She snuggled herself into my arms for a hug. Pulling back to peer at me, she inquired, “Do you really think I am getting tall? Do you think I shall be as tall as you?”
“I hope not. Better to be petite like Cousin Alyssa.” I fluffed her fringe playfully. “You’ll be as pretty as her.”
She studied me. “I’d rather be tall, like you.”
A warm feeling suffused me. I would be less than honest if I did not admit I had surrendered rather easily to her insistence to make me her idol.
“Hello, Miss Harris,” I said to the young, pretty nurse who was standing behind the child.
“Good day, Mrs. Andrews,” she replied, uncharacteristically coolly. Miss Harris was a cheerful companion to Henrietta, which I liked. Henrietta tended toward the serious at times.
“Why don’t you have some time to yourself,” I told her, “and as I have not yet had breakfast, Henrietta and I can share elevenses. Would you ask the cook to send something up?”
I thought she would be happy to have some freedom, but she seemed reluctant to go. She could not refuse, however. Henrietta and I set to work to clear the paintings so we could use the table for our meal. The child proved quite secretive about her artwork, whisking the paintings away onto a shelf under the open window. We put away the watercolors and sat down.
A servant brought up a tray supplied with tea, sandwiches, and biscuits. “Are you enjoying your new home?” I inquired when we were settled, Victoria presiding over us in a third chair.
“Mama likes it. Papa takes me out driving. Or he used to do so every day.” She smiled, her rosebud mouth curving sweetly. “But he’s been too busy getting ready for the house party and now he says I have to stay indoors.”
“Poor Hen. Miss Harris keeps you entertained, though, doesn’t she?”
She nodded, not very enthusiastically. “How long are you going to stay?”
“Well, for a few weeks, perhaps.” I was loath to commit to the child and lock myself into a protracted and unpleasant stay should Alyssa and Mary prove difficult.
She rolled her lips in, biting them from the inside, as was her way when something was on her mind. “Where is your room? Can I come see it?”
“I am on the second floor.” The faintest of frowns creased her snowy brow. I leaned forward, touching her wrist. “Why?”
“This house is very big,” she stated, avoiding my eyes.
“Oh, darling, does it seem that I shall be very far away?”
She picked up her doll, holding it close as she fussed with her bonnet. “Victoria says the house is ugly.”
I could think of nothing to say, save I heartily agree with her, which I could not admit aloud. Finally, I compromised with “It is quite all right if you don’t like the house, even if it was where your papa grew up. You can tell him, you know. It will not hurt his feelings and you might feel better.”
I was disappointed she didn’t brighten. Eventually, and after a lengthy rearranging of Victoria’s ribbons, she said, “Victoria says there are ghosts here. She doesn’t like ghosts.”
I nearly sighed in disgust. Some servant gossip, idly spoken, and now poor Hen was frightened. I slipped off the chair and onto my knees before her, so that I could look directly into her face. “She shouldn’t worry, though. You should let her know there aren’t any such things as ghosts.”
Her large blue eyes lifted to mine. “But there are. I saw him.” Slowly, she slid her gaze to my left, looking out the window. “At night, he taps on the glass.”
I opened my mouth to reassure her, but the words froze in my throat. Gooseflesh pricked along my arms. “Hen, darling, it must just be a nightmare. Sometimes our dreams can seem very real. It’s a big step, coming to a new home, and your mother so busy with all the preparation for her party, and your papa not able to take you out for your rides.”
Lowering her eyes, she remained very still. “He wants to come inside.”
“Darling, no—no one can come in the window.”
My reassurances died on my lips as she looked at me solemnly, her small mouth pursed, her eyes as big as moons in her wan face. She didn’t look like herself, and for a moment I felt a flutter of alarm.
I forced a smile. “We’ll talk to your papa about this. I’m certain he will have a wonderful cure for bad dreams.”
She blinked as she considered this. To her, Roger was all-powerful. I’d been very clever in invoking his powers, for she seemed relieved. She even smiled.
