by Wendy Webb
Drew and I both stood up—I wasn’t sure of the protocol, so I followed his lead—and he made his way back over to the bar. “Dubonnet cocktail for you?”
“That sounds lovely, dear. With a lemon, if you don’t mind.”
When she had her cocktail in hand, she raised her glass. “To Julia,” she said. “We are so delighted that you have come to our wonderland.”
As I took a sip of my drink, I mused about her choice of words, wondering just how much like Alice I really was.
Over a dinner of beef Wellington, red potatoes, and a crisp salad—I had scarcely eaten anything more than a Lean Cuisine for dinner in months, and the food awakened taste buds that I forgot I had—we talked of the day’s events.
“I thought you did remarkably well on Nelly today, Julia,” Mrs. Sinclair said, raising her eyebrows. “I see the makings of a horsewoman in you.”
I took a bite of the beef’s flaky crust and considered this. “You know, I really had fun,” I said finally. “There’s just something about being on a horse that feels, I don’t know, natural.”
Mrs. Sinclair and Drew exchanged sly smiles. “I knew you’d love it, once you tried it,” she said. She nodded her head to Drew.
“The Otter was nice,” I said.
“That’s the first time I’ve been in the place!” Mrs. Sinclair said, beaming. “I’ll have to go back again. It was quite a treat.”
Drew caught my eye and furrowed his brow, shaking his head slightly. “You are certainly full of surprises, Amaris Sinclair,” he said.
“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” she said, winking at me.
Conversation turned to other things, then—the dogs, whether it was going to snow again this week, when Adrian was returning home—until we heard the clatter of a pan dropping in the kitchen, just beyond the dining room’s doors.
“Who’s there?” It was Marion’s voice, high and shrill. “What do you want?”
Drew was out of his chair like a shot, with Mrs. Sinclair and me close behind. He burst through the dining room doors, through the butler’s pantry, and into the kitchen, where we found Marion standing at the open back door, looking out into the darkness, holding a rolling pin high above her head.
“What’s happened, Marion?” Drew asked her, gently taking the rolling pin from her hand.
“A face!” she said, breathless. “I was getting the pudding out of the oven when I looked over to the window—I don’t know why I did that, but I did—and saw a face. I think it was a man. Outside.”
“Good Lord,” Mrs. Sinclair said. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure,” Marion affirmed. “I’m not seeing things. Not yet, anyway.”
Drew turned on the outside light, illuminating the snow around the house. He and I looked out the door together, and sure enough, there were footprints just under the kitchen window.
“Bloody hell,” he said under his breath. “What’s this now?”
I turned to Marion. “Is there a flashlight here in the kitchen?”
She crossed the room to a cupboard, opened it, and produced one, handing it to me. I turned it on and shined it out the door, following the footsteps from the kitchen window out to the forest beyond. A quick check of the pristine snow in either direction told me whoever it was hadn’t gone any other way, before or after Marion had confronted him. The tracks went from the forest, to the kitchen window, and back again the way he had come.
“Well, he’s gone now,” I said, my stomach clenching into a tight knot. Was it one of Jeremy’s victims, someone who had followed me here? I didn’t even want to think of that possibility. My old life seemed so long ago and far away, and the thought of someone tracking me all the way to Havenwood gave me a chill.
“I’m going to see if I can catch him,” Drew said, closing the door. “He can’t have gotten far.”
“Do you think that’s wise?” Mrs. Sinclair said, her hand touching her throat. “He might be armed. Or worse.”
I didn’t know what “or worse” meant, but thought best not to ask.
She turned around in a circle. “Where are the dogs?”
“In the stable with the horses,” Drew said. “I gave them all their dinner before changing for our own.”
“I think it’s clear they should come into the house. Immediately. Drew, will you fetch them? And if they go off into the woods—”
“I’ll go after them, don’t worry.”
He didn’t bother to put on a coat; instead he simply walked out of the kitchen door and disappeared into the dark night.
