“This is Marie,” Mr Argenton said. “I hired her from the village to be your lady’s maid. She’s mute, but she understands instructions well and works hard.”
Mute? Sophie glanced at Mr Argenton, alarmed.
He raised his eyebrows. “Or we can hire a different maid, if you prefer.”
“No, no, I’m sure she’ll do wonderfully. I’m glad to meet you, Marie.” She couldn’t say so in front of the girl—especially not when she seemed so eager to please—but Sophie found her husband’s choice unsettling. Why a mute? Are there things he doesn’t want her telling me?
“I’ll leave you to change,” Mr Argenton said. “There is still a half hour before dinner. You can summon me a few minutes before seven if you would like help finding your way down.”
He bowed and left, and Sophie waited until his brisk steps faded from her hearing before letting her breath out in a rush. She turned back to the room with clear eyes and saw her luggage had been arranged neatly at the foot of her bed. How did they manage to get it here so quickly? I was only in the foyer for a few minutes.
Sophie opened one of the cases to find an evening dress and heard Marie inhale at the silks, laces and satins inside. Sophie pulled out the top dress, a rich-green affair, and shook it out to ensure it hadn’t been crushed during the trip. She watched Marie out of the corner of her eye. The maid hovered nearby, hands clasped in front of her apron, eyes shining at the sight of the dresses. “Marie,” Sophie began carefully, “have you served as a lady’s maid very often before?”
A shake of her head.
“Am I your first?”
A nod.
“And have you been with the Argenton family for long?”
Another shake.
“Well, this will be new to both of us, then.” Sophie forced a smile and handed the dress to her assistant.
Mr Argenton had given her a maid who, on top of being speechless, most likely knew nothing about the house or the family. If he’d wanted to keep secrets, he was being exceptionally thorough about the job.
You’re leaping to conclusions. Marie could have been hired with the best of intentions. Perhaps the house’s existing staff were too few for one of them to also be my maid. Or maybe Mr Argenton thought I would be more comfortable with someone equally new to the property.
Either way, Sophie liked the maid quite a lot. She was quick and seemed eager to please, and her brown hair and blue eyes were strikingly out of place in the dark building… which mimicked exactly how Sophie felt.
Once the dress was in place, Marie stepped back and clapped her hands, a wide smile dimpling her cheeks. Sophie appreciated the encouragement and returned the smile. “I think I’d like to be alone for a few minutes before dinner, please. Thank you, Marie.”
Marie curtsied and left the room, and Sophie sank down onto the edge of her bed. The abrupt silence threatened to drown her in its weight.
CHAPTER SEVEN: The Red Door
Sophie didn’t move for several long minutes, but focussed on her hands, which were still shaking. Mistress of Northwood. The title should have belonged to Rose, who must have handled the task with great finesse before Sophie arrived.
Why did he marry me? Could he really imagine me fitting in here? Caring for Northwood as he cares for it?
Sophie stood and paced the length of her room. The thick carpet sank under her feet. The fire, which had been built up well, sent shadows skittering over the walls. Sophie found herself standing before the window and gazing into the pitch-black outside. Even from a distance, she could hear the woods; the trees groaned as the wind stretched them, moving the gigantic black trunks and scraping their boughs together.
Sophie shuddered and turned away. A door on the other side of her bed caught her attention, and she went to it. It opened into a second bedroom. A large bed stood against the opposite wall, and the bureau held shaving equipment and combs. Mr Argenton’s.
The room was impeccably clean. Its fire hadn’t yet been lit, and the air felt cold, almost frosty. Not wanting to disturb her husband’s domain, Sophie retreated, closing the door tightly behind herself. There was no lock.
She turned towards her fireplace’s mantel, where a clock ticked steadily towards seven. There was still ten minutes until dinner, but Sophie decided she would rather be early than late on her first night. She checked her hair in the mirror—it looked even more bizarre than normal when contrasted with the dark walls—then took up one of the lamps and left her room, closing the door behind herself.
