by Rachel Xu
“I thought you loved my grandfather.”
“I did! But that doesn't mean he didn't put me through the wringer.” She struggled up to a standing position and smoothed the folds of her gown. Lily followed suit. Her eyes had adjusted to the dark enough that she could see Hannah's facial expressions more clearly. “No one could ever measure up to your late grandmother, you see,” she said. “Believe me, I tried.”
“You knew her?”
“No. She died twenty years before I came to work here.”
“She must have been so young then! How did she die?”
“Childbirth.”
They made their way up the corridor toward the front staircase, taking a slow pace.
Endless questions swirled through Lily's mind, her cheeks hot and palms damp. Why had Auguste sent his infant daughter—her mother it would seem—away? Was it because he didn't want to be reminded of his wife, or did he perhaps blame her for the death of his wife?
They stopped at the foot of the staircase.
“Hannah . . . Why did my grandfather abandon his daughter?”
A long sigh. “I don't know, Lily, I'm sorry. I've always wondered about that myself. I have my theories of course, but I suppose it's just one of the many questions that went to the grave with him.”
“Unless Ian knows. Whenever I've asked though, he seems to beat around the bush. Says he never knew I existed.”
“Well, it's possible Auguste told him about your mother at least. He treated Ian like a son, after all. He was so depressed and gloomy all the time, but after we found Ian, it was like he'd taken a drink from the fountain of youth. He was a changed man in so many ways. I suppose Ian filled a void in his heart.”
“But I just don't get why he'd be so quick to treat Ian like a son while he had a flesh and blood daughter—and a grand-daughter.” She was angry now. What kind of man was he anyway? Things just didn't add up.
“If I knew Auguste as well as I think I did, he must have a had a very good reason. He was a good man, Lily. You have to believe that.”
Lily sat down on the steps and Hannah sat next to her.
“Can you tell me more about Ian being found as a child?” She kept her voice at a whisper.
Hannah rubbed her pudgy knees and clasped her hands together in her lap. She seemed to be considering and took a deep breath. “Well, going on about twenty-one years ago now, I was doing my last rounds of the night—making sure all the lights had been turned off—when I heard a loud thump.” She looked Lily in the eyes. “I was positive it came from the attic, but I was too afraid to go up there alone. So I woke up Auguste and we headed up there together. He brought his rifle just in case it was an intruder and when we—when we reached the door to the attic, there was this terrible growling noise inside. Like a rabid dog.”
The hairs prickled on the back of Lily's neck and she hugged her waist, the shadows in the corridor seeming to come to life all at once. For the first time she noticed the cold, vault-like air surrounding them.
“Auguste went in alone with his gun and shut the door behind him. I waited in the stairwell. I would've run screaming down the stairs I was so frightened, but I didn't want to leave Auguste alone in case he needed my help.”
“Was it an animal?”
“Yes. He shot three times and the growling stopped. For a moment, I feared the worst, but Auguste opened the door and told me it was safe.”
“What kind of animal was it?”
“I didn't get a close look. It was laying dead in the far corner. All big and furry-like. I'm pretty sure it was a wolf. Though heaven knows how it ever got up there.” Hannah took another deep breath and stared into the darkness ahead. “I forgot all about the animal as soon as I looked to my right and saw a little boy huddled against the wall. I was downright flabbergasted. He was just ten or eleven! And what a pitiful sight.” She shook her head. “Clothes torn, covered in terrible wounds. It was horrible.”
Lily's stomach turned and nausea rose in her throat. No wonder the poor thing was deathly afraid of wolves. And here she'd chastised him like he was some kind of delusional shut-in.
“He was terrified of us at first,” Hannah went on. “Shivering and crying, begging us not to hurt him. My heart instantly melted—I tell you, from that moment on, he was my son. I wrapped my housecoat around him to keep him warm, and Auguste carried him downstairs to the spare bedroom at the end of the hall. He then went back up to get rid of the dead animal while I treated Ian's wounds.”