Mrs. Sinclair turned to me and exhaled. “Now that that’s handled, Julia, let’s take our dessert and nightcap in the drawing room. Marion?”
“I’ll be right behind you, ma’am.”
I wondered if I should help Drew track whoever it was that had been looking into our windows, but the finality of Mrs. Sinclair’s statement led me to do as I was told. I followed her into the drawing room, looking out the window over my shoulder all the while.
Later, after Mrs. Sinclair and I had finished our bread pudding, Drew came back inside, flushed with the cold, dogs at his heels. He sunk into a chair next to the fire as the dogs took a few laps around the room before curling up on the Oriental rug beside him.
“They followed the scent into the woods,” he said. “I didn’t think we should go farther, not in the dark.”
“Goodness, no.” Mrs. Sinclair sighed. “Not in those woods.” She rose from her chair and crossed the room to the bar, where she poured two cognacs. “Nightcaps?”
She handed one to me and one to Drew. “It’s unsettling, darlings, but undoubtedly, this is somebody who saw me in the village today and was curious. We get that here from time to time.”
Drew caught my eye and shook his head, so slightly it was almost imperceptible. I got the distinct feeling they didn’t get this from time to time.
“And now, it’s about time for this old bat to retire.” She smiled at us. “We’ve had quite a day, children. I enjoyed it more than you know.”
I stood up and took her hands into mine. “It was a wonderful day, Mrs. Sinclair,” I said. “Thank you. I had more fun today than I’ve had in months. I can’t remember the last time I laughed.”
“That was the idea, Julia, darling.” She kissed me on the cheek, turned, and joined Marion, who was standing in the doorway. “Home, James,” she said, extending her arm. Marion took it, and the two of them walked out of the room and into the darkness of the hallway.
Drew and I sat in silence for a few moments before he spoke.
“I didn’t want to say it to Mrs. Sinclair, but the footprints looked like they were headed back toward the village,” Drew said.
“Somebody followed us from town, then?”
“It looks that way, yes.”
“Why would he do that?” I asked him.
“I have no idea,” he said.
We both settled back down into the armchairs by the fire, talking about everything and nothing. We drank our cognacs, and then things began to get a little hazy around the edges. I do remember feeling quite drunk all of a sudden, and realizing I had better get back upstairs sooner rather than later.
The room began to spin. “Oh,” I said, putting a hand to my forehead. It was odd: a couple of cognacs usually didn’t have that dramatic of an effect on me, but this time they did. “I think I should call it a night.”
I pushed myself out of my chair and stood next to it for a moment, getting my bearings.
“Are you okay?” Drew asked.
“I’m fine. All I need is some water, a couple of aspirin, and my bed.”
I walked a few hesitant steps and then turned around, putting a hand on the archway into the hall for support. “Thank you for a lovely day,” I said to him, slurring my words ever so slightly. “I loved Nelly, I loved the town, I loved the whole thing.”
“Sleep well, Julia.” He smiled. “We’re all very glad you’re here with us.”
Walking through th
e dark hallways of the house, illuminated here and there with the soft glow of a wall sconce, I began to feel as though I were in a strange and magical labyrinth. Rooms seemed to fold in on one another, circling back around so that they were in front of me once again. Every hallway I went down seemed to lead to the same place, leaving me back where I had started.
And then I heard something. I stopped walking to listen closer. Music? It was so soft and faint, it sounded like it was coming from another world. I followed the sound down the hallway. It seemed to be coming from a certain room with an arched entrance, so I poked my head inside. I saw a harpsichord in one corner and a cello propped next to a chair in the other. Between them, yet another enormous fireplace. I took a few hesitant steps inside and looked around.
Portraits of musicians with their instruments hung on the walls. Over the fireplace, I saw a large painting depicting an evening of chamber music—wealthy people congregating after dinner, drinks in hand, dressed in their fineries. A woman sat at a harpsichord, a man at her side with a cello. I gasped when I realized it was a painting of an event in the very room where I stood. This was the music room.