Down the hallway until it splits, then… left, I think?
She’d been so anxious on her arrival that she couldn’t remember the path, but she followed the main passageways, hoping one would eventually lead her to the staircase. The house’s halls were disorienting and didn’t seem to follow any order. She found herself at the top of the servant’s stairwell at one point and had to backtrack.
Her anxiety began to rise, and Sophie increased her pace. The house truly felt like a maze. The wallpaper, all reds and golds, disoriented her. Didn’t I already pass that door? What wing am I in?
Sophie turned down what seemed to be a main passageway, and found herself confronted by a strange sight. The hallway, although long, had no doors leading off it. Unlike the rest of the house, the wallpaper was black-and-gold. At the end of the hallway was a single door, wide enough for two people to walk through and nearly reaching the ceiling. It had been painted a violent red.
What a bizarre door. What’s beyond it?
Sophie followed the stark hallway, her curiosity driving the dinner appointment from her mind. She thought she could hear some sort of noise—a rustling, almost like the sounds the trees had made, with whispers contained inside. They seemed to be calling to her, urging her forward. The door’s black handle glinted in the dim candlelight, and Sophie reached for it, mesmerised.
“That’s the wrong way,” a voice said, and Sophie jumped so badly that her lamp spluttered. She turned and saw Elise standing at the end of the hallway. The girl’s deep-set eyes watched her impassively. “Dinner will begin in a moment. Mother will be angry if you’re late.”
“Oh, yes, of course.” Sophie pressed a hand to her thundering heart. “I’m sorry. I was lost.”
“Follow me.”
The girl’s tone was just as emotionless as Mr Argenton’s. She turned and disappeared without waiting to see if her companion was following. Sophie had to jog to catch up.
Elise’s brisk walk and unwavering stare didn’t invite conversation, but Sophie still felt as though she should say something. “Do you dine with us?”
“No.”
“Oh. Of course. You probably eat with your governess.”
“I don’t have one.” Elise took a sharp turn, and Sophie had to jog again to catch up. “I used to, but she died. Father hasn’t been able to find a replacement.”
Sophie had no idea what to say to that, but Elise stopped, and Sophie saw they were at the top of the grand staircase.
“Go to the ground floor and through the door to your left,” Elise said, already turning to retrace her steps. “There’s only one minute until seven.”
Sophie swallowed, picked up her skirts, and hurried down the stairs. As she reached the foyer, a grandfather clock somewhere deeper in the house chimed. Sophie turned left, crossed the white-tile expanse, and pushed through the double doors. She found herself in the dining room, where Mr Argenton was waiting, along with Rose and Garret Argenton.
“Right on time,” Rose said as the clock fell silent. She examined Sophie with a curious smile, and her thin eyebrows rose.
Sophie had thought she’d chosen her outfit well. It was stately and dignified—the exact impression she wanted to give for her first evening at Northwood. However, compared to Rose’s, it seemed sad and limp.
A little behind Rose, Mr Argenton also watched her, and his faint smile gave Sophie hope that his impression was more positive than his aunt’s. He beckoned her towards the table, and indicated the
seat at the head. He took his own place opposite her, and the four of them sat.
Sophie tried to take in the room without seeming as though she were examining it. Like everything else in Northwood, it was lavish, elegant, and cloistered in shadows. The table was large enough for an extra half a dozen guests, and the plates were made from fine china. Sophie felt dwarfed by the size of the room. She wished they could have moved to a smaller, more intimate setting.
The footmen entered through a door behind Sophie and began serving the soup entrée. Sophie thought it might be mushroom. After a moment, Rose interrupted the clink of metal on china.
“I trust you had a good journey, my dear.”
My dear. It sounded strange when Mr Argenton said it, but that was by far preferable to the slivers of condescension lacing his aunt’s voice.
Sophie managed a smile. “Yes, thank you.”
“I hope the footmen were polite. I would have preferred to send some of our own, but they couldn’t be spared. It’s always concerning to hire outsiders. One never knows if they’ll do their jobs adequately.”