“Now let us have our tea.” I fixed her a cup, half cream and half tea with three spoonfuls of sugar, and placed a ham sandwich with the crusts cut off on her plate. “Eat this first, and then you can have biscuits.”
I had worked up an appetite after the morning’s excursion. It took two sandwiches before I felt satisfied. The frosted biscuits I left to Henrietta, watching with amusement as she devoured one after the other.
I sat back and sipped my tea as she enjoyed the treats. A draft blew over us, causing a few of Henrietta’s paintings to flutter to the ground. My gaze caught on one, and I felt a sudden jolt. My hand shook, causing my cup to rattle. I clamped it down firmly on the saucer to prevent a spill.
Very aptly made, in dark colors of gray and black, was a stunning representation so accurate that I knew at once what it was. A painting of a tree, but a very particular tree, like a stick topped with a nasty cap of black spun sugar. It was the hawthorn from the meadow.
Henrietta froze, her attention snapping from the painting on the floor to my face with alacrity when I retrieved the fallen artwork.
“That is an interesting painting,” I said carefully as I put the pile of papers back on the shelf. “I saw a tree like that on my walk this morning, out by the place where the old stones once stood.”
She cast a look at her doll. Victoria’s glass eyes stared back without expression.
“It is Marius’s tree,” Henrietta whispered in a tiny voice.
Chapter Three
I girded myself against the tickle of apprehension. “Marius’s tree?”
Henrietta pursed her little lips. “I see him there,” was all she said before she turned away. I quite got the idea that she didn’t wish to speak of it any longer.
I wanted to believe she’d endowed a squirrel or some similar creature with a personality as she had her doll. This seemed a likely solution. Yet there was no denying she was afraid. And she kept glancing at the window.
I was deeply disturbed when I left the nursery, the identity of the mysterious Marius very much on my mind. My disquiet was all the more pronounced at the idea that, whatever this was, it was attached to the same tree at which I’d had my scare that very morning.
In contrast to its inauspicious beginning, the rest of the day went well. My sister was in a good mood and Mary fluttered happily among her guests, flushed with the success of how well we were getting on. I had the opportunity to speak with Mr. Hess again, listening raptly as he expounded on the long history and lore of the county. I wanted to ask about the tree, but I refrained, fearing I would give myself, and my ridiculous fancies, away.
For dinner, I dressed in a new gown of watered silk, the fitted bodice complimenting my slender figure. As I found myself ready a good hour before the other guests were set to gather in the parlor, I took the opportunity to visit the library, which I’d not yet had a chance to explore. On a whim, I paused outside of the doorway and glanced upward, looking for an inscription.
“Is the roof leaking?” a man asked. I turned to my left to find a stranger standing beside me. His head was thrown back as he stared above us. He glanced at me and I saw amusement dancing in his eyes. “Or are you appealing to God to give you strength to endure the evening? If so, just say the word and I will leave you to your prayer.” He donned a look of gravity. “You will no doubt need it.”
The man before me was dressed fashionably in a colorful waistcoat with intricate embroidery. His cravat was tied in a wide, snowy-white bow, above which his smirking countenance re
garded me steadily under a cap of light brown curls so carefully arranged they had to be the result of curling papers. His cheeks held a flush like a Renaissance cherub. His skin was too pale, the smooth sort which was achieved through a discreet use of powder. He was, I saw at once, what used to be known as a dandy.
But he seemed completely immune to my amazement. “You must be the great and wonderful Cousin Emma.” He held out a pale hand. “Can you guess who I am?”
I took his hand. It was surprisingly warm and firm. I suddenly knew who he was, for I’d heard him spoken of in tight whispers. “You have to be Sebastian, Roger’s brother.”
“So you have heard of me,” he purred, holding on to my fingers.
“Mary mentioned you were to be among the guests. She told me Henrietta was counting on it. The child certainly thinks highly of you, by the way. She has spoken of you in the past in the most glowing terms. As we’ve previously never met, I made a deduction you might be the very guest Henrietta has so eagerly awaited.”
