The House on Durrow Street

by Galen Beckett

  By his grimace, the builder did not agree. Ivy and Mr. Quent had not discussed it, but after that day she went through the house, draping cloths over all of the carved eyes she could find. However, at the end of each lumenal when the workmen left, she would uncover the eye on the newel post at the foot of the stairs. That one, at least, she would leave to keep its silent vigil.

  Now, as Ivy started back up the staircase, that eye was shut fast. Her own eyes wished to follow suit, and a yawn escaped her as she climbed. Since leaving her room, she had heard nothing except for the sound of her own footsteps and those natural sounds a house makes at night—the groan of shifting beams, the creak of an eave as it settled—which can give no rational mind cause for fear.

  What had been the source of the whispering voices, she could not say. Ivy had not thought them to be figments of a dream, but now she had to admit that it was possible. She reached the top of the stairs and went to her bedchamber, ready to return to sleep.

  This time it was not a whispering she heard, but rather a distant clattering. She turned from the door. The sound had echoed from down the corridor. Nor could it be ascribed to a dream this time.

  Ivy started forward even as it occurred to her this was absurd. If there really was an intruder in the house, what would she do if she encountered him? She was a smallish woman of twenty-three years clad in a night robe and slippers—hardly a thing to inspire alarm or cause a thief to flee. Yet she could not return to her room and huddle in her bed knowing there was another presence in the house.

  Ivy crept down the corridor, then turned a corner into the north wing. The passage beyond was cluttered with lengths of wood and crumpled heaps of cloth. A sheet draped the window at the end, dimming the moonlight to a gray gloom.

  Again she heard a noise: louder now, as of sharp objects being struck together. She stopped before a door halfway along the corridor. Ivy laid a hand on the knob; like many in the house, it was formed in the shape of a brass orb clutched in an eagle’s talons. The metal was icy to the touch.

  A feeling came over her as it sometimes did at night—a sense that the darkness pressed in from all around, seeping through cracks and beneath doors, seeking to smother everything. The Testament said that before the world was made, only darkness existed. In moments like this, she could believe it sought dominion once again.

  Suddenly convinced that she did not want to see what lay in the room beyond, Ivy snatched her hand back. So violent was her motion that she flung the knob away from her as she recoiled, and the door, not being fully latched, swung inward.

  A coldness rushed out. The clacking came again, loud and jolting, but her mind could not grasp what it was. There was another sound, like that of a wet cloth being shaken, and something lurched across the floor not five feet away from her.

  In the gloom it was no more than a shapeless blot, scuttling like some half-formed thing not ready to have been birthed. The coldness froze her; she could not move. Then the thing rose up off the floor and spread itself outward, as if to catch her in its black embrace.

  Ivy screamed.

  Rustling, scrabbling, and clattering filled the room. Two other shapes lifted from the floor, expanding outward, spreading dark appendages. A rush of cold air buffeted Ivy so that she staggered back, raising her hands to her face. The noises rose into a terrible clamor. Then, with one last gust of air, all fell silent except for a low, sighing sound.

  Ivy lowered her hands. Her eyes had grown accustomed to the deeper darkness of the room, and she saw the remnants of a curtain flapping before the room’s one window. The glazing was gone, and the shutters were open as the cold night poured in unimpeded. Shivering, she started forward to draw the shutters. As she did, something snapped beneath her foot. Ivy bent to pick it up. It was a twig.

  “Ivy?” she heard a faint voice echoing behind her. “Ivy, where have you gotten to … ?”

  She grimaced. Her scream would have been enough to awaken the dead. She proceeded forward, avoiding the heap of sticks in the center of the room, and closed the shutters. Then she left the room and hurried back down the corridor.

  As soon as she turned the corner, she saw Lily and Rose. They stood outside their bedchambers. Lily held a wavering candle.

  “Blood and swash, there you are!” Lily exclaimed, holding the candle higher. In addition to her usual romances, she had been reading a number of nautical-themed adventures of late, and so had taken to speaking like a sailor. “Rose said you weren’t in your room. We heard you scream. Something awful has happened, hasn’t it?”

  Now that it was over, Ivy realized how her imagination had gotten the better of her. She felt an absurd laughter rising. “I’m afraid the only awful thing is that I’ve roused you from your beds for nothing.”

  “But I thought I heard voices,” Rose said, her eyes very wide in the golden light. “Was there someone here?”

  “Three someones, in fact.” Ivy held up the twig she still carried in her hand. “They were storks, I believe, given their size. They had come in through an open window in one of the empty rooms and were building a nest. I’m sure I frightened them quite as much as they frightened me. They flew off.”

  Lily let out a snort. “Storks? Really, Ivy—you aren’t brave at all, to be scared of a few silly birds. Sophella didn’t scream once in the last chapter, even when the duke shut her in a crypt full of skeletons. You’ve quite ruined me for sleep for the rest of the umbral. I might as well read my book.” With that, she took the candle back into her chamber.

