by Cross, Amy
Three bedside lamps!
Who the hell needs three bedside lamps?
Not me, that's for sure. Which is why they're all here in the lock-up now, and they're going to stay here for the foreseeable future. I'll be traveling light when I go down to Cornwall. In fact, I think I might try to make do with whatever I can carry on the train to Truro. I see this move as a chance to make a big break, and to de-clutter my life. Living with Vanessa was wonderful, but that woman most certainly had a knack for bringing things into my flat. I swear, not a week went past without some new ornament, rug or cushion sneaking its way through the front door.
I can't even begin to imagine what she'd have done if she'd gotten her hands on Ashbyrn House. It would have been the project of a lifetime.
“We have to make our house feel more like a home,” I remember her telling me once. “We have to think about how things fit together.”
Once I'm certain that the latest box is securely in place, I head around to the shelves at the far end of the lock-up. The hangover is still clouding my thoughts a little, and it takes a moment before I remember I was going to search for my old leather traveling bag. I think I must have packed it away by accident, although to be honest I don't much fancy going through everything all over again. Reaching up, I start using the tip of my fingers to edge one of the boxes out from the highest shelf, figuring that I'll just take a quick look and then – if I can't find the bag – I'll buy another. Standing on tip-toes, however, I struggle for a moment to move the box, and finally I decide to try a different approach.
I step back, and then I gently push the pile, hoping to shift the box using gravity alone. If I just -
Suddenly the pile starts toppling toward me. I barely have time to realize the danger before the boxes come crashing down. Covering my head, I drop to my knees as the entire tower collapses. Heavy box after heavy box thuds down onto my back, and finally I let out a faint grunt as I turn away and one final box lands square on my shoulders. Then I wait, tensed in case there are any more, before finally accepting that the onslaught is over. I think I might just have survived.
I can't believe I was stupid enough to push the pile like that. And now, when I try to get up, I find that several of the boxes are pinning me down.
“Great,” I mutter with a groan, trying again to rise from the floor, only to find that these boxes are a little heavier than I'd credited. One in particular is pushing down against my shoulder, but I don't want to call out for help like a goddamn idiot.
I twist around, trying to pull free, but suddenly another box comes tumbling down and lands square against my chest, pinning me to the wall.
“Damn it!” I mutter, stopping and taking a moment to get my breath back. I can get out of this mess, but I need to pull myself together. The metaphor of the situation isn't lost on me, either. I shift slightly under all the boxes, while taking a couple of deep breaths, and then I brace myself to rise.
Before I can start to push the boxes away, however, I spot movement in the corner of my eye. I turn, figuring that now I have to deal with the fuss of the lock-up's attendant finding me, but to my surprise I see that there's a woman standing in the doorway over on the far side of the room, and she's wearing a white wedding dress.
I blink, and she's gone.
I wait a moment, but I don't hear any footsteps. It's almost as if the woman was never here at all, but I know what I saw and I'm certainly not given to hallucinations. There was a woman in the doorway wearing a wedding dress, and her face was covered by a veil. I couldn't really make out her features at all, but I did see a small bouquet of flowers clutched in her hands. She was most certainly real.
“Hello?” I call out.
Silence.
I wait a few seconds longer, convinced that some reasonable explanation will leap out at me. When that fails to happen, however, I tell myself to just focus on the task of getting out from under the boxes. After taking yet another deep breath, I start easing the heaviest box aside, and finally I clamber out to freedom. The rest of the boxes tumble down behind me, but at least I've managed to escape with little more than an aching shoulder. Under the circumstances, perhaps I was lucky to avoid further injury.
“Thanks for the help,” I mutter, figuring that the woman could have at least given me a hand.
Getting to my feet, I brush myself down before starting to put the boxes back on the shelves. I can't help glancing over my shoulder a couple of times, just in case the woman in the wedding dress shows up again, but she seems to be long gone. God knows what she was doing here, but I guess all sorts of people use the lock-up to store all sorts of things, even bridal gowns. Maybe I'm not the only one who needs to get rid of some baggage.
Chapter Four
Katinka - 1859
“Katinka? Where are you? Have you been in the -”
I hear footsteps reaching the doorway, followed by a moment of silence.
“Oh, there you are,” Pippa continues. “Do you want to come and play croquet on the lawn? Mother and I were thinking it might be fun to do something silly for a few hours.”
I cannot even bring myself to respond to such a foolish suggestion. Instead, I continue to stare at the painting, which has been consuming my attention now for several hours. In fact, ever since it was delivered earlier in the day, I have been quite unable to tear myself away. I know one shouldn't allow oneself to become too consumed by such things, but I simply feel that this painting is quite, quite beautiful.
“Katinka?”
I hear her coming up behind me.
“Are you alright?” she asks. “Why, I'm not sure I've seen you move from this spot since...”
Her voice trails off.
“A year,” I whisper finally. “That's how long it took for this to be completed.”
“I know,” she says with a giggle. “Awfully long time, if you ask me. A photograph might have been speedier.”
“This isn't me now,” I continue, looking for the hundredth – maybe thousandth – time at the contours of my dress as they're depicted by the painting. “Not anymore. This is me as I appeared one year ago.”
