“Thank you, I’m fine.”
“I’ll send your maid to help you change.”
Sophie wanted nothing more than to be alone. She gave a small bow. “Don’t disturb her. I’ll be very comfortable myself. Thank you.”
He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it before turning to disappear into the hallway’s shadows.
CHAPTER EIGHT: Rose
Sophie exhaled and pressed her back to the closed door. The evening’s events swirled through her mind like a toxic soup. The red door. Rose’s smirks. And Mr Argenton—
“Stop it.” Sophie pressed her hands over her eyes and focussed on her breathing. Inhale, exhale. Slow and even. Regain control. Don’t fall apart now.
As her shaking settled and her mind calmed, Sophie tried to examine that night’s events as rationally as she could. Mr Argenton had explained why he’d forbidden her from opening the red door, but Sophie couldn’t believe him entirely. His reaction at the dinner table had been too immediate and harsh. If it had been as simple as a set of dilapidated rooms, why hadn’t he just told her, instead of demanding a promise to stay away?
She would keep her word, of course. No matter how much her curiosity bit at her, not angering Mr Argenton was more important. She could bear anything as long as her company was agreeable.
And Mr Argenton had been very agreeable when he’d stopped to speak with her in the hallway.
I’d never have expected he could be that gentle… that warm…
Colour rose across Sophie’s cheeks as she remembered the sensation of his fingers on her skin. She couldn’t believe how right it had felt. For the first time since her engagement, her future didn’t seem entirely bleak. Maybe we can learn to like each other. I don’t need love… and I don’t dare even hope for it… but I do want him to like me.
An owl hooted outside. The moon had risen over the treetops and bathed the property in its cool blue light. Sophie crossed to the window and gasped as movement caught her attention.
A doe grazed on the lawn. Moonlight glittered off its form as it raised its graceful head to check for danger, then bent again to tear up more grass. Sophie, who hadn’t seen anything more exciting than horses since her family had moved to the city, held her breath as she watched. It seemed magical. The deer moved slowly as it ate, its lanky legs carrying it closer to the building until it disappeared from view.
Sophie reluctantly looked away from the window. The hour was growing late, and she still needed to change. That was when she realised her cases no longer stood at the foot of her bed.
Did the staff unpack them?
She opened her wardrobe and took a reflexive step back. Her dresses and bonnets were nowhere to be seen. Instead, the hangers were filled with dark lace and silk dresses. They were far more elegant than anything Sophie owned, and they reminded her of Rose’s dresses. Sophie pulled one out and stared at it, confused. This is my room, isn’t it?
“Do you like them, my dear?”
Sophie swivelled so quickly that her back bumped the wardrobe. She wanted to cry out, but her throat had constricted too much to make a noise.
Rose glided through the open doorway, a cold smirk growing across her red lips. “I hope you don’t mind, but I had your wardrobe replaced during dinner. Your old dresses would all do very well for the city, I’m sure, but they don’t become you now that you’re in Northwood.”
Sophie felt as though she might collapse from shock. She clutched at the wardrobe’s door to keep her feet. “How—how—”
“Don’t worry; they will all fit. I had them made to the same measurements as your wedding dress.” Rose offered a wolfish grin. “You haven’t put on weight since last week, have you?”
Sophie wanted to demand her old dresses back and reject the unwanted gifts, but part of her knew spurning her aunt’s will would be a grave mistake. “My old clothes, where—”
“Incinerated.” Rose was gliding closer, her voice a dangerous purr. “These ones will suit you much better. And Joseph will enjoy them. I know what he likes. Though it doesn’t look like you need any help catching his eye, do you?”
Sophie’s mind raced. “You—was that you slamming the door?”
“You’re a clever girl, aren’t you? Well, then, I’m sure you’ll understand my meaning now—don’t grow too close to my nephew.” Rose pinched Sophie’s jaw in her red-tipped fingers and tilted her head up so that their gazes met. “Don’t let him into your heart. For both of your sakes.”
