by Nathalie Dae
She placed the knife on the bed and lit a lamp. Lifting the cloak from the bed, she slipped her fingers inside the pocket. The cold, smooth surface of the jewels chilled her skin and she drew them out and studied them. Two large rubies and two smaller emeralds caught the light from the lamp. They appeared to shimmer and warm in her palm and a sense of goodness pervaded Amelia. Draping the cloak over her arm, she kneeled on the bed and gripped the quilt, bringing it to her nose. She inhaled deeply and smiled, then, with one last glance around the basement, dug her hand back into the cloak pocket and took out Emmett’s handkerchief. For the first time since those awful pains had racked her, tears stung her eyes—for what once was and for what was to come.
Back straight, she picked up the knife and placed it inside her neckline. After climbing the basement stairs, she paused in the linens room doorway upon hearing Matilda’s and Helena’s whispers.
“You cannot let her go with him,” Helena said. “He has plans to marry her. She will be so terribly unhappy. I despise him and she will live a life of hell. How can I be happy with my freedom knowing she has taken my place? Please. Please find some way to stop this!”
“I need to think,” Matilda said. “When she goes up to collect her things, I’ll take a moment to work something out, though at this moment I have no idea what we should do.” She paused, cocking her head. “Shh! I think she’s coming.”
Amelia’s throat tightened at her friends’ words and she came through the doorway into the parlor. Matilda and Helena stood where she had left them and Amelia glanced at the front door, the carriage’s black shadow looming on the other side.
Taking the cloak from her arm, she held it out to Helena. “Thank you for the loan of your cloak. I’ll never forget what you have done.” She looked at Matilda. “Nor will I forget your immense kindness. Please know that I appreciate you both and,” she held up her hand and opened her fist, “Emmett appreciated you too. Please, take one of each.”
The women’s eyes widened, filled with tears, and gooseflesh peppered Amelia’s skin, as though a tangible thing was telling her she followed fate’s path—the correct path.
“Goodness,” Matilda said. “You are pure goodness, my dear friend, but you must take these yourself. Get away and start a new life.”
“There is no life without Emmett,” Amelia said, raising her hand farther. “Please, have them.” She pressed a ruby and emerald into Matilda’s palm and closed the woman’s fingers around them. “Thank you.” Turning to face Helena, who had put herself in danger for her, a stranger, she handed over the remaining jewels then clutched the handkerchief in hands she raised to her chest. “Helena, take them and run,” she said. “That’s all I ask of you now.” With a deep breath, she pasted on a smile and, tears threatening, gripped the newel post. “If you would…if you would be so kind as to wait here for a moment. I must speak with the lord before I go up and get my things.”
The sun warmed her as she stepped out onto the path and stuffed the handkerchief between her breasts, the stab of gravel hard beneath her bare feet. The grass eased the pain and she padded to the carriage, nodding to the driver. The door opened and she climbed inside, taking a seat beside the lord.
He eyed her up and down, tongue dashing out to lick his thick lips, and said, “I cannot wait to get you out of that unsightly dress.”
Amelia smiled and leaned toward him, her mouth close to his, beard tickling her chin. “I have yet to gather my belongings. I wanted to speak with you first.” She moved closer.
Graham rested his head against the seat, a lazy, triumphant smile spreading his lips until his teeth showed. Amelia straddled him and his eyes widened in his surprise then closed, as though he savored his victory. She slid her hand inside her neckline, fingers seeking out the knife handle, and withdrew the weapon.
Pressing herself to the bulge in his breeches, she whispered, “I have wanted to do this for such a long time.”
The lord released a breathy “Ah!” and raised his hips in the same instant Amelia whipped the blade across his throat. A splash of wet heat warmed her face and she relished the copper stench of it. She climbed off him and calmly sat on the opposite seat, hand steady, her mind focused. His eyes snapped open and he stared at her, mouth working, garbled sounds emerging. Blood oozed from an opening that widened as Graham lifted his hand to it, his touch ineffectual in stopping the crimson tide. A gargling noise echoed around the small space, and his hand dropped to the seat beside him. He convulsed, his back arching, then flopped back down again, sitting as he had before. Amelia stood and placed the knife in his hand, the curve of his clawed fingers an ideal resting place. She looked at his unseeing, wicked eyes, at the blood marring his once-pristine white shirt, then opened the carriage door.