As I stared at the painting, it was almost as if the image on the canvas transformed from oils and brushstrokes into flesh and blood, and I could see the scene in the painting come to life, there in the room around me, the people wispy and transparent, like holograms. Or ghosts.
I could hear the crinkling of the fabrics as the ladies, dressed in taffeta and silks, floated past me. Their laughter and chatter filled the air, first distant and low, and then louder. I heard the clinking of wineglasses as someone made a toast to the musicians. And then a hush fell as the audience took their seats and the first strains of music wafted through the air.
I stood there, caught up in the moment, when suddenly, all heads turned—toward me! I saw their faces, eyes wide, mouths agape at the sight of me. I heard gasps as the image of their party faded back into the painting, as quickly as it had come.
I backed out of the room and started down the hallway, slowly at first, shaking my head, trying to make sense of what had just happened. Then a chill ran through me and I picked up speed. Was it the alcohol, or my lack of medication producing these strange sights? Or was it something else? Whatever it was, I made a mental note to ask Adrian about refilling my prescription.
I finally found my way to the grand staircase—how, I don’t know—and ascended slowly, holding on to the handrail for support as reality seemed to spin around me.
As I made my way up, stair by stair, the portraits hanging on the walls seemed to flicker and sway with life, whispering to me as I went. I could hear them, louder and louder, hissing and moaning all around me. I hurried my pace and was nearly at the top of the stairs, when I tripped on the hem of my dress, hitting the ground with a thud. I heard laughter and jeers, voices taunting me, and I curled into a ball, there on the floor, hands over my ears, trying to make it all go away.
That was when I felt a pair of strong hands grasping my arms. “You’re all right,” he said. “I’m here now, don’t worry.”
At first I didn’t know who it was, but in the darkness, I could make out Drew’s face. I let him pull me up, and leaned against the wall. We stood there for a while, looking at each other in that dark hallway.
“My God,” he whispered. “You’re so beautiful.” And then his arms were around my waist and his lips were on mine, kissing me with such force that I thought he was going to engulf me. I put my hands around his neck and pulled him even closer into me, closing my eyes.
“Andrew,” I whispered into his ear.
But then I felt the most horrible emptiness and I realized I was alone. I opened my eyes and looked up and down the hallway—nobody was there. Where had he gone?
I took a deep breath in. Had it even happened? There’s no way he would have simply left me lying there. Had I passed out and been asleep on the stairway? Had I dreamed the whole thing? I wondered how much time had passed. I didn’t feel drunk any longer, or even dizzy. Had I been lying there for hours?
I hurried to my room and shut the door behind me, grateful for the fire that Marion had laid in my fireplace and for the pitcher of water she had left on my nightstand. I poured a glass and drank it down quickly. My gaze settled on my windows and I thought of whoever might be lurking out there in the woods. I drew the curtains closed to block out the night, shivering to my core.
After washing my face and peeling off my dress, I slipped under the covers and watched the fire crackling in the fireplace, all the mysteries of Havenwood dancing in my mind.
FOURTEEN
My dreams that night were strange and jumbled, a funhouse of distorted images. Jeremy. Me, falling asleep in my dorm room in college, surrounded by a roomful of friends whom I had long since lost touch with. The dog of my childhood, running in the backyard of the house where I grew up.
I was awakened by the sound of a telephone ringing. I sat up and shook my head, the dreams still at the edge of my consciousness. Was that a phone I heard? I listened closer. Yes, it was, coming from another room, perhaps next door.
I gazed around. The fire had died down, the last embers glowing. I poured a glass of water and took a drink before slipping out of bed and moving across the room to the windows. I pushed the curtain aside and looked out. The night was still deeply dark. No hint of man-made light whatsoever. I watched as northern lights blazed across the sky.
And there was that phone again. I wondered why Marion wasn’t answering it. Well, I sighed, it had nothing to do with me. I hadn’t gotten a phone call in the months prior to coming to Havenwood, and certainly nobody would be calling me now. I climbed back into bed, drew the covers around me, and closed my eyes. I had a few more hours to go before morning and desperately wanted to sleep.