Sophie’s mouth was too dry for her to reply. She tried to shrink back, but Rose’s grip was like a vice. They stood, locked in silence, Sophie’s heartbeat a loud staccato rhythm in her ear. Then Rose leaned an inch closer, pushing farther into Sophie’s personal space. “Wear this white one tomorrow,” she murmured, running her free hand across a floating organza dress. “Coupled with your hair, you’ll look like an angel. Goodnight, my dear.”
Rose released Sophie’s chin then strode out of the room, leaving Sophie to collapse to the ground and fight back her hysteria.
The meeting had thoroughly doused any hope that had grown over that evening. She couldn’t live in Northwood. Couldn’t share her table with the calculating, cutting Rose. Couldn’t let herself stay long enough to see what the members of the Argenton family were capable of if they were pushed too far.
What else can you do, though? You can’t return to the city or to your father. And if you run away, you have no money and no recommendations to secure you any sort of job. You’d be reduced to a beggar… or a street worker. And even if you somehow, miraculously found a way to survive on your own, you couldn’t stay hidden for long. If Mr Argenton wanted to find you, he would uncover you in a heartbeat.
Tears finally slipped out. Sophie tried to fight them, but once they’d started, there was no chance of stopping the flow. She staggered to her feet and went to the room’s door, which she closed and bolted. Then she began tugging off her dress. She didn’t bother taking her usual care with it; she was certain Rose would have it incinerated the following day.
The tears evolved into sobs as Sophie pulled on the new nightdress. It was silky, elegant, and well-made—exactly the sort of nightdress Rose would wear. Sophie hated it. She would have almost preferred to sleep naked.
But she already knew any sort of rebellion would be crushed. She had no doubts that Rose could be ruthless when she wanted something. And what she wants is for me to keep my distance from Mr Argenton. Why?
The immediate burn of fear and disappointment had spent itself. Sophie wiped at the tear tracks staining her cheeks and sat on the edge of the bed to watch the window.
The deer was still grazing on the lawn. Some of the ache in her chest ebbed as she watched the peaceful creature eat.
You don’t feel it, do you? she silently asked the doe. This house is nothing but a dark block of bricks to you. You can’t feel the tremendous, crushing weight of its secrets.
A door nearby opened and closed, and Sophie heard the sounds of water being poured. Mr Argenton was going to bed. Sophie felt a flush of anxiety and straightened her back, suddenly aware of how much skin the new nightdress showed.
She stared at the door that connected their rooms—the door with no locks—and listened to her husband wash and change. At last, there was the sizzle of his lamp being extinguished, then a rustle as he got into bed. Sophie stayed up for nearly twenty more minutes, waiting, but the door remained closed.
She couldn’t tell if she felt more relieved or disappointed.
CHAPTER NINE: Night’s Melody
Sophie started awake. Moonlight dampened by thin clouds slipped through the windows to create patterns across her bed. The forest’s symphony echoed around her as she sat up and pushed her hair away from her face. The fire had died, save for a cluster of weak, glowing coals huddled in the grey soot.
A note floated to her. It was low, hung in the air for a long time, and seemed to come from a piano deep in the house. As Sophie held her breath, a second note
was played, then a third, blending into something unpleasant. They were held for far too long, until they made Sophie squeeze her eyes closed, then were abruptly released.
It must be after two in the morning. Why is the piano being played now?
The notes resumed, this time in a melody. Sophie drew a sharp breath. The tune was both exquisite and ghastly. The notes jarred together, none of them matching, but somehow managing to create a captivating, aggressive tune.
Sophie slipped out of bed and wrapped her arms around her torso. The room had become cold without the fire, and she shivered. She moved to the door and nudged it open, letting the melody reach her more clearly.
It seemed to be coming from all around her at once. The deep notes from her left; the high ones from her right, and the rest hovering above her head and below her feet. It was a song that matched the house perfectly. Disharmonic, but blended into a unified whole. Deep and dark and mysterious. Dangerous.
