by Olsen, Lisa
“No, I’d like to do it, thanks. I miss getting my hands dirty and stripping some wallpaper won’t kill me. Actually, I hope your dad doesn’t mind my sticking my nose into the garden when he’s through with it, I miss having a garden of my own.”
“I think he’d be delighted,” Will replied earnestly. “He’s always wanted someone to putter around in the garden with, and I’ve always been good at supplying cheap labor, but I’ve never had what you call a green thumb.”
“Good, because I’ll need something to keep me busy, especially when Jack gets older,” she sighed, leaning against the desk. If all else failed, she could always try going back to school.
“Do you fancy having an extra pair of hands to help out then, or are you set on doing it all on your own?” Will sat beside her, picking up one of her slender hands and tracing the pads of her fingers with his.
“I could use the company,” she grinned.
“Brilliant, it’ll be our project then. The first step in making this house your home.”
“I like the sound of that.” It was becoming easier and easier to see Will at her side in the house; not working for her, but truly with her. She leaned closer as his eyes dropped to her lips, a flutter of anticipation settling in her belly, when the wooden pen holder rolled off the desk with a clatter, scattering pens all over the floor, breaking them apart at the sound.
“Hold that thought for a sec,” she smiled, bending down to retrieve it. Reaching under the desk to pick up the last of the pens, her eye was drawn to a flash of white under the antique writing desk. “Hang on a minute… there’s something under here,” she breathed, scooting deeper under the desk to get a better look. “Hey, could you snap on the light for me?”
“What is it?” Will asked, turning on the light as asked, standing back so as not to block it.
“There’s something wedged under here… it’s a book,” Sara replied, tugging on it experimentally. “It’s really stuck though, I’m not sure I can…” all at once it came free, sending her topping onto her backside with a soft whump.
“It’s definitely a book.” Will offered her a hand up, and she took it, retaking her seat against the desk.
“It’s a diary from 1917. Oh my God… Will, do you know what this is? This is Gemma Darling’s diary.”
Chapter Eighteen
“I wonder what it was doing under there?” Sara frowned, turning the slim leather bound book over in her hands. If anything she would have expected to find it in her old room.
“Gemma probably spent a lot of time in here, maybe she liked to keep secrets?” Will shrugged, leaning close to look over her shoulder at the elegant script.
“Do you think it would be wrong to read it?” Sara snapped it shut after an attack of conscience. “I would hate it if anyone ever read my diary.”
“You keep a diary?”
“It’s more like a journal, and it’s in my computer, but wouldn’t it bother you, the idea of someone else coming along and reading your innermost thoughts?”
“That’s where men and women differ. We tend to keep them bottled up where they belong,” he grinned and Sara pushed at his shoulder playfully.
“I’m serious. Maybe I should put it back where I found it?”
“Sara…” Will let out a long sigh. “Gemma Darling has spent every waking moment trying to attract your attention since you set foot here. I think maybe she wanted you to find it.”
“Do you really think so?” The pens had fallen over for no particular reason… was Gemma leading them to the diary?
“I do,” he nodded, kissing her temple. “If it makes you feel better, I’ll even let you read it in private so fewer people are privy to her innermost female thoughts.”
“Maybe there’s a clue in here to what happened to her, and what danger she thinks Jack is in? Maybe it even talks about what the number nine means?” her excitement grew, even as a part of her recognized that was too much to hope for.
“Well then, I expect you have some reading to do,” Will smiled over her enthusiasm. “Unless you wanted to do more exploring today?”
Already flipping through some of the pages, Sara shook her head. “No, I think this is good for today, I want to take a look at this before dinner.”
“Right then, I’ll just be replacing these before Mrs. Poole’s any the wiser,” he took the keys and slipped them into his hand. “I’ve a few things to see to if you’re going to be tied up.”
