Midnight Secrets

by Jennifer St Giles

  “Did you hear, Cassie?” Aunt Lavinia asked.

  I blinked. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”

  “The housekeeper telegraphed that she couldn’t find any journals or sketchbooks among Mary’s things. Her paints were there, but no paintings.”

  “That can’t be right.” I set my tea cup into the saucer, hearing it rattle as my hand shook. “Mary would never be without a sketchbook or her paintings. I might have believed she didn’t keep a journal, but her sketches and paintings were her life as much as teaching.”

  “Some of her things must still be at the castle then,” Andromeda declared.

  “I don’t think any of her things were left in the room she used. I saw it,” I said softly. “It is beautiful, pastel green with lots of satin and lace and a magnificent view of the sea. I could easily see her there, happy and painting. And little Rebecca, I know Mary must have grown to love her very much; she’s such a lost child. One of the people at the castle, described Mary as hope. She’d brought hope into their lives.”

  “Thank you.” Aunt Lavinia dabbed at her eyes. “I needed to hear that she was happy in her post. I mean she always wrote to me of such things, but I thought she did so to keep me from worrying about her.”

  “Letters! Why didn’t I think of that?” I rose from my seat and paced the room. “What do you remember from her letters, Auntie?”

  “Goodness. She always wrote so much. I don’t know what to say.”

  “But you still have her letters, don’t you?”

  “Yes, at home.”

  “Can you have the housekeeper send them to us?”

  “Of course. I’ll telegraph for her to send them special delivery.”

  Andromeda sat up. “Was that the church bell already?”

  “Yes, I think it was,” Geimini added.

  I frowned and shook my head, wondering if I had water in my ear. “I didn’t hear it.”

  “I’m sure I did. You should take a few scones back with you.” Gemini quickly wrapped scones into a napkin and handed me the package of fresh underclothes and the two older dresses I’d chosen to take with me.

  It wasn’t until I reached the church after a quick goodbye and heard the church bells just ringing that I knew for certain my sisters had deliberately hurried me along from the moment I’d arrived. Something was definitely amiss.

  Turning around, I marched back to the inn, and entered the apartment. “Andrie, Gemmi, come here immediately.” I don’t think I’d spoken to them so since they were in nappers.

  “What is it, dear?” Aunt Lavinia came hurrying from her room into the sitting area.

  “Where are they?”

  “Didn’t they mention their trip to you earlier?”

  “No.”

  “Must have been distracted with our talk of Mary. Andrie and Gemmi have gone on an excursion to some archeological site nearby. Something about stones and maidens, I believe. Is there anything wrong, dear?”

  “No. Why didn’t you go with them?”

  “Having a difficult time with my gout lately. Walking any distance would have been out of the question. But I made sure they were well chaperoned.”

  “All right,” I said, though nothing was right. The thought of my sisters going to that eerily strange place in the forest alone sent waves of panic crashing at me. Though what I thought could go wrong on such a seemingly innocent venture, I hadn’t figured out. All I could think of was Jamie dragging me there. “Forgive me for rushing off, but it is suddenly getting late.”

  Hurrying from the inn, I encountered Bridget on the main street in town, her unmistakable red hair bouncing in long curly tresses over the blue shawl I gave her. That she wore it every moment she could, despite the summer’s heat touched me deep inside. “Come on.” I grabbed her arm. “We’ve a secret errand to run.”

  “What is it?” She asked, matching my hurried step.

  “I want to see the Stone Virgins before we have to be back at the castle.”

  “What would have you in such a dither to see moldy stones in the forest?”

  “I can’t really explain. I just must. Will you come with me?”

  “Blimey, Cassie. Sometimes you can be so strange. Well, if we’re going to the Stone Virgins, then we best run as fast as we can, or we’re going to be very late. We can take the village path. It’ll be shorter.” Turning to the right, she guided me up the street past the church.