The music swelled into frenzy, its volume increasing until Sophie clutched her hands over her ears in an attempt to block it out. Then with a final, angry clash of keys, it fell silent. Sophie, shivering, slowly lowered her hands. If Mr Argenton had heard the song, he didn’t stir from his room.
Something ticked her right wrist, and Sophie touched it. It was a liquid, strange and tacky, that clung to her skin. With a final glance down the hallway, Sophie returned to her room and bolted the door behind herself. She knelt by the low-burning embers to see what had dripped on her.
It was hard to tell in the dim light, but she thought the liquid might be red. It’s not blood. Don’t think that.
Sophie licked at her dry lips then hurried to her bureau, where she poured fresh water from the jug into the basin and scrubbed the drop from her hands.
She sat on the stool for a long time, glancing from the dark window to the barely visible doorway. She doubted she would be able to sleep. Instead, she pulled her gown—no, Rose’s gown—from the wardrobe, wrapped it tightly around herself, and lit a candle in the embers. She then sat at her desk, placed a clean sheet of paper on the table, uncorked the inkwell, and dipped her pen into the swirling black pot.
The light was too poor to see well, so Sophie bent low over the paper as she began writing in a carefully controlled script.
Dear Father…
CHAPTER TEN: The Doe
When Sophie stirred the next morning, the sun’s light was so dim that she thought it must still be night. She turned towards the window and saw thick, dark clouds had gathered over the sky.
The air was ice-cold, and Sophie regretted not salvaging the fire when she’d woken the night before. She wrapped the dressing gown around herself as she approached the huge window.
It was her first proper look at the view. The grass, dull and grey, stretched away from the house, sloping gradually downwards until it hit the edge of the clearing. The trees then grew upwards in a stiff wall that reminded Sophie of a prison fence. One corner of the lake was visible to her right. She thought she saw something stirring in it. Mr Argenton had said they ate fish from the property. The pond must be stocked.
Sophie looked downwards, and clasped a hand over her mouth.
The doe lay on the ground below her window. Its beautiful eye stared up at her, blank in death, a dribble of blood flowing from its corner to stain the fur. A cluster of black shapes on the corpse shifted, and Sophie realised they were crows—nearly a dozen of them—gathered around their meal.
The doe had been so serene the night before. To see its lifeless form crumpled on the grass, becoming prey to the nature it had once cohabitated with, was horrific. Sophie turned away from the window and pressed her palms to her eyes.
Death is natural. It’s nothing to cry over.
A clock somewhere in the house chimed. Sophie counted the deep, sombre notes. Eight… nine… ten. Did I really sleep so late? That wouldn’t make a good impression amongst the staff. Sophie crossed to the bell beside her bed and tugged it to summon Marie.
The maid arrived in less than a minute. Sophie thought she must have run the distance, based on the way she was panting. It felt good to have some cheerful company, and Sophie beamed at her maid’s round, eager face. “Ready, Marie?”
A nod. Sophie opened her wardrobe and flicked through its contents. She hesitated a second then reluctantly chose the white dress Rose had told her to wear. “Mrs Argenton—Rose—thought I might like some new dresses,” Sophie explained when she felt Marie’s eyes on the wardrobe. “How about this one?”
After another nod, Marie took the dress with a wide smile.
As she changed, Sophie found her thoughts returning to the haunting music she’d heard the night before. Marie would live in a very different part of the house—probably the fourth floor—and might have heard things Sophie couldn’t have. “Marie, were you woken by the piano last night?”
Marie froze halfway through lacing Sophie into the dress. Her mouth opened a fraction then closed, and she shook her head.
Sophie, curious, watched her maid in the mirror and chose her next words carefully. “I heard music in the early hours of the morning. But Mr Argenton told me none of his family played. Do you think one of the staff might have a musical inclination, Marie?”
Marie shook her head, this time without any hesitation.
“I see. Do you have any idea who it was, then?”
Shaking her head, Marie kept her eyes fixed on the laces, and Sophie could feel her fingers shaking.