Sara nodded mutely, already engrossed by the words on the page. The next time she looked up, she realized she was all alone in a darkened room. The afternoon sun had dipped behind a thick cloud cover, leaving the light struggling to penetrate the leaded panes murky at best. Deciding to hole up in her bedroom, she tucked the diary under her arm to curl up on one of the chairs in front of the fireplace.
2 February, 1917
I always believed my family’s country home to be impressive, but it’s nothing to Darling Park. As E assured me, everything was in readiness for our arrival and the estate is truly breathtaking. The servants lined up to receive us, and I did my best to learn their names, but E barely paused on his way into the house. I suppose I had hoped for a grand tour, perhaps even a brief dally in my lovely new boudoir, but E cried off, citing business again. Is it always to be so in our marriage? E is always so occupied, I can’t work out what exactly he does with his time, he puts me off whenever I question him too closely. I shall have to ambush him tonight to welcome his bride properly to her new home.
G
“So things weren’t exactly rosy, right from the start, were they?” Sara said softly, wondering if Gemma was watching her read the diary. “My ex and your husband had a lot in common,” she sighed, turning to the next page. It continued on, detailing Gemma’s hopes and dreams for her married life, and Sara could practically see the life draining out of the woman as reality settled in, until she came to a particularly joyful passage.
12 May, 1917
I have the most wonderful news! I am to be a mother come the winter! E is over the moon and I couldn’t be happier at finding him so attentive again. I have never seen him so considerate, seeing to my every whim almost before I can utter a single word. He is, of course, convinced it will be a boy, and insists the child will be christened Malcolm, but I prefer the name Matthew. Heaven forbid a girl is born and we have to pick a name at random! In truth I could care less what we name you, little one. Grow up sure and strong, for I can’t wait to meet you.
G
“Interesting reading?” Will’s voice startled her, poking his head out of the bathroom door.
“Very,” she admitted, stretching her stiff back. “What time is it?”
“Nearly time for dinner, I’ve been sent up by Mrs. Poole to wash up and fetch you to do the same. I’m told we’re having a beef Wellington with new potatoes tonight.” He ducked into the bathroom again and Sara heard the sink running. “Did you find anything of use?”
Sara came to watch him wash his face and hands in the mirror, admiring the play of muscles under his t-shirt. “I’m not sure what use it is, but I’ve been getting to know Gemma better at any rate. It’s so sad. There are days and weeks that go by and she pretty much says the same thing, how her Edward is growing farther away from her, and how isolated she feels here. It says she feels like she’s being watched all the time, yet she’s completely alone. I wonder if she had seasonal affected disorder or something.”
“Sorry?”
“You know, people get it from being in overcast weather for too long with no sunshine. It can lead to depression and vitamin d deficiency.”
“Then everyone in England must have it, overcast is the order of the day,” he grinned. “Is there any mention of danger at Darling Park?”
“Not yet. I just found out she’s pregnant though, so things should be coming to a head pretty soon, I think.”
“Do you want me to have your dinner sent up?” Will offered, drying his hands.
“No, I could us
e a bit of a break I guess. It’s waited for a hundred years here; I think it can wait until after dinner. Besides, I have some more digging around to do.”
*
Sara got her chance after dinner when Mrs. Poole came to the study with tea and biscuits (which were really buttery cookies that Sara found way too addictive). With Jack parked in front of the new TV in the library, she seized the opportunity to confront the housekeeper. “Hey, before you go, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you, Mrs. P,” Sara held her back before she could leave. “What can you tell me about Gemma Darling?”
“My goodness, where did that question come from?” she blinked in surprise, and Sara fixed her with an expectant look.
“I think you have a pretty good idea why I’m asking.”
“It’s no good, she knows everything,” Will looked up from the desk, where he’d set up space to work on the gazebo designs.
“Indeed?”
“I told you I wouldn’t keep it from her if she asked me directly. You needn’t have worried though, she didn’t run for the hills at learning we’ve our own ghost. Our Sara’s made of stronger stuff,” he smiled just for her and Sara couldn’t help but smile back before remembering she was supposed to be laying down the law for Mrs. Poole.