If you want to know that they kept silent as instructed, I can assure you they did. “They were very polite.”
“That’s good to hear.” Although Rose was smiling, it didn’t extend to her eyes. Sophie realised that was what had bothered her in the foyer. They were dead eyes—clever, yes, and proud, but also soulless.
The footmen removed the soup bowls and brought in herb-roasted duck and green vegetables. The food had been prepared beautifully, and Sophie, who hadn’t eaten since a brief stop at the inn shortly after noon, was ravenous. “This looks delicious.”
Mr Argenton gave her a small nod of thanks. “It all comes from the estate. Wild duck, fish from the lake, vegetables and fruit from our garden. With such a distance separating us from the town, we must be as self-reliant as possible.”
“It’s a beautiful spread.”
“A celebration dinner,” Rose said, her red lips parting in the same dead smile. “To welcome our new bride.”
Garrett Argenton, who hadn’t said a word all evening, glanced towards Mr Argenton. Sophie saw her husband shake his head in answer, and both gentlemen returned to their meals.
“I’m sure you’ll wish to rest tonight, my dear,” Rose continued, “but perhaps in the morning, I can show you about the house, so you can learn what tasks must be done each day to keep Northwood running smoothly. I’m sure you’re eager to apply your own touch to the estate.”
“I—” It was the sort of question that her mother’s gentle tact would have easily saved, but Sophie only managed to splutter, “I’m sure there’s not much to change. It’s been in your family for so long—”
The corners of Rose’s mouth turned down, but she waved away the fumbled objections. “No, my dear, you’re in charge now. You must make it your house.”
I’m not sure that’s possible. Sophie bowed her head. The duck, juicy and perfectly seasoned, seemed far less appetising than it had before.
Of course Rose won’t want the house changed. Anything I alter will be seen as a censure of her choices. Her question was a test, and I failed.
The silence drew on, and Sophie desperately searched for a comment to soothe her aunt. “My room is beautiful. You said you decorated it, didn’t you?”
“Hmm. I’m pleased you like it, my dear.”
“And I’m afraid I became a little lost on the way to dinner, but everything I saw of the house was perfect. You have impeccable taste.”
Rose’s lips curled into a smile, and Sophie felt a rush of relief. She didn’t think she’d completely saved the situation, but at least Rose’s vanity had been pacified.
“Did you find your way to the west wing? My favourite sitting room is there. I answer my letters in it in the mornings.”
“I don’t think I saw it, no.” Eager to stay on a safe subject, Sophie added, “I found a very curious red door, though.”
A clatter made her start. Mr Argenton had dropped his fork. He half-rose from his seat, his lips fixed into a thin line, as something dangerous glittered in his dark eyes.
Oh no, oh no, no, no. He’s angry. I did something wrong. What? Sophie opened her mouth to apologise, but she had no idea what to say. Her mind raced as the panic rose inside her.
“Don’t go through that door, my dear,” Mr Argenton said. His voice was no longer cool; it was ice-cold. “You shouldn’t have been in that part of the house.”
“I’m sorry.” The words escaped as a whisper, and Sophie wasn’t sure he’d heard. The fragile civility of the dinner table was dissolving, and she desperately tried to save it. “I-I didn’t know. I’m so sorry—”
Rose and Garrett Argenton had placed their cutlery on their plates. Garrett’s face was blank, but Rose’s mouth held a faint hint of amusement. For the first time, Sophie thought she saw a spark of life in the older woman’s eyes.
“This is her home now,” Rose said, her words laced with barely hidden delight. “I’m not sure you can forbid her from exploring it, dear nephew.”
“She’s my wife.” Mr Argenton’s voice was low and dangerous.
Sophie clasped her hands in her lap and fixed her eyes on her half-empty plate. Through the fear, she fought to understand his meaning. “She’s my wife, and she’ll follow my orders,” or “She’s my wife, and I’ll decide how much of the house she sees”?
And what was wrong with the red door?