I sit in silence for a moment.
“Is that a problem?” Pippa asks eventually, sounding a little gormless and confused.
“I never realized until now,” I reply, “how much one can change in a year. If somebody were to look at this painting, and then to look at me as I am today, they would surely see a difference. Sister, don't you notice that I have aged since this portrait was painted?”
“I expect we all have,” she mutters. “You were twenty-six when you began to pose for the artist. Now you're twenty-seven.”
“Precisely. And in that year's difference, I have have hardly improved. Time begins to drag one's beauty down. Do you not think, Pippa, that I now perhaps have a shade more darkness beneath my eyes? And that I have gained a little weight? And that my complexion has lost some of its color since this portrait was painted?”
“Um...”
“Be honest, now. Don't spare my blushes.”
“I'm not sure about all that,” she replies, before giggling. “Katinka, I rather fear you're overthinking it all. Why don't you come and play some games for a while? Mother's waiting. It's not good for you to obsess over this painting, and you honestly look fine. You look very nice!”
“Fine?” I spit, turning to her. “Nice? My wedding day approaches next week, and you think I merely look fine ? And nice ?”
“I didn't mean it in a bad way,” she continues, evidently still amused. “I just think that if one spends too much time thinking about such things, one is bound to notice natural blemishes here and there. A year is a year, dear sister, and it brings changes to us all. I'm sure Charles will still be very happy to take you as his wife.”
“You don't know what you're talking about,” I mutter darkly. “Perhaps you're happy to let yourself wither away over time, but I must look better than my portrait, or people will gossip!”
“Oh,
hardly!”
“They will!”
“ Who will gossip?” she asks. “I doubt anyone in town really gives two hoots about us. We're not exactly lords of the manor, Katinka. We're not some big, noble family. We're just -”
“Don't be stupid!” I hiss, interrupting her while still keeping my eyes fixed on the painting. “We're the most important family for miles around!”
“Are we?”
“Of course we are!”
Laughing, she grabs my arm, as if she means to lead me out of the room.
“Dear Katinka,” she continues, “I am ordering you to come and play games on the lawn. As your sister, I simply cannot leave you fretting alone like this, not when the sun is shining and the day is so lovely outside.”
“Leave me alone!” I hiss, pulling my arm away from her.
She grabs me again.
“Katinka -”
“Leave me alone!” This time, unable to hold my temper, I get to my feet and shove her in the chest, sending her stumbling back until she falls and crumples to the floor. Still angry, I step closer and tower over her, but finally the shock in her eyes is enough to calm me down.
“I was only trying to help,” she stammers, staying down on the floor for a moment as if she's too scared to get back up. “You didn't have to be so mean. I thought you'd stopped all that! I thought you were nicer now!”
“Get out of here,” I snarl, “and leave me alone. You don't understand what it's like to be a bride! You don't know how it feels to know that everyone is watching, waiting for your perfect beauty to slip! And as for your talk of us being just an ordinary family... Why, Father would turn over in his grave if he heard such wretchedness! Ashbyrn House is the greatest house in the area, and everybody knows that to be true!”
She dusts herself down as she gets to her feet. “You can be so horrible sometimes,” she grumbles petulantly, sounding like a child. “Do you realize that? You can be utterly monstrous!”
“Do you really think so?” I ask. “Why, just a few hours ago, I happened to chance upon a common man and his son stealing mushrooms from our garden? Do you know what I did?”
“What... What did you do to them?”
“I let them go,” I continue. “I even let them take their mushrooms. So you see, I can be a good person, and a kind and generous person. Just make sure you don't push me too far, Pippa, because I still have my breaking point!”
“Katinka...”
“Do you know what day it is?” I add.
Her bottom lip is trembling.
“Well?” I continue, stepping closer, until I am almost nose-to-nose with her. She is shorter than me, of course, and her large brown eyes are filled with fear. “What day is it, Pippa?”
“It's... I think, I mean... It's Tuesday. Isn't it?”
I wait for her to realize her mistake.
“I'm sure it is,” she adds. “Why, yes, Today is Tuesday. It must be!”
“Today is one year since Father's death,” I say firmly. “Or had you forgotten?”
“It is?” She furrows her brow. “Are you sure?”
“And you and Mother can think of nothing more than playing childish games on the lawn,” I sneer.
“But it's such a sunny day, Katinka...”
“Don't you think Father would have liked to have played croquet on the lawn?”
“Well, maybe, if he wasn't working in the study, but...”
She hesitates.
“He's dead, Katinka,” she adds finally. “So really, the question is...”
“You don't care, do you?” I ask. “You were never truly close to Father. I was always his favorite. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that the anniversary of his death has slipped from your mind. That is just the kind of girl you are, is it not?”
She stares at me for a moment, with tears in her eyes, and then she turns and storms out of the room.
“You're rotten!” she calls back to me. “Did you hear that, Katinka? You can be really rotten sometimes!”
“Nobody understands,” I continue, turning back to look at the painting, which now appears to be taunting and mocking me with its depiction of how I looked one year ago. “I am surrounded by fools and ingrates, by people who cannot comprehend the burden of great beauty.”