She lowered her voice to a gentle murmur. “Marie, did someone tell you not to talk to me about the piano?”
Marie looked up, startled, and met Sophie’s gaze. She neither nodded nor shook her head, but her eyes were wide and frightened.
Sophie knew she’d hit on the truth. “It’s all right, Marie, you don’t have to answer.”
There was so much more that Sophie wanted to know, but she knew Marie wasn’t the person to ask. She was too new to the estate to know much about it, and what she did know, she was reluctant to share. Even though Marie was Sophie’s maid, her employment relied on Mr Argenton and Rose, and she was bound by their instructions.
With the dressing complete, Marie helped Sophie with her hair. As she bundled the fine, light strands into a sweet design, Marie mimed a heart shape on her breast. I love your hair.
Sophie felt a smile, a genuine one, spread over her face. “Thank you,” she whispered back.
A second maid interrupted just as Marie finished pinning Sophie’s hair, and left a tray of tea and biscuits. Sophie asked Marie if she would like to stay and have breakfast with her, but her maid gestured that she was needed elsewhere in the house. Sophie was left alone with her thoughts as she drank the steaming tea.
She would need to find someone to deliver the letter she’d written to her father the night before. She’d been careful about what she’d said, and Sophie thought she’d managed to avoid any hints of unhappiness or implications that Northwood was anything except a grand home. Worrying her father wouldn’t help anyone.
She missed her family painfully. The homesickness squeezed at her insides, making her heart hurt and her stomach churn. She didn’t know how frequently mail was delivered at Northwood, but she hoped she would have a reply letter soon. Any news from home, even mundane news, would be like a feast for a starving man.
She drank the tea but couldn’t stomach the biscuit, and, uncertain about what to do with the tray, she left it outside her door.
The house’s oppressive darkness pressed on her as she stood in the doorway with the letter clutched in her hands. Lamps had been lit along the hallways, but long stretches of shadows gathered between them. Sophie straightened her shoulders, clasped her hands over the sealed letter so tightly that they began to ache, and started into the maze of passageways.
Footsteps approached, then a maid, carrying a fresh pail of wood to refill one of the fireplaces, rounded a corner ahead.
Relief spread through Sophie’s chest, and she hurried to catch up
. “Good morning!”
The maid turned at the sound of Sophie’s voice and gave a slight curtsy. Sophie came to a halt in front of her and waited for a return of the greeting, but didn’t receive a reply.
She’s not mute, too, is she? What if Mr Argenton only employs servants who can’t speak?
The thought chilled her, and Sophie hurried on before it could become embedded. “I’m still learning my way through the house. Could you direct me to the stairs, please?”
“That way.” One pale hand rose to point to the pathway the maid had just come from.
“Oh, thank you so much.”
Again, there was no reply. Sophie, trying not to look as uncertain as she felt, took the passageway. She could feel the maid’s eyes following her.
The hallway ended on a new, wider pathway, and Sophie hesitated. The maid hadn’t given any further directions. She turned right, but it only led into a system of offshoots and doors. Sophie was trying to backtrack when she heard a faint humming noise.
It almost sounds like the song that was played last night.
Sophie let her ears guide her closer to the eerie tune, until she pushed through a door and found herself in a large, well-furnished sitting room. Rose was behind the desk, a stack of open letters laid out before her, and her quill hovered over a fresh sheet of paper. She fell silent as Sophie entered.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you,” Sophie said as the fluttery, anxious feeling returned to her chest.
Rose looked very different by day. The intensity that had haunted her eyes when she’d confronted Sophie had receded back to the dead glaze. Sophie tried to duck out of the room quickly, but Rose beckoned her closer. “You’ve found my favourite sitting room, my dear.”
“Oh, this is the west wing? I didn’t know—I just followed your humming. Were you playing the piano last night?”
Rose tilted her head to one side, a curious half-smile showing her white teeth. “What an odd thing to ask. I don’t play, and we keep the piano locked when we don’t have company.”
House of Shadows Page 5