“Did you call an ambulance?”
“Ah, no. No. Auguste liked his privacy. And . . . and I didn't want anyone to come and take Ian away. It was so foolish of me, I know—so very wrong. But I just—I felt like he was my child somehow. I was selfish.” A long pause. She seemed lost in thought. “It's my fault Ian is who he is today,” she said suddenly. “If he'd been adopted by a regular family, he'd probably have a wife and children by now. Friends for that matter. A social life! He certainly wouldn't be locking himself up in some fantastical tree house day after day.” She shivered.
“But weren't you afraid he might die of his injuries?”
“I was—yes, at first. But Auguste—well—he forbid me to and he was a very persuasive man. Strangest thing was though, within a week Ian was running 'round the place like nothing had even happened—skin as pink and healthy as a rosebud.” She put her hand on Lily's forearm, leaned in closer. “I've never seen someone heal so fast in my life. Mind you, he did end up with some nasty-looking scars. But you should have seen his wounds, Lily. I tried to stitch him all up but some of those bites and cuts were straight through to the bone. Just like, well, just like the shark bite. You must believe me though, if there'd been any sign of infection, I would have called the hospital.”
“What you're telling me is impossible, Hannah,” she said gently, struggling to think straight. It was too much to process all at once.
The housekeeper withdrew her hand, straightened her back. “If you don't believe me, ask to see his arm then. The only reason he's still wearing that silly bandage is to fool you.”
Hannah reached for a balustrade and pulled herself up with a humph. “We should get some sleep, goodness me,” she said, starting up the stairs. “Must be nearly sunrise by now.”
Sure enough, the faintest bit of light was beginning to show through the flower-shaped window above the doors.
It was dawn when Lily went to bed and she slept fitfully for two hours before giving up and getting dressed for the day in jeans and a long-sleeved v-neck. She pulled her hair up into a twist and went downstairs to the dining room for breakfast.
She felt awful for what she'd said to Ian last night. To think she'd told him he “needed help.” How insulting. If only she'd known more of his background she would have been much more understanding of his behavior. Whatever his actual thoughts had been, he honestly believed she was in danger out in the woods, and no harm had been done. Except, perhaps, to his dignity.
Somehow she needed to set things right. Apologize.
Mike, Chris, Hannah and Angie were already sitting at the dining table when she entered the room, but Ian was nowhere to be found. She didn't ask where he was though, figuring he'd either be out in his work shed or still asleep in the guest room. She would go and find him presently. In the meantime, she wanted to take a look at the attic again.
She politely took her leave after some coffee and toast; and making sure no one was following, she went up the stairs and pressed the bottom right-hand corner of Auguste's portrait.
The secret door to her right slid open with a swish and she went into the stairwell.
Before heading up the dusty stairs, she examined the shadowy wood-paneled walls to see if it was possible to close the door from inside. Sure enough, a small button was located to one side, about waist-height. She pressed it and the wall panel slid shut, leaving her in darkness. At least now no one would know she was in here.
She felt for the rough railing and ascended the tw
isted stairs, reached the next level where the lattice window provided checkered light across the floorboards.
Lily stood staring at the closed red door before her, thinking about what Hannah had said only a few hours prior. Was it possible there was something sinister behind her grandfather's death? It did seem strange that he'd leave his cane at the top of the stairs. Though, if he was having a heart attack, perhaps he just couldn't hold on to it any longer because of the pain.
She tried the cold iron knob and the attic door opened easily with a faint creaking of the hinges. The room beyond was in shadow where sunlight failed to penetrate from two arched windows. She felt along the inside wall, found a light switch and flicked it on. A deep narrow room came to life full of junk and cobwebs. She shut the door behind her and took a good look at the contents of the room.
Lily wasn't sure exactly what she'd expected, but this wasn't it.