Outside, her back to the driver, she said, “The lord said he will take a nap while he waits.”
“Aye, missus,” he said. “Fancy I might join him.”
“No. No, you mustn’t disturb him. Just wait five minutes then come inside. You can wait with Helena. Matilda will make you some tea.”
“Oh! Very kind of you, missus!”
Amelia shuffled across the grass and up the path, pushing the door open with her murderer’s hand. At the bottom of the stairs, she looked to her right. Matilda and Helena sat clutching one another’s hands on the settee.
“Your face!” Matilda said. “Is that blood?” One hand flew up to cover her mouth.
“It’s nothing to worry about, I assure you. The lord’s driver will be in shortly. Perhaps you could make him some refreshment while he waits? It’s unfair to expect him to sit out there.” She smiled. “My friends, I am going on a journey, and be pleased at where I’m going, because I can’t wait to get there. If you don’t mind, please just give me an hour to gather my things, my thoughts, then…then you can come for me.” She smiled, took in their dear faces and prayed that life would treat these women fairly and without malice. “I…I love you both.”
She mounted the stairs, her tread lighter than ever, her spirit sensing freedom. At the top, she turned left and made for Jessica’s room. She eased the door open and stepped inside. Sunlight struggled to penetrate the curtains and she drew one aside to enable her to see better. Instinct took her to the bedside cabinet and she opened the small door below a drawer and kneeled before it. There, at the back, that’s what she sought—a clear glass bottle. She reached inside and took it out, holding it up to check the contents. Full.
Standing, she closed the cabinet and left the room, her steps to the attic swift. She heard the creak of the first step for the last time and smiled, quickening her speed. At the window, she sat on the sill, bottle in hand, and stared at the ocean, wondering briefly how Emmett had been killed.
Please, God, let it have been painless.
She shoved the thoughts from her mind and sat for long moments, her eyes unfocused, until the driver jumped down from his perch and approached the house. At the sound of the front door closing, Amelia stood and climbed into bed, the site of so many happy and sad times. She slipped her hand inside her neckline and took out the handkerchief, pressing it to her nose, the beautiful scent of Emmett Dray filling her nostrils. A smile tweaked her lips and tears stung her eyes. With calm deliberation, she pulled the stopper from the bottle and lifted her head, lips to the opening. The liquid dribbled into her mouth and she swallowed, letting more spill onto her tongue until the bottle emptied.
Amelia dropped the bottle to the bed and clutched the handkerchief to her breast. Bittersweet memories floated through her mind as the liquid worked its magic, the start of her new journey a weighting of limbs and a clearing of the mind. She closed her eyes, body pliant, and the memories flooded her. The first time she had seen Emmett. The first and every time they had made love. The feel of his skin on hers, his lips on her mouth. His words, promises and whispers of devotion.
Sleep’s arms embraced her, the enchantment of its caress a wonderful cocoon, and she gave in to its lull. Before it fully cla
imed her, she gripped the handkerchief tighter and whispered, “I love you, Emmett Dray. Come find me.”
Chapter Ten
Amelia’s mind alert, she kept her eyes closed, clinging to the last vestiges of the dream. Her heart ached, throbbed so hard her chest hurt, and a rising tide of sobs constricted her throat. She sniffed and brought her hand up to run a finger under her nose. Fabric whispered across her top lip. She snapped her eyes open and sat up, staring down at her hand. The white handkerchief rested in her palm, a crumpled ball, and she gasped. How long had she been asleep this time? The dream had spanned days, yet surely she hadn’t been out for that long? How the hell did things keep appearing from her dream?
Body heavy, the skin on her face tight, she stood and shuffled to the window, the wench dress rustling against her legs. Fatigue still plagued her and she rolled her shoulders, studying the ocean. Daylight brought the view into stark relief and she recalled sitting here and looking out only minutes ago at a carriage holding the body of a man she’d killed.
It wasn’t me. I didn’t kill him!