“What a logical mind you have!” He gave me a sweeping glance, as if reassessing me. “And so diplomatic. You don’t even mention my sister-in-law’s apoplexy when my name is brought up.”
I laughed and he waved off any denial I might have tried. “Never mind. I am glad we met alone, for I must inform you that I am quite jealous of you.” His nose lifted with an injured air. “I was little Henri’s favorite until she started talking of ‘Cousin Emma’ this and ‘Cousin Emma’ that. She thinks you are quite pretty. Mary doesn’t, you know. I suppose it is because you are so unaffected.” He tapped his finger on his jaw, considering me once again from the top of my coif to the tips of my slippers. “I agree with dear Henrietta. You are fetching.”
He waved his hand around in the air on the last word. Then he stopped, cocked his head, and asked, “As turnabout is only fair play, you must tell what you have heard of me. I suspect there may be rumors—merely ill talk, mind you, nothing I credit—that I have the capacity to grate on one’s nerves. Not all, you see, can tolerate my biting wit.”
“I see little evidence of any wit, biting or mild.”
“You have a bit of a bite yourself.” His slow smile was broad and filled with delight. “Ah. We shall get along famously, you and I. Would you happen to require escort to the parlor?”
“I was going to the library,” I told him. “It is too early for the others to be assembled.”
“Good thinking. As I never enter a room unless I am most fashionably late, I am in want of a destination. The library it is, though I have never liked the place. Filled with books, you know. Odiously boring things, books. But quite useful for filling up shelves. Think of the dust that would collect if those useful items were not there to take up space.”
We fell into step together and proceeded along the corridor. “You do not enjoy reading?”
“Please.” He shuddered like a woman. “Reading requires one to be quiet, not to mention sitting for long periods of time. I had enough of that at school. And what do you get for your sacrifice? Some snob telling you what to think, or some convoluted prose that tangles the brain. Just hearing Milton’s name puts me into a coma.”
“Most think Milton very wise.” We had entered the library and I strolled along the shelves. I began to run my finger along the spines.
“Wisdom,” he said, his voice losing some of its playfulness. “Is it not like beauty, found in the eye of the beholder? The kind of intelligence that will really do you good in the world one gets from observing. Human nature, now there is a study worth doing.”
I slid a book out of its spot. Gulliver’s Travels. “As you are observing me?”
“I observe everyone, so do not take it hard. I do not, however, always approve. In your case, I do, most heartily.”
I placed Swift’s tome back in place and continued to peruse.
“Are you looking for anything particular?”
“Mr. Hess has whetted my curiosity about the place.” I turned to face him. “You must have run about the countryside as a child, having grown up here.”
He made a face. “On horseback only. Too much mud to go about on foot. Imagine the disaster my boots should be if I abused them so.”
He pointed his toe to show me his footwear, and I made an appreciative nod.
“There is fascinating history here,” I commented with studied casualness. “Particularly The Sanctuary and that strange tree.”
“I suppose.” He sounded bored, and his casualness was unstudied.
I paused. “Do you know who Marius is?”
He flopped into a large leather armchair. “Who? Oh, Marius—did Henri tell you about him? He’s her new imaginary friend. I think Victoria is jealous.” He laughed. “See, I know all the gossip, even if it only concerns the manifestations of a little girl’s mind. But our Henrietta makes it very dramatic—and I cannot resist drama of any kind.”
“What is this Marius like?”
He laughed. “How the devil would I know? I don’t see him!”
I flushed and he held out his hand in a gesture of apology. “Oh, you mustn’t worry. When I was young, I played for hours with imaginary friends. Let me see, there was Lady Hatterly. She was an old battle-ax. And the mischievous Miss Penn. She knew how to dress, did Miss Penn. And, of course, Raoul, who was dashing, with a mustache to die for. When my brothers would brutalize me with taunts and pinches he would always swear to avenge me. I had to beg him to let them live. Did you have a cast of invisibles as a child?”
“No, I am afraid not.”