The ceiling angled upward on one side to a loft with a ladder. It was filled with boxes and ancient Christmas decorations; clumps of pine garland, piles of corded teardrop bulbs, a giant wreath, and tarnished candelabras filled with tapered candles, half burned. Below the loft were more stacked boxes, a cracked sink, a rolled up rug, a child's bookcase, ancient toys, an old bicycle, a set of lamps; and endless other items of discard. A threadbare armchair and ottoman filled the adjacent corner, along with several unmarked crates. A nice trip to the dump was what this stuff needed, though perhaps some of the antiques were worth something.
Why go to all the trouble to design a secret door that lead up to a whole lot of nothing? And why all this “stay out of the attic” business? The floorboards didn't look rotten either.
With a sigh, she turned to leave and noticed the edge of something protruding beside the door, otherwise hidden from sight behind cardboard boxes. She pushed one of the stacks out of the way, exposing a long wooden trunk with a rounded top and a warded lock. Her mouth went dry.
It looked like a coffin.
She dropped onto her knees to examine it more closely. It appeared to be made of pine or oak, but being covered with a layer of dust, it was difficult to tell. Designs of interacting creatures were carved into the sides and the lid—unicorns, beasts, angels, gnomes—strikingly similar to the images in her bedroom and all over Ian's tree shed.
She tried to lift the lid but the trunk was locked.
Letting out another sigh, she thought about where she might possibly find its key. The key she'd seen tied around the ankle of that strange bird up in Ian's tree came to mind immediately; but it seemed a long shot. Then again, maybe not.
A creak in the floorboards outside the attic door made her back go rigid. Someone was coming up the stairs. If they caught her in here after all the ominous warnings, she'd never hear the end of it.
She flicked off the light—knowing it was pointless since whoever was coming would have already seen the light beneath the door—and dove in behind the loft ladder. She huddled beside a crate, hoping she was out of sight.
It was futile to hide, she knew, but somehow she couldn't bear the thought of being caught like a deer in the headlights.
The door swung open and a man's form filled the frame.
Chapter 11
From where Lily huddled, a thin gap between the crate and a box provided her with a partial view of the doorway.
The man stood still, listening.
She held her breath. Why was she being so silly? This whole situation was ridiculous; what was the worst that could happen? A finger-waggling lecture? She should have just opened the door all nonchalant, and greeted whoever it was.
A whiff of mild cologne filled her senses.
Ian.
He flicked on the light and stared at the stack of boxes that had been pushed away from the trunk. He looked down at the floor and then toward her.
Could he see her within the shadows of the boxes?
Oh, for Pete sake—what an idiot she was—her footprints in the dust led a trail straight to her. Prickly heat climbed her neck and she swallowed hard. How embarrassing this was panning out to be.
He stepped toward her and she squeezed her eyes shut like a child, waiting for the inevitable. A second later a hand clamped down on her arm and gently pulled her from the hiding place.
She stood in the center of the cluttered room and looked up at him with a sheepish expression. Her pants were coated in dust, and a stringy cobweb hung from her sleeve.
He stood only two feet away, glowering, hands on his lean hips. “What are you doing up here.”
She peeled the spiderweb from her arm and tried to flick it away. It clung to her fingertips. “I wanted to see the forbidden attic.”
He narrowed his eyes and spoke in a low tone: “You have no idea how much danger you keep putting yourself into.”
She glanced at the trunk and shivered involuntarily. What if it was a coffin? What if Ian was some sort of psycho serial killer? She was such a fool. If he tried to kill her right now, no one could possibly come to her rescue in time.
“All right, all right,” she said, trying to sound casual though her pulse was pounding in her ears. “I'll get going. I've seen all there is to see.”
She sidestepped him, heading for the open door, but he reached out and gripped her forearm. “Don't ever come up here again.”
She said she wouldn't, shaking her head, all the while knowing she'd be returning later with the key from his pet bird. If she was going to live here indefinitely, she had to be sure it was safe.