She glanced down at the gouges in the sill and remembered how she had felt when making them.
I didn’t make them. She did. I’m me, she’s her. God, I need this crazy shit to stop! What the hell’s wrong with me?
With a deep sigh, she left the empty attic and entered the bathroom, intent on having a bath to wash away the grimy feel on her body and set herself up for a day of finally getting her new home in order. Jessica’s room sprang to mind and she turned in the doorway to look across at a landing and a row of doors that was no longer there.
What happened after Amelia killed herself? Did Helena manage to get away with John and her family? And did the authorities believe the lord had killed himself? She rolled her eyes and moved to the tub, chastising herself for acting as though the dream had really happened. But every moment of it had been so real, and although she knew it sounded implausible, she believed it had happened. How could it not have? Did the past remain in this house? Had the people there called out to her, luring her here so she could understand the past and her part in it?
But that would mean Amelia and Emmett are still searching for one another. Look at the number of years that have passed! And if I’m Amelia, where’s my bloody Emmett?
Placing the handkerchief on the sink ledge, bath plug secure, she turned on the taps and watched the water for a while, then stripped off the wench dress, vowing to burn it later.
“It all started when I found this thing,” she muttered, dropping it to the floor. “And now it can bloody well end. There’s no Emmett waiting for me. No man out there to treat me like he treated Amelia.”
Helena’s voice whispered, “But there is. He’s been searching, searching…”
It’s all in my mind. I’ve finally gone crazy… But I don’t believe that. Not really. Stepping to the sink, she squirted toothpaste on her brush, ready to clean her teeth. She looked up at her reflection. A blood splatter stretched from cheek to cheek.
“Oh Christ—”
Legs wobbly, she gripped the edge of the sink and closed her eyes. Did I hurt someone while I slept? Did I sleepwalk or even hurt myself? Sickened, she quickly brushed her teeth then shut off the taps, climbing into the bath and dousing her face with water. Soap lather on her palms, she scrubbed her cheeks, wincing at the pinkish bubbles as she lowered her hands into the water. Dread unfurled in her stomach and she washed her hair and body, getting out of the bath as though any minute the police would arrive to arrest her. Dried and dressed, she rushed downstairs and checked the living room and kitchen. At the doorway to the laundry room, she paused in thought.
Is the basement still here?
She studied the floor covered in linoleum then went to the right-hand corner and hunkered down. Reaching out, she slid her fingernails between the skirting board and floor covering until the corner of linoleum lifted. With both hands, she gripped and pulled, wrenching it back. It came up easily and she kneeled, rolling the flooring toward her and shuffling back as the boards beneath were revealed. In a crouch, she scooted to the other side of the roll and continued to expose the original wood. A section of the trapdoor peeked out and Amelia rolled faster. She stood, heart beating violently, gaze on the door. She thought of the dream, how the rug had covered this door in the past, and wondered why the previous owners had covered it with linoleum. A whole room lay down there. Why hadn’t anyone wanted to use it, even for storage?
Stooping, she hooked her finger under a tarnished ring resting in a circular insert and heaved the door up. It creaked and the stench of an airless room gusted in her face. She peered into the square of blackness below, making out a couple of steps before darkness obscured the remainder of the flight.
“Candles. Where did I pack my candles? Or my flashlight?”
She stared at the ceiling and tried to recall and when it came to her, she went into the kitchen and rummaged through a carton. Her flashlight lay in the bottom and she grabbed it, returning to the laundry room.
Do I really want to go down? She toed the first step. What if they’re rotten?
Decision made that she’d explore the basement, she switched on the flashlight and shone the beam onto the steps. They all appeared secure, not a hint of damp or woodworm, and they looked exactly as they had in the dream. She hiked in a deep breath and gingerly took one step at a time, testing each one before moving to the next. Safely at the bottom, she panned the beam to where the bed was.
It was still there, sheets, quilt and pillows exactly as she had left them.
How the…?
“Damn it, woman. You didn’t leave them like this!” She turned, the light picking out the sideboard, the two barrels. “Oh Lord! This is crazy!”