  “Do the villagers go to the stones often?” The path cutting up beside the church graveyard appeared well worn, but eerily isolated. Even though the main street was a stone’s throw away from our path, the fact that the looming gravestones and black iron fencing stood between us and the church seemed to cut us away from the warmth of the living.

  “Ack, only twice a year, much to the vicar’s despair. May Eve and All Hallows’ Eve has everyone a dancing and enjoying a pint or two and forgetting anything about who they are. I haven’t been to the celebrations since working at the castle. Mrs. Frye won’t let anyone go. If you do, you lose your post. Two maids went a year ago, and when they came stumbling back after midnight, she handed them their things and made them leave the castle that minute.”

  “She’s a hard woman.” The sound and flit of a starling chasing a robin skittered by, but failed to leave a sense of normalcy behind. Even the patches of bright pink and white rhododendron did little to ease the brooding air.

  “She’s had a hard life, and not exactly a fair one. She had the earl’s bastard, but she didn’t get sent to a fancy ladies school or have any life of ease like Miss Prudence. I think that’s why she doesn’t do the wee one any favors, either.”

  “What happened to her husband, the man the earl made her marry?”

  “Heard Jamie’s father, Phineas Frye, the earl’s top groomsman, was shot in a hunting accident before Jamie was born. Maybe that’s why Mrs. Frye’s so bitter, havin’ lost her husband afore her babe was even born. Then I imagine it would sweeten me none to have a son like Jamie, either. He can never be a man, and no longer a boy. Don’t know how to treat him.”

  “I feel sorrier for Jamie and his frustrations than I do for Mrs. Frye. I think she’d have a better life if she wasn’t so bitter. How is your mother?”

  Bridget sighed. “Not good. She still has her strength, mind you. But I think her cough is worse. Tim, my little brother, is scared. And I am too. We’ve still no word from Flora. Makes me think that she had to have gone to Paris to sing. Make no mistake, I’m happy for her, but it’s such a long way from here, and I keep worrying about what we’re going to do.”

  “I’m sorry.” I squeezed her hand. “I’m sure everything is going to work out all right. There’s an answer. You’ll see.”

  She squeezed my hand back. “I pray so.”

  We walked on in silence, lost in our thoughts. The trees lining the path thickened, diminishing the sun’s light and warmth. I kept peering anxiously up the pathway, thinking that I was searching for my sisters, but as the whole mood of the forest changed around me, becoming darker, more forbidding, and I realized that I was looking for danger. The thought of my sisters out in that danger shot cold anxiety through my heart.

  After my encounter with Jamie, I’d thankfully put my stolen knife in my pocket within easy reach. I’d learned that I could have the deadliest weapon ever made, and it would do me little good if I couldn’t get that weapon in my hand. When we reached a shadowed bend in the road, I instinctively slid my hand into my pocket, finding reassurance in the solid metal and the sharpness of the blade. The road steepened considerably, telling me the Stone Virgins concealed in the maritime forest were on an elevated knoll in comparison to the village, as if the eerie place secretly presided over the townspeople.

  So much tension built inside of me that I was almost disappointed when Bridget and I broke from the forest, reaching the area of the Stone Virgins and its massive center stone statue of what I now knew had to be Daghdha and his Uthaine, the living oak harp he used to seduce the virg
ins. The clearing, sun-drenched and peaceful, held none of the sinister air I’d felt when Jamie had dragged me to it. Birds chirped merrily to each other, bees and flies droned about their business. All appeared well.

  Or perhaps the great flood of relief I felt at not finding my sisters here, and thus nowhere near Killdaren’s Castle, made the area seem benign.

  “Now what?” Bridget crinkled her creamy brow into a frown.

  “Let me look a minute and we’ll go.” Leaving an impatient Bridget, I took a quick turn around the Virgins, envisioning the beautiful women being led to their doom by the lure of sweet music. It suddenly gave me the same ill feeling that the music room did, and I shuddered. On my way back to Bridget, I crossed the middle of the circle and examined the giant stone there, surprised to discern from the time-eroded etching on the stone that Daghdha was indeed depicted as being naked below the waist, with an ample belly and even larger genitals. The huge, almost crypt-like base that he rose from in combination with his height brought that anatomy to my eye-level. Lord, I’d gone all of my life giving little more than a cursory thought to the male anatomy, but now I couldn’t seem to escape it.