He stepped closer, so close she could feel his warm, minty breath on her cheek. “'Cause you know,” he said, “if I ever do find you up here again, I'll have to kill you.”
She stiffened, heart stopping.
“I''m kidding, Lily,” he said, unrestrained annoyance in his tone, letting go of her arm and moving away from her.
“I know,” she squeaked, letting out a blip of laughter. She had the strangest feeling that he could kill, maybe already had. All she wanted to do was get away from him, like before, in the tree.
She forced herself to look at him.
He was frowning now. “You went dead white just there.”
She nodded. “Yes, I'm just . . . hungry, I think. Didn't eat much breakfast.” She tried to laugh. “And it's kind of stuffy in here, too.”
“I didn't mean to freak you out or anything.”
It seemed a true statement somehow and she calmed a bit. If she'd been in any real danger, the moment had passed. He was acting normal again.
“Ian . . . can I, uh, see your arm?”
“Why?”
She moved toward him and reached for his bandaged arm, gripping his wrist. It was time to do some intimidating of her own.
She hated being bullied.
“Maybe later,” he said, prying her fingers from his wrist.
“When?” she snapped, overcome with anger. “You never give me a straight answer about anything.”
“I'm crazy, remember? Haven't gotten around to getting help just yet, so until then, you'll have to put up with me.” He moved past her and went to the door.
“I'm so sorry, Ian. I wish I hadn't said that.”
He shrugged. “It's no big deal. You aren't the first person to think that.” With a sweep of his arm, he motioned for her to leave, and she went out into the stairwell. He shut off the light, closed the door, and followed her down the stairs.
Mid-morning, Lily was in the kitchen helping Angie make pies when Mike appeared and asked if he could steal her away for a little while. He had some free time, he said, and thought it would be fun to show her the rest of the mansion since he knew Ian hadn't finished the tour.
Angie shooed her off with a smile, and Lily spent the next hour with Mike exploring the rooms of the west wing; most of which had not been used in decades. Much of the furnishings were draped in sheets, the walls bare. Behind one door was Auguste's bedroom.
“No one but Ian has been in here since
he died,” Mike explained. “Eventually someone's gonna have to take the time to sort through his belongings. I know Hannah wants to but she's not ready yet.”
Lily decided to talk to Hannah about that. She would love the chance to look through her grandfather's possessions; perhaps get to know him a little bit through the things that had meant something to him.
“Why did Auguste isolate himself to this side of the mansion when there's plenty of space in the east wing with everyone else?” she asked.
Mike shrugged and she followed him back out into the hallway. “I guess he just liked his privacy.”
At the far end of the hallway, next to an opaque lancet window overlooking the backyard, Mike opened the last door. Inside was a flight of wooden stairs heading up. They took the stairs straight to the third story which consisted of a narrow hallway and six empty servant rooms. The air was cool and stagnant. She decided this floor must run directly parallel to the attic. Sunlight streamed through naked windows in each room: arched wedges of light across dull wood floors.
“We keep these rooms closed off,” he said. “No sense wasting money to heat rooms that no one uses anymore. This place is just too darned big.”
After that, Mike led her back down to the main corridor and took her into the library which had also been Auguste's study.
He pulled open the heavy crimson drapes covering the two lancet windows behind the desk, and the room flooded with sunshine. Dust floated in the beams.
Enchanted, Lily took the time to peruse some of the endless volumes of books on the shelves, most of which were antique hardcover or leather-bound editions. The shelves thoroughly lined the walls of the high-ceilinged room, and a quaint roll-ladder rested in one corner. Deciding to come back later when she actually had the time to read a book, Lily sat down in the tall-backed leather chair behind Auguste's tiger-oak desk, placing her palms on the desktop—and gasped in delight to spot an inkwell on its surface with a feather pen perched beside it. Like the furniture in many of the other rooms, the three sides of the desk featured hand-carved scenes of mythical beings. Every nook and cranny of it had been dusted and polished, and she gathered Hannah had taken loving care of it over the years.