Rose and Mr Argenton stared at each other for several long moments. Finally, Rose waved her hand with a displeased huff and picked up her fork. “Very well, but it can’t continue for long.”
What can’t?
Sophie barely dared to look at Mr Argenton. His eyes had fixed on her again, and the scrutiny sent panicky prickles across her skin.
“Sophie.” His voice was softer than before but held a steely edge of authority. “There are parts of this house that none of us go into. That door is one of them. If you wish to please me, you will promise me not to open it.”
Anything. Please just don’t be angry. “Yes, I promise.”
Mr Argenton continued to watch her for a moment then moved back into his seat and picked up his fork. The room was silent. Desperate to maintain control of herself and stop the frightened tears that pricked at her eyes, Sophie tried to eat. Her throat was tight, and she couldn’t swallow, so she busied herself with cutting her meat into smaller pieces and bumping the vegetables across the plate, hoping she wouldn’t look as agitated as she felt. When she finally dared to glance at Mr Argenton again, she found he’d pushed his plate to one side and was watching her above his laced fingers. He was frowning.
It was a relief when the dinner plates were exchanged for dessert, and at last, the puddings and pies, barely touched by any of them, were also taken away.
Rose stood first. “Would you care to join me for some tea, my dear?”
Speak clearly. Don’t let them see you’re upset. “Thank you, but I—I’m afraid I am quite tired.”
“Of course, you’ll want an early bed. Shall I show you the way?”
“I’ll show her,” Mr Argenton said, rounding the table. The terse note was back in his voice.
Rose watched him through half-lidded eyes for a moment, then inclined her head and left the room.
Sophie stared at the arm offered to her. Rejecting it would have been an insult, but taking it somehow seemed risky. She desperately wished she knew the way to her room and could beg to be left alone.
Mr Argenton’s gaze was steady. She felt as though he could see into her mind and read the panic there. When he spoke, his voice was gentle. “Sophie.”
She didn’t want the dangerous tone to return. She looped her arm through his and resolutely focussed her eyes on the floor so that he wouldn’t see inside them again.
Mr Argenton led her back to the staircase. They climbed to the third floor in silence, turned right, and began weaving through the passageways. After a few turns, Mr Argenton drew them to
a halt.
Is he still angry? Should I say something?
Mr Argenton’s free hand covered Sophie’s, and he sighed. It was a deep, regretful sound. When he spoke, his voice was softer than she’d ever heard it. “You’re shaking. Was I really that brutish?”
Don’t let him think you’re weak. “No, no, of course not.”
“Yes, I was.” Mr Argenton removed her arm from his, raised her hand to his mouth, and pressed his lips to her knuckles. His breath felt warm on her skin, and Sophie finally raised her eyes to look at him.
The stony expression was gone. In its place, he looked sad—deeply as though he would have given a lot to take back his words.
He lowered her hand but didn’t release it. “Sophie, I’m sorry for how I spoke over dinner. I was only concerned for you. You had no way of knowing, but that part of the house is crumbling and unstable. If you visit it, you’re in very great danger of falling through the floor or being crushed. The door is painted red to warn the staff away. You mustn’t ever enter it.”
“I won’t.”
He ran his thumb across the backs of her fingers. The gesture was soft and strangely comforting. Sophie found herself lost in his eyes. So dark, they could be black.
He took a half step nearer, closing the distance between them. There was a hint of something more in his gaze. Something heated. He raised his hand to her cheek and caressed her skin, pushing the curls back. His fingers were firm but careful, and Sophie, against her better judgement, leant into his touch. That feels… nice.
A door slammed.
Startled, Sophie stepped back. Mr Argenton blinked at her, then sighed, and offered his arm again. “I won’t keep you up any longer,” he said, the even, cool note back in his voice. “You must be tired.”
Sophie hesitated, glancing between her husband and the direction of the noise that had startled her, then took his arm. He led her at a slower, calmer pace until they stopped at her door.
“Would you like anything tonight? Some tea?”
House of Shadows Page 4