  Irrationally, I stepped closer, studying the stone harp and its frame of a woman bent backward, realizing that to play the instrument, the god’s hands would have to grip her breasts. I shivered at the thought, then cried out when a swarm of flies suddenly rose from the statue’s base. I looked down and saw a dark stain, and leaned curiously closer. Terror stabbed me. I screamed and jumped back.

  Blood.

  A dark, congealed maggot-ridden puddle of blood lay at the god’s feet.

  Bridget ran to me, craning to see as she looked up at the statue. “Blimey, Cassie! What is it?”

  I pointed at the ground. “Blood.”

  Round eyed and as starkly white-faced as I felt, Bridget grabbed my arm. “Let’s go. Most likely the leavings of a hunter poaching on the Killdaren’s land, but I ain’t waiting to find out.”

  I didn’t argue. We didn’t speak until we broke through the forest to find Killdaren’s Castle, stable, and gardens in sight.

  “Who should we tell?” I asked, gasping for air.

  “Stuart,” Bridget said without question. “I’ll tell him.” She headed for the stables.

  Not about to be left behind nor alone, I hurried after her, but paused just inside the stable doors to wipe the perspiration from my brow—then decided to stay there as Bridget approached Stuart. At the moment he was standing on a stump, adjusting harnesses hung there.

  “There’s blood on the ground up at the Virgins,” she said.

  “What?” Stuart swung around so quickly that he lost his balance and came tumbling right over on Bridget. In her attempt to move out of his way, she fell backward and Stuart landed on top, pressing her to the ground with his face buried in her bosom. Whether stunned or hurt I couldn’t tell. He didn’t move, except maybe to turn his head a bit.

  “Get off of me this minute, Stuart Frye!” Bridget yanked his hair.

  “Ouch,” Stuart yelled, rearing back enough to look at Bridget. “Nice of you to cushion my fall.” He grinned, looking so pointedly at Bridget’s heaving bosom that I had to turn my back to them.

  “You’re getting my shawl dirty, you bloody arse. Get up!”

  “Temper, temper, my lady.”

  I heard a considerable amount of shuffling and figured it was safe enough to turn around again, just in time to see Bridget smack Stuart on the arm. “Philandering buffoon,” she said. “Stop lazing around. There’s a puddle o’ blood at the Stone Virgins. Best find out who’s poaching on the Killdaren’s land get them to stop afore there’s trouble. Don’t want to see anyone losing their life o’er a rabbit or such.”

  Stuart shook his head. “Blood at the Stone Virgins?”

  “Yes. Haven’t you heard anything I’ve said?”

  “I think I’m starting to understand. What were you doing there anyway?”

  “Cassie wanted to look around on our way back from the village.”

  Jerking his gaze up, I saw Stuart’s surprise at finding me there. Either that or he found my going to the Stone Virgins shocking. I would have liked not having him know. He knew too much about me already.

  “I think you should report it to Constable Poole,” I said.

  Stuart shook his head. “I’ll handle it.”

  “No point in bringing the law into it,” Bridget said. “Especially if someone is just trying to feed their family off of Killdaren land. Don’t need to bring more trouble to folks already having hard times.”

  I wanted to argue, to ask them what if it was something more sinister afoot, but I had no evidence, and I could just see Constable Poole’s mustached smirk. I’d let Stuart handle the problem for now, but asked him to let me know what he found out.

  That night, after Bridget fell asleep, I dressed, still unsure what I would do. I couldn’t get Sean’s parting words out of my head. Had he ventured to the library again? Dare I go there myself? Before I could change my mind, I hurried from my room. Upon reaching the library door, I saw the warm glow of a fire flickering in the hearth. My heart pounded so loudly that I was sure it could be heard echoing through the whole castle.