As the words left me, something stirred in the back of my mind, as if memories were shifting somewhere…The veil parting again, and with it, the sharp pain jutting down from my temple through my skull. I had an impression, a shadow moving in a mist, blurred and indistinct.
I paused, waiting for a revelation that did not come.
Sebastian noticed my hesitation. “What?” he asked.
I smiled abruptly. “Nothing at all.”
He allowed his head to fall back as his eyes swept the room. “My God, it is dark in here. I remember my father at that desk, hands folded carefully on the blotter to keep himself from throttling me.” He laughed. “Oh, he detested me. Care for a drink?” He gripped the arms of the chair and popped himself to his feet as if shot out by electric current.
“My, you do not sit still for long, do you?”
Waving a hand, he taunted, “It will relax you for dinner. Makes it easier to sit through the squire bragging about the stags he’s hunted, and that dratted curate will speak softly but with this quiet little menace that will make you feel guilty for no reason.” He splashed brown liquid from a decanter to a tumbler, then threw it back. He held out the decanter. “Are you certain?”
My father drank, and I could not tolerate a man too fond of spirits. I moved before I knew what I was doing, going directly up to him and taking the glass, empty now but ready for a second filling, and putting it on the sideboard with a gentle slap. “I shall face them sober, Mr. Dulwich. And if I must, then you may as well do so with me. Should it become too much for you, then you’ve only to think of Milton and there find sweet, blissful numbness.”
“But…” His protest was feeble as he watched me place the decanter back in its place. Then he threw his head back and laughed. “Oh, Cousin Emma, you are the devil. I do so like that in a person.”
“I am not your cousin, Mr. Dulwich.”
I meant that he should address me as Mrs. Andrews, as was proper, but when he shrugged and said, “Oh, Emma, you must call me Sebastian,” I somehow did not refuse. I had found a friend at Dulwich Manor. I was not about to quibble over the terms.
Friendship, I learned, did not come without a price. Sebastian insisted on my accompanying him the following morning horseback riding despite my protests. I told him plainly I was not an able horsewoman and would be more hindrance than companion on a countryside jaunt. But even my wounded hand did not excuse me, and in the end, I had to give in.
“Stop being beastly. I shall find myself sprawled on the ground if I attempt to go any faster. If you refuse to allow me to continue at this stately pace, I will turn back.”
He circled around to pass me, maneuvering his horse in a high-stepping prance. “My dear, you have no sense of adventure.”
“Ah. You’ve found me out. No doubt it is the result of all that reading.”
“Indeed,” he agreed. “Absolute poison.” But he slowed.
He took me in the opposite direction of The Sanctuary. I was glad not to be going back to that place. I did not know what it was I had sensed or seen yesterday, or what I thought about the disturbing confidences of Henrietta regarding her new imaginary friend. I felt a certain desperate desire to dismiss it, to brand it a figment of fancy and turn my thoughts away. Because of Laura, I’d lived all my life with the fear of my own mind betraying me one day. One mustn’t entertain fancy too deeply, or too long.
“A storm is coming.” Sebastian frowned at the sky, where a tower of thick, gray clouds loomed over the trees. The far-off meadows were already darkened under the encroaching shadow. “It is going to be a monster,” he muttered as he pulled on the reins to bring his horse around. “Let us ride. This coat will be in a ruin if it gets wet. Come now, hurry!”
“Go on ahead,” I told him. “You shall get a drenching if you wait for me.”
“Oh, indeed, and that would make me a knave. I’ve been called a cad, a bounder, a rascal, and an ignoramus—but never a knave. I won’t have it. Come, now, Emma, kick that mule you’re riding and simply hold on. You might get your teeth rattled, but we’ll make it in.”
The first splats of water hit us. He muttered a curse and glanced over his shoulder. I followed suit, and found the clouds had overtaken us. Then I saw something else, and in one leap, my heart bounded up from my chest to lodge firmly in the base of my throat. Faintly, against the smoky sky, one gunmetal-gray cloud appeared to be collecting itself into a shape.
Descent into Dust Page 3