But the ringing just wouldn’t stop. I rolled this way and that, trying to muffle the sound, to no avail. I didn’t have a phone in my room—where was this noise coming from? And then I remembered the study down the hall where I had tried to call Adrian. The old-fashioned black phone with the heavy handset. That had to be it. It didn’t seem possible I’d hear it ring all the way down the hall in my room, but sounds do tend to carry in old houses, especially at night when everything else is silent. That was what I told myself, anyway.
I threw the covers aside and grabbed my robe. The only way I’d get back to sleep was to find that phone and answer it, or at least take it off the receiver to stop that infernal racket.
I opened my door and walked down the dark hallway, turning this way and that before reaching the wing where the study was located. Sure enough, the door to the study was ajar, and I could see light coming from the room. I marched toward it, wondering who on earth was calling at this hour and letting the phone ring and ring and ring. I intended to give whomever it was a lecture about disturbing an entire household in the middle of the night.
I reached the study and pushed open the door. I didn’t see a lamp or a ceiling light, and yet the phone, and the desk it was sitting on, was bathed in a soft glow. No matter, I thought. It was just one more strange thing happening at Havenwood. I was starting to get used to it. I stared at the phone, which was still ringing, but a knot in the pit of my stomach was telling me that I shouldn’t answer that call. Who on earth could it be, in the middle of the night? I almost turned and left the room, I almost went back to my bed, but then I thought: What if it’s Adrian? So I picked up the heavy black handset and put it to my ear.
“Hello?” I said.
“Julia? Is that you?”
I recognized the voice. But it couldn’t be. It just couldn’t. What sort of magic was this? I wanted to drop the phone and run from the room, but I was frozen in place, unable to move, unable to take the handset away from my ear.
“Julia!” the voice repeated. “Are you there?”
“Jeremy?” I croaked out.
“Yes, it’s me. Listen, I don’t have much time.”
“But how?” I said. “Did
you—are you…?”
This was my husband… who was supposedly dead. My first thought was he must have faked his own death to escape prosecution. Obviously he had, the crafty devil. How had he done it? And how had he found me? Had he somehow followed me here to Havenwood?
But then a more disturbing thought occurred to me. Had he put Adrian up to the whole thing, the arson included? It was all too convenient—we were both “dead,” as far as the rest of the world knew. Did he now think we were going to run away together with his ill-gotten millions?
“Were you the man outside the kitchen window tonight? Have you come here for me, Jeremy?”
But as I said the words, I knew he wasn’t, and hadn’t. A chill enveloped me as I remembered the scene in our basement just a few months before. I was the one who had found his body. His blood had been spattered all over the room. The top of his head was gone. Jeremy was dead; there was no question about it.
“No, I wasn’t there tonight.”
“Jeremy…?”
“Don’t freak out, Julia,” he said, his voice urgent and stern. “I can tell you’re freaking out. You need to focus. I told you, I don’t have much time. You need to listen to me. Are you listening, Julia?”
“I’m listening,” I whispered, my voice shredded by the terror that was overtaking my body.
“Get out of there.”
“What?”
“I’m calling to warn you, Julia, and believe me, this is not allowed.”
“Why did you do it, Jeremy?”
I heard him sigh. “None of that matters right now. What matters is your safety. And you’re not safe there, Julia. You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into, but believe me, you need to get out of there. You are in danger. They had no right to bring you there. No right at all.”
I couldn’t process what he was saying.
“How can you be talking to me?” I said, shaking my head. “You’re dead.”
“As it turns out, that’s not as final as it seems,” he said. “But now I have to go. I don’t know if I can contact you again.”
I opened my eyes with a start. My pillow was wet with perspiration and the sheets were tangled around my legs. I took a few deep breaths to get my bearings and looked around the room, where I saw light peeking from the edges of my curtains.