“I see,” Mrs. Poole’s hands worried at the apron of her uniform. “I’m sorry if I mislead you, my Lady, I only did what I thought best.”
“I get it, but Will’s right, I can take it,” Sara assured her. “Ghost stories aside, what can you tell me about Gemma before she died?”
Mrs. Poole’s expression crumpled to one of regret. “I only know what I remember hearing as a child in this house. It was not a happy marriage, I’m afraid; she and Sir Edward were not well met, and Lady Gemma set great store in her child. The poor thing was absolutely devastated when he died.”
“Her child died?” Sara gasped, remembering the baby’s sweet face from her dream. Had the plan to keep him safe somehow backfired or was it nothing more than a simple dream? “How did Matthew die?”
Mrs. Poole’s eyes flew up sharply. “His name was Malcolm, my Lady,” she corrected her, “and he died as an infant. No one knows why exactly, probably something a simple shot would cure in this day and age, but there you have it. He died quite suddenly one night and she was never the same again. She even ran away once, which was unheard of at the time mind you, and from that comes the story of the Lady of the Road. Of course she didn’t die out there on the road; thankfully Sir Edward found her and brought her home again.”
Malcolm. Then why had she known with a certainty that the baby in her arms was Matthew in that dream? “What happened to her after that?”
“Why nothing. She lived out here life here. Eventually she recovered from her bout of depression and bore another child.”
“That’s it?
“That is all, yes,” she nodded, but Sara wasn’t convinced.
“It doesn’t seem like enough to cause her to haunt the place for all eternity, does it?”
“I don’t pretend to understand the motivations of the departed, my Lady. But I do know that you can’t apply logic to anything Lady Gemma does. The woman herself ceased to be long ago, all that remains is the echo of a sad soul.”
The echo of a sad soul… it was enough to break Sara’s heart. “Thanks, Mrs. Poole,” she said softly. “Oh and from now on I’d prefer it if we kept things out in the open. That means I’d like a copy of all the house keys and free reign of the place. I’ll be the one to judge what to do with the closed up rooms.” No more sneaking around, it was her house.
“As you wish, my Lady.” Mrs. Poole bobbed, keeping her eyes downcast as she took her leave and Sara collapsed in an overstuffed chair, feeling drained.
“Well done,” Will approved, looking up from his sketches.
“I think she hates me.”
“On the contrary, I think she’ll admire you for standing up to her. You’re mistress here; she’d do better to remember that.”
“I don’t know about that, but I hope she gets that I don’t want any more secrets. This place can get creepy enough without having to doubt who I can and can’t trust around here.”
“I hope you know you can trust me,” Will’s eyes caught hers and she smiled back at the tinge of worry she saw there.
“I know, I do,” she promised. “You’ve been amazing since I got here. In fact, I don’t know what I would have done without you.”
“That was my master plan,” he winked before turning back to his sketches.
Settling in to do some more reading, Sara curled up on the couch in front of the fireplace, content to let him have the desk. Gemma’s writing continued in a happy vein for the next few months, but then the entries grew fewer and farther between as her pregnancy advanced and she grew more moody and uncomfortable. At some point she must have had the baby, because she referenced it vaguely, but then her narrative picked up with paranoid ranting and wild accusations against the servants for stealing from her and deliberately keeping her from the baby.
Sara watched with growing worry as the woman unraveled before her eyes, feeling that something bad was about to befall her and there was nothing she could do to stop it. Finally a passage was so disturbing, she had to read it through twice before bringing it up aloud. “Hey Will, listen to this:
I feel them watching me at all times and I know it’s only a matter of time before they take what they want. I have no one to turn to in my hour of need. Even if I could get to the telephone unnoticed, who would I ring for help? Who would believe something so sinister of the great Lord of Darling Park? Despite the shame for all to see laid bare in our own bible, it’s escaped the world’s notice entirely; the deadly legacy unseen and unknown to all but the Nine.