  Ivy sighed as darkness descended once again. “Do you need me to show you back to your bed, dearest?” she said to Rose. “My eyes are quite used to the dark by now.”

  Rose smiled at her. “I can always see when you’re near. Just stand in the doorway for a moment, and I’ll find my way.”

  As was so often the case, Ivy didn’t quite know what to make of Rose’s words, but she did as her sister asked, and Rose was soon in her bed again. Ivy shut the door quietly, then returned to her own room. She thought, like Lily, that there would be no more chance of sleep for her that night. Instead, as she laid down, a great yawn escaped her. The excitement of dread had passed, leaving her exhausted in its wake.

  “Not brave!” she murmured to herself as she settled her head against the pillow. If only Lily had seen her when she escaped from the highwayman at Heathcrest Hall, or when she faced the magicians of the Vigilant Order of the Silver Eye. Then she might not think the fictional Sophella to be superior in character to her eldest sister. After all, one had little to fear from a pile of bones. Or from a few birds. It was living men that one had reason to worry about, and Ivy was now very certain there was not a single one here.

  Knowing that the house’s eyes kept watch in the dark, Ivy shut her own, and did not open them again for the remainder of the night.

  ONCE AGAIN SHE was awakened by a sound coming through her door, only this time it was the noise of hammers pounding.

  Ivy sat up in bed. A pink glow tinged the windowpanes, which were indeed rimed with frost. By the light, it was only just after dawn. She was surprised the workmen were here already. Yet they were, and that meant that, despite Ivy’s late-night exertions, there would be no more sleep for her.

  She rose and dressed quickly, her breath fogging on the air. Then she proceeded downstairs to the parlor, where the family was taking their meals while the dining room was under repair. Upon entering, she found Lily and Rose already at the table.

  “Shiver my timbers!” Lily exclaimed and shut her book, which she had been reading as she nibbled at a piece of toast. “I don’t think I can bear another day of this blast and blunder. I can hardly read two words in a row with all this racket.”

  Ivy smiled at her. “I believe it’s the house’s timbers that are shivering. However, if the noise bothers you, I suggest you ask Lawden to drive you up to Halworth Gardens.” She went to the hutch and checked the almanac. “It’s to be a short lumenal today, which means it should warm quickly.
You could find a bench on which to read.”

  Lily’s eyes lit up. “That’s a capital idea. I’ll tell Lawden to put the calash top down on the carriage so we’ll look extra fashionable. Rose will come with me. She can keep watch and tell me when there’s a fine-looking gentleman coming so I know when to put down my book and look uninterested.”

  Ivy sat at the table. “Should you not rather appear interested if you wish for a gentleman to take notice?”

  “Good gods, don’t you know anything, Ivy? No gentleman will speak to you if you appear interested in him. If he thinks you have a wish to speak to him, he will turn at once and go the other way. Instead, you must look very bored and wait until he wanders near on his own. That’s what Sophella learned when she was trying to speak with the duke’s son in Chapter Two.”

  Ivy poured a cup of tea. “I had no idea young gentlemen lived in such dread of conversation that they must be lured into it unsuspectingly. They must suffer a great fright every time they encounter a pretty young lady. All the same, you should not presume that Rose will assist you in your scheme. She might like to occupy herself with an activity of her own choosing.”

  “Nonsense. What could Rose possibly have to do? Sitting next to me will be quite enough activity for her, I am sure. You’ll come with me to the gardens, won’t you, Rose?”

  Rose gave a hesitant nod. “But I’m not sure I’ll know which gentlemen are the ones you think are handsome.”

  “That’s easy,” Lily said. “Simply choose the ones that look the most like Mr. Garritt. Though it’s been so long since we’ve seen him, I’m not certain I’d recognize him if he walked past. When will he and Mr. Rafferdy come to call? Since we’ve moved to Durrow Street they’ve paid us but a single visit, and they hardly stayed an hour. They’re terribly rude. If I see Mr. Garritt at Halworth Gardens, I’m sure I will be too peeved to speak with him.” Her dark eyes sparkled. “Wouldn’t that be marvelous, if I saw him there?”

  “I do not see how it matters, if you’re too peeved to speak to him,” Ivy said, putting a bit of cold partridge on her plate.

  “Blow me down, of course I’ll speak to him! After I show him how I am peeved, of course.” Lily fixed her with a scowling look. “I suppose you won’t come with us to the gardens, will you?”

  Ivy had to admit that a stroll through the gardens sounded pleasant. However, she shook her head. “While he is away, Mr. Quent is relying on me to supervise the work on the house.”

  “I hope he will not be away so long as he told us,” Rose said. “He is only just gone, and I already wish that he were back.”

  “As do I,” Lily agreed heartily. “I’ve just realized that all of my bonnets are dreadful. I’ll be ashamed to be seen in Halworth Gardens with any of them. I’ll need a new one immediately upon his return.”

  These words concerned Ivy, though she kept her admonishment gentle. “Mr. Quent has already bought you a great many things—dresses, ribbons, parasols.”