The room appeared untouched by the passage of time and, on a whim, she walked to the largest barrel and dipped her hand inside. Cold water met her fingertips. Startled, she withdrew her hand and stepped back, her feet heavy and her heart thrumming. How come the water is still there? It isn’t possible! She couldn’t get up the stairs quickly enough and scrambled out of the hatch on hands and knees. Standing, she switched off the flashlight and went into the kitchen, tossing it back into the box.
“Now this is just stupid.” She filled the kettle and flicked the switch for it to boil. “Coffee. I just need coffee.”
While the water heated, she paced the kitchen, hand to her brow as she coached herself to forget the dream, forget the man she had loved while asleep. Forget the man she had killed. The face of every dream participant flicked through her mind and with them brief flashes of the scenes they had played in. The kettle switch snapped and she busied herself making coffee, trying to focus on the state of her house and how a good day’s work would see it put to rights. Coffee in hand, she sipped and looked out the window.
Hmm. If there were extra bedrooms here years ago, why could I look out this window in my dream? Wouldn’t there have been another room on the ground floor too? Unless…
She frowned and turned, leaned her butt on the edge of the sink and gazed around the room. “The kitchen was bigger back then.” Squeezing her eyes closed, she shook her head then opened them again. An odd tickle rippled up her spine and she faced the back door.
Wood slats took the place of glass.
Her legs almost gave out and she put her cup on the table and steadied herself by gripping a chairback. She lowered her head and breathed in through her nose and out through her mouth. The panic receded and she wondered if she needed to visit the doctor. Normal people didn’t see things from dreams. Normal people didn’t act as if their dreams were real. Normal people didn’t believe the damn things!
Her house phone chirped and she whirled around, stupidly afraid of who would be on the other end if she answered. She walked into the living room, spying her phone on the sofa. Matilda’s number showed on the display and she answered.
“Amelia? Hey, listen, I have something to tell you, but I’m so worried you’ll think I�
�m nuts.”
And you’ll think I’m nuts if I told you what’s been going on here.
“What’s wrong?”
Matilda’s shaky breaths filtered down the line. “I’ve been having weird dreams.”
Oh my God. “How weird are they?”
“Like, from the past.” Matilda paused, then, “And this is where it sounds nuts. I’ve seen someone from my dream.”
Jesus Christ. What the hell is going on here? “Um, okay. And who is it?”
An unsteady laugh sounded, as though Matilda was embarrassed and stressed. “Someone you killed in my dream. Someone I, um, disposed of. Christ, I swear to you I’m not insane. This is freaking me out. He’s, uh, he’s outside my shop now.”
“Shit. Okay. Right.” Amelia’s knees weakened, but she forced herself to remain strong. At least she wasn’t the only one this was happening to. At least she wasn’t mental. “What’s he doing? What does he look like?”
“He’s on the other side of the street, staring inside. He’s… God, he looks just like he did in my dream, except he’s wearing modern clothes. His hair, it’s shoulder-length and curly, looks like he has mousse or gel in it. And his beard and mustache! Jesus, they’re so old-fashioned!”
Amelia’s stomach cramped and she placed a hand over her racing heart. Graham. It’s got to be Graham! But he’s dead! She held her breath, mind spinning. When was this going to end? Surely with the dream Amelia dying this stupid crap would stop?
“Amelia? You still there?”
Matilda’s worried voice startled Amelia out of her thoughts. “Yes, I’m… Do you want me to come down to the shop?”
“Would you? I feel so stupid but—”
“You’re not. Trust me. I know exactly how you feel. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Lock the shop door. That man is nasty.”
“How the hell do you know? Have you—”
“Just know he’s not someone you want in your shop. I’ll explain when I get there.”
Amelia cut the call and rushed around for her shoes and jacket. She found her keys on the kitchen counter behind a small cardboard box and snatched them up. With a glance at the boarded-up back door, she shuddered and rushed out of the kitchen and into the living room. She swung open the front door, stepped outside and slammed it closed, running out of the garden and round the side of the cottage to her car. She paused, wondering if it would be quicker to go through the forest. Parking would take precious time—if she could even find a vacant spot—and if Graham was the man outside Matilda’s shop…