  “I hoped you’d be here.” I stepped into the room. The dark-haired man who had his back to me turned from where he sat studying the flames, only then did I realize it was the earl. Fire scorched my cheeks.

  “Indeed.” He stared hard at me for a moment. “And what do I owe the pleasure of such hopes?”

  I coughed as I tried to spit words out of my frozen lungs. “I…well…never had the opportunity to respond to your statement in the garden. Your words disturbed me so much that, well, I couldn’t speak at the time.”

  The earl burst into laughter. “Lass, you lie well. Must be some Irish in your blood. It would seem you’ve met Sean other than when Rebecca wandered to the bell tower, then. Come have a seat.” He motioned to the sofa by the fire and I took a step into the room, drawn to his fatherly demeanor, which reminded me a little of my grandfather. Then I hesitated. I didn’t really know this man at all, and his emotions in the garden seemed to have changed as quickly as the wind.

  “Don’t be afraid, lass.” He moved to the far side of the room and sat down in the same leather chair Sean had occupied last night. “You’re bonnie enough to have any man be thinking what he shouldn’t, but I think you’ve an eye for my son and I won’t be trying to turn your head any other direction. He’s entirely too alone in life.”

  “You’d approve of such an impropriety?” I asked before thinking about who I spoke too. Considering Stuart, this man had had his share of scandal.

  He burst into laughter again, this time reaching for a drink I hadn’t noticed on the table by the chair. A nearly empty decanter sat next to the glass. He was a bit into his cups again. “I’ll let you and my son discuss that matter, I think. Tell me about yourself, lass. From the stiffness to your skirts, I detect a bit of English in with that Irish. Am I right?”

  The man was flagrantly improper, but I still found myself warming to him. Enough so to move a little farther into the room and perch on a small chair near the door.

  “Maybe more than just of bit of English then,” he said.

  “Enough to see me through my Irish blood with few mishaps.” I found myself laughing when he did. “At least that’s what my English grandmother always told me.”

  “She did, hey. And what did your Irish grandmother tell you?”

  “How did you know?”

  “Never met either an Irish or an English who didn’t have something to say about the other. Mixing the blood lines even stirs up more trouble, but what the bloody hell for, I haven’t figured out because they’re so muddied this day and age that there isn’t a bit of difference between them, just a matter of the tongue these days. And the starch.”

  “Well, my Irish grandmother would always say that it was a good thing her daughter married into the Andrews family, otherwise t
he blood would have stopped running in their veins they were so stiff.”

  “Smart woman.”

  “You didn’t mean what you said in the garden, did you?”

  “Don’t let a few laughs from a tongue loosened by drink fool you. I meant it. Job was a better man than me.”

  “But how can you stop loving? It isn’t possible.”

  “Ah, lass. You young women are so alike. Mary would ask me the same question and say the same thing. She couldn’t do a thing to save us Killdarens, and I fear you won’t be able to, either. Cursed is cursed. You’d be surprised how easy it is to stop loving when you figure out that it’s your loving that’s killing everything about you.”

  Suddenly the warm fuzzy feeling, the one similar to what I’d feel listening to my grandfather’s stories, froze in my breast.

  “You’d best go on now before you’re seen with me here, or the curse rubs off on to you.”

  I stood, half facing the door, unsure of what to do.

  “Go on with, you now. I’ve a mind for quiet.”

  “I still don’t believe you,” I told him. “Not about the curse and not about the other, either.” Then I left the room, just as unsettled as I had left Sean the night before. What was it with these men? And why in the devil did I let them upset me so with the talk of curses and doom?

  Hearing something down the corridor, I glanced up to see what looked like a caped shadow disappear around the corner into the center hall.

  Sean.

  I ran toward him, skittering into the center hall, trying to look in every direction at once. It was empty. Then heart running almost faster than it could beat. I went to the corridor leading to Sean’s wing, but it stood dark and silent. Yet, lingering in the air, I thought I detected a hint of the strange, but luring aroma of spice that clung to Sean and scented his rooms.