, and fun to be with. At first sight, Ivy had been intrigued by her and enjoyed her company, but she never gave it any more thought. Not once had she stopped to think there could be any other reason than just wanting to be friends with her. And here they were, Emma lying in bed in terrible shape.
“Get some sleep now. Everything will be better in the morning.”
Emma’s eyes welled with tears. “No, it won’t.”
“Shhh…”
“Ivy, be careful.” She held fast to her hand, stubbornly willing her eyes to focus.
“OK…” She didn’t think she needed to use much caution to return to her room, but she nodded anyway.
“And stay out of the northeast wing. Promise! Don’t let him get you.” Emma wouldn’t let it drop.
“Who?” Ivy had to ask. If anyone was gunning for her it was Victoria Seabrooke, and to a lesser extent, the old woman.
Emma struggled to keep her eyes on Ivy but they wanted to roll back in her head. “Mason Everdon. Don’t let him…”
Mason? What had he to do with anything? Why would he do anything to her? Emma was drunk and traumatized by tonight’s events. She couldn’t be expected to be make sense.
“I promise.” She freed her hand from Emma’s grasp. “Now get some sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Emma closed her eyes and sighed.
“We’ll go…” She whispered and fell asleep.
Closing the door quietly behind her, Ivy retraced her steps and paused briefly at the top of the stairs. The floor below lay in darkness except for the occasional bursts of white from above. The evening had left her exhausted and confused. She hurried to her room.
MONDAY
~*~
Ivy awakened with a start in her muted bedroom. The storm had finally passed, for there was no patter of rain or wind howling in the eaves. In fact, not even the birds chirped in the branches. The morning was eerily quiet.
She burrowed under the covers and winced at the tenderness in her shoulder where the candelabrum had grazed her. It was a night she will not soon forget, at least the parts she can remember. The last thing she remembered was Emma’s warning to be careful.
Poor Emma, all the crazy talk about curses, then her regrets for a situation that was not of her making, and insisting she not venture into the closed wing — if she only knew she had already been there. And then there was the most peculiar and disturbing thing she had said, something about Lucy and Mason. She had made her promise to stay away from him, to not let him get her. It was all beyond her comprehension, and what did it matter? She was leaving, and apart from her friend, she would most likely never see any of them again.
For all their wealth and luxury, the Everdons, Ruskins, and Langstones were complicated families. On their own, they appeared like decent, ordinary people, but thrown together under the same roof, one had to wonder. Clearly, there was a deep rift among some of them. It seemed strange how they can be in the same room and ignore each other so completely as if they weren’t even there. But who was she to judge when she did not understand what their relationships were, nor their collective history? They were all entangled in something old and mystifying.
She sighed and rolled onto her side. A faint light pressed against the curtains and her pulse quickened at the sight of the orchid, for it was a reminder of Mason. She didn’t understand him, couldn’t figure out how he had known about the gown, unless it was his direct wish for her to wear it and dress exactly like Amelia was on the night of that long ago party. There were some peculiar goings on under this roof she would never be able to explain, even to herself, some of them downright worrisome. Or she could be overthinking the whole thing. Maybe it was all an elaborate game they played on their unsuspecting guest each year. For what purpose? Who knows?
Ivy shifted under the covers. This house, this weekend, and the people who were part of it were not of her world. Soon all of this would become a memory, including Mason, and she felt a tightening in her chest. All right, she may as well admit it, if only to herself in the twilight of a Monday morning with only a plant to bear witness. She was attracted to him, and yes, as improbable as it seemed, she wanted there to be more. She hoped for a chance after this bizarre adventure to find out what more there could be.
Oh, what’s the use? She rolled onto her back and tossed the blankets aside annoyed with herself, and padded to the window. She needed to see how Emma was faring after their night of drinking.
The curtains parted to reveal bare limbs scratching into a drab grayness that obliterated the view of the distant hills. Near the ground, a thick layer of mist hovered so that she could barely make out even the gravel paths. She searched her bag for her cellphone and was shocked to find it was past noon. The battery was down to only five percent. It would not last much longer.
Her head throbbed when she stood up, sending a clear reminder that she was not immune to the effects of alcohol either. Flipping the switch didn’t turn on the lights, but the water was warm enough for a quick bath, and she downed two glasses as the tub filled. May as well flush out the toxins.
Returning to the bedroom, she yelped in surprise. The curtains were all drawn back, and Styles was laying out a new dress she had not seen before on the freshly made bed. The maid’s “good morning” didn’t register in her confusion. When had she come into the room, and why the Edwardian costume? The weekend was over and everyone was leaving. There was no point in dressing up anymore, was there? Had she missed something? She clutched the towel to her chest.
Glancing around, another unexpected thing caught her eye. The woman must be in a strange mood today, for in a fogged window pane she had written — REMEMBER. Ivy shook her head. Why would Styles do that? Annoyed, she crossed the room and wiped the glass to erase the word, but the message remained. Peering closer, she found it had been written from the other side. Wide-eyed, she took a step back. That was impossible. The window was at least twenty feet off the ground!
“Miss Ivy! Are you all right?” Styles enquired from the doorway.
Ivy spun around nearly losing the towel. She pointed at the printed message. The maid’s eyes moved to where she was pointing then to her, an uncertain smile playing over her features. When Ivy turned to the window, the writing was gone. She had to reassure Styles that she was fine before she left though reluctantly.
As soon as she was dressed, Ivy hurried to Emma’s room. She rapped impatiently on her door, but there was no answer. When she opened it, she found her unmade bed, but no sign of its occupant. She was probably downstairs nursing a pot of coffee, no doubt. But she wasn’t in the dining room either. In fact, no
one was around. There were the usual signs of life, used plates and cutlery, empty cups, juice glasses, and bowls. Apparently, everyone had eaten breakfast, maybe even lunch and went off somewhere.
She downed a glass of juice and hurried to the drawing room, but everything there too was in its place; the billiard balls were contained in the rack in the center of the green felt, the cues stood upright back in their case. The parlor was neat and tidy and didn’t hold clues to anyone’s whereabouts either, nor was there evidence of last night’s party. No abandoned Brandy snifters nor wine glasses lay about, not even a cushion was out of place. She had hoped to find Mason here, for this seemed to be a room he favored, but neither he nor Lucy were around. For a terrible moment, it occurred to her that Emma made good on her plan to leave and left her behind.
Heading back, she considered taking a peek into the ballroom, to see for herself the amount of devastation in the light of day. The French doors were closed, and she thought of opening them, even going in. No one was here to stop her, but was she prepared for whatever lay beyond them? Did she really want view that exquisite chandelier lying shattered in pieces on the polished floor? Never mind the candelabrum that nearly fell on her. She turned away and went in search of a raincoat or jacket.
Huddled in an oversize field coat she found in the service hall, she opened the side door to the garden. The air that brushed against her skin was cool and clammy, and the fog she had seen from the window had drifted closer to the house. Last night’s rain had tapered off to a fine drizzle that coated every surface. Not one pair of rubber boots she found fit properly, so she wore only shoes and didn’t stray from the path, loath to damage yet another dress. She came upon a weathered shed attached to the side of the house that probably housed the generator with a large limb blocking its entrance, but nobody had made an attempt to remove it. Strange, hadn’t John and Matthew run out last night to try to start it? Perhaps they kept it housed in another building.