I pause for a moment, before stepping closer to the canvas and reaching out, running a fingertip against the drawn line of my waist. The first time I posed for the painting, Father was still alive. When my wedding day arrives, I want to look exactly the same. For him.
“But there is something I can do about it,” I whisper finally, as a plan comes to mind. Slowly, a smile crosses my lips. “Of course there is. I shall be the most beautiful bride this world has ever seen. No matter what it takes. After all, pain is always temporary.”
Chapter Five
Owen - Today
“Now you'll have to watch it down there,” Charlie says as he follows me toward the platform at Paddington. “Those Cornish types can be a bit weird, from what I've heard. All joking aside, watch your back!”
“It's not exactly a land of savages,” I mutter, feeling as if he's getting a little carried away. “I think I can handle myself.”
“That's what the Sumners thought.”
I turn to him.
“Haven't you seen Straw Dogs ?” he continues. “You're not safe anywhere in this country, not once you get outside London. Cornwall especially. The place is miles and miles from civilization. Once you cross the Tamar, you're in the wilds. Have you considered purchasing a shotgun?”
Reaching the ticket barriers, I'm immensely relieved that Charlie won't be able to follow me any further. Frankly, his constant complaints about Cornwall are starting to get on my nerves. I know he's exaggerating for effect, and that he thinks he's funny, but I just want to get the hell out of London and never look back. Plus, I'm still a little hungover, and the din of the city is already agitating my headache.
“Are you sure about this, dude?” he asks finally.
“Very.”
“You'll be back. You'll go crazy down there.”
“I promise you I won't.”
“The whole Vanessa thing -”
“Is not the reason I'm leaving,” I add, interrupting him. “Please, don't mistake me for some broken-hearted moper. I'm going to be just fine on my own. I was on my own before Vanessa, and to be honest I kind of miss that state of solitude and calm. I can work on my book, and I can plan future projects, and I can respond to what'll undoubtedly be a stream of emails from you and Bobby, asking me this and that about the company. In fact, I'll probably be more -”
Before I can finish, I spot a figure in the distance, over by the W.H. Smith store on the far side of the concourse. I stare at her for a moment, shocked to realize that it's the same woman I saw at the lock-up this morning. Or at least, she's wearing the same wedding gown, complete with a veil covering her face.
“Owen?” Charlie says after a moment, turning and looking the same way. “What's up?”
A man and a woman pass in front of the bride, and now she's gone in the blink of an eye.
I wait, but she seems to have completely disappeared. It's hard to believe that nobody would have stopped to look at a woman in a bridal gown, yet it's almost as if I'm the only person who saw her.
“Owen?” Charlie continues. “Seriously, dude? What is it?”
“Nothing,” I mutter, figuring that there's no need to get into the details. I turn to him. “Now if you'll excuse me, I have a first class seat waiting for me, and your attempts to make me change my mind are becoming tiring. I'll see you around, Charlie. And remember, this isn't goodbye. I'm sure I'll be forced to show my face around here occasionally.”
Once I've finally persuaded him that I'm really leaving, I head through the ticket barrier and along the platform. Once I've found my carriage, I haul my suitcase on-board, and I finally feel as if my journey is really starting. I'm traveling lighter than light, really making a show of my desire for a new s
tart, and I genuinely just want the train to get started. In fact, as I settle into my seat, I find that I have no doubts whatsoever. I was worried that perhaps I'd feel a smidgen of regret, but if anything I'm just excited to get going. Ashbyrn House is waiting for me, and I fully intend to enjoy my new life of isolation.
As the train pulls out of the station, I glance at the platform. For a split second, I actually catch myself half expecting to see that spooky bride again, but there's no sign of her. Relieved, I lean back in my seat and close my eyes, listening to the rhythm of the train as it picks up speed. Soon I'll be hundreds of miles away in my new home, and London – with its millions and millions of inhabitants – can go screw itself.
The empty rooms and corridors of Ashbyrn House await.
Chapter Six
Katinka - 1859
I shall not scream. I shall not cry out. I am better than that, I am stronger. I shall simply do what is necessary, and any pain or discomfort must remain hidden.
After all, I am a lady.
Ladies do not cry out.
The blade feels light in my right hand, almost flimsy. Almost too weak to have any real power. Yet as I begin to slide the edge against my side, I feel a sliver of pain. A moment later, a dribble of warm blood runs down my flesh. I have begun, and there is no turning back. I slide the blade back through my flesh, to deepen the cut, and then I slowly start to drag the metal down the side of my waist, shaving away a thin slice of skin. Not a lot, certainly not enough to cause any lasting damage. Just enough to make my shape more closely resemble the figure in the painting.
Finally, looking down, I let out a faint gasp as I see that I have indeed cut away a curled patch of skin. In the process, I have exposed a bloody, pinkish section of my meat, and the pain is intense.
Fortunately, I am strong.
I carefully pull the section of flesh away, using the blade to cut the last connecting piece, and then I start cutting again. This time I force myself to watch, even if this somehow makes the pain seem worse. As I continue to run the blade down my side, I see that I am about to cut away a small mole that has been sitting just above my hip since childhood.