“Nine, just like Gemma told Joanie and me. Nine. It can’t be a coincidence,” Sara licked her lips, sitting a little higher on the couch. “And listen to this:
Sitting and waiting for the babe to fatten up like a Christmas goose, it’s obscene. It’s almost enough to make me lose hope, but I can’t give up, not when I have a chance to save my children.
“Children?” Will’s brows rose.
“I know, right? Do you think maybe Gemma had twins? Malcolm and Matthew?”
“It certainly sounds like it.”
“I’m more concerned about what she said about someone waiting for the babe to fatten up. It sounds like something right out of Grimm Brothers.”
“You saw how disturbed she was after the babies were born. She had to be delusional at that point, Sara. She couldn’t know what she was saying.”
“Why not? Her baby did die, right? Obviously there was some kind of danger. What do you think she meant about the bible? Can you think of a bible story that has to do with danger to babies or the number nine?”
“Maybe she meant something more personal,” Will rose from his chair to study the books in the built in shelves. “Maybe she meant the family bible. It often held a history of sorts at the beginning. Perhaps the shame is written there, for all the world to see.”
“Ooh, good idea,” Sara joined him, scouring the spines for a sign of the family bible, but there were no religious texts, not even among the rare books under glass.
“Maybe it’s in the library,” Will suggested, and Sara nodded, leading the way.
“Or maybe Jack knows where it is, he spends enough time in there.” But when they got to the library, Jack was passed out asleep on the sofa in front of the TV watching a documentary on cheese. “No wonder he fell asleep,” she giggled, snapping it off. “I should probably get him up to bed…”
“Let me,” Will scooped him up into his arms, Jack’s head lolling on his shoulder. Once more Sara felt her heart give a little twist at seeing him be so gentle with her son, following him up the stairs until they reached the nursery. Together they wrestled off his shoes and socks, folding him into the warmth of the bed. “Guess there’s no story tonight, is there?” he smiled, adding another log to th
e fire and replacing the heavy grate.
“Nope, once he’s asleep there’s no waking him until morning,” Sara smiled down at Jack, laying a kiss to his forehead.
“He’s a good lad, smart as a whip and curious as anything. You’ve done well.”
What she would have given to hear Peter say those same words… “Thanks, but I can’t take all the credit he came out awesome. I’m just lucky to have him.”
“I’m a fan of your mothering skills all the same; you should have a dozen more just like him,” he nudged her shoulder with his and she couldn’t help but laugh.
“That’s a lot of kids, where do you suggest I get them all?”
“I’m a fan of traditional methods, but by all means, get creative.”
“Just because the house is this big, doesn’t mean I have a moral obligation to fill it.”
“What about an obligation to yourself? Do you see yourself having more children someday?”
That was twice he’d asked her about that; a little odd for an unattached man, but a good sign, she supposed. “I told you, I’m not opposed to the idea but I don’t know if it’s in the cards for me.”
“Then maybe it’s time to try a new game?” Will pulled her close for a lingering kiss and only the fact that they stood only a few feet away from her slumbering son kept her from getting completely swept up in it.
“Maybe we should go check out the library?” she breathed when they came up for air.
“Yes, that’s exactly what I was going to suggest,” Will groaned, pulling the hall door open with a resigned smile.
*
Only they didn’t find the bible in the library.
Or in Gemma’s parlor.
Finally, they decided to call it a night, Sara to read more of the diary and Will to get a good night’s sleep, since he’d be out helping his father at the crack of dawn. Settling into bed with a glass of wine and the diary, she read until her eyes grew tired and bleary and the words became a jumble too difficult to decipher. Even though there were only a few entries left, Sara set the diary aside to go brush her teeth and get ready for bed. Being as quiet as possible so as not to disturb Will, she brushed and washed, turning off the lights on the way back to the bed.