  “Yes, but not a single bonnet. And if I tell him I can quite do without it, and that it’s the silliest of things, and kiss his cheek, he will tell me to go at once to the finest shop and select my favorite one.”

  Ivy said nothing and ate her breakfast. She suspected Lily was correct in her prediction. Mr. Quent had been indulgent of Ivy’s sisters since they took up residence on Durrow Street—especially of Lily, since Rose seldom asked for anything. Prior to his most recent departure, Ivy had mentioned that she feared Lily was becoming spoiled.

  “Why should she not be spoiled?” Mr. Quent had replied. “I am sure she has had little enough opportunity to be spoiled in her life. And as she is nearly a young woman, the time in which she can be so indulged grows short. You were not spoiled at all before it was too late, Mrs. Quent, and look what it has done to you. You are practical and somber! No, we must hurry and spoil Lily before it is too late for her, and she becomes hopelessly serious.”

  “I highly doubt that will happen!” Ivy had exclaimed.

  A grin parted his beard then, and he looked—as he sometimes did, with his brown hair curling over his furrowed brow—like some wild faun from an ancient Tharosian play. At such times, Ivy could do nothing but laugh and hold him tightly.

  “Very well,” Ivy said now as she set down her fork. She gave Lily what she hoped was a stern look. “But only one bonnet, mind you.”

  Lily gave a sweet smile in return. This response did little to reassure Ivy. Before she could say anything more, Mrs. Seenly entered the parlor bearing another pot of tea and the post. At once Ivy forgot about all other concerns, for there was a note from Mr. Quent. She opened it and scanned its brief lines.

  The contents were what she had expected. He wrote to let her know of his safe arrival in the north. His work was just commencing; he did not think it would be strenuous. They were there only to make observations, comparing the size of various stands of Wyrdwood to those recorded in old surveys. He still planned to return by month’s end. Ivy was glad he did not expect to be delayed. However, it was not yet Brightday, which meant Darkeve was still more than half a month away.

  She never told him that it was difficult for her when he was gone. The burden of his work was already great, and she had no wish to add to it. Besides, any difficulty she might have to bear in his absence was nothing compared to what he must endure in his travels. Still, she could not deny it was hard to have him gone so often; nor, as much as she did her best to conceal it from him, did her own difficulties go unnoticed by others.

  “It is not right for a young wife to be so frequently without her new husband,” Lord Rafferdy had told her some months ago, after a supper at Lady Marsdel’s house. It was the night before the lord inquirer departed the city to return home to Asterlane. “It weighs on you already, Mrs. Quent, and will weigh further, I have no doubt.”

  She tried to demur, but she could not lie, and could only admit it was, in truth, a challenge.

  “I know it can offer you little comfort now,” Lord Rafferdy said as they sat apart from the others, “but know that his work is of great importance—indeed, of the very greatest to all of Altania. Know also that, one day, it will be rewarded. He has labored all these years without any recognition. Yet one day—sooner rather than later, I think—that will change.”

  These words had at once shamed and heartened Ivy. Who was she to mope about, pining for Mr. Quent, when she knew that so much depended on his labors as an inquirer? Knowing that Mr. Quent’s work was so important was all the reward they required, she had assured Lord Rafferdy. For some reason, the look he had given her then had struck Ivy as both pleased and amused, but he had said nothing more. The next day the lord inquirer had departed the city, and he had not returned since.

  “Mrs. Seenly,” Ivy said, “is Mr. Barbridge in the house this morning?”

  “Aye, missus, he is indeed,” the housekeeper said as she poured tea in Ivy’s cup. “I saw him out in the front hall not five minutes ago.”

  “Would you tell him to have one of his men go to the north wing, to the upper floor? There’s a room there with a broken window.” She described her late-night encounter with the storks.

  Mrs. Seenly’s face pursed in a frown. “And you say they were all black, missus, as they flew out the window?”

  “I think they must have been. They were difficult to see against the night.”

  “Then we’d best have the window boarded right away. ‘A black stork brings black luck,’ as they say where I’m from.”

  Ivy smiled at her. “I’m not concerned about the bad luck they bring, Mrs. Seenly, only about being awakened again by the noises they make.”

  The lines beside Mrs. Seenly’s mouth deepened. The housekeeper had lived in Invarel for the last thirty years, but she had been a girl in Torland. It was a heritage reflected in the copper strands mingled with the silver in her hair, as well as in her predilection for superstition. More than once Ivy had seen her sprinkling salt on the ledge of the kitchen window to keep out mischievou
s spirits, or knocking thrice to prevent ill words from coming to pass.

  As Mrs. Seenly had proved to be an excellent housekeeper—despite the challenges of keeping a house that was under refurbishment—Ivy did not mind her practice of customs and habits from her childhood. However, Rose had a tendency to become alarmed by such things, so while Ivy would not admonish Mrs. Seenly for her beliefs, she would not lend them credence either.

  “I’m sure we’re quite well, Mrs. Seenly,” she said. “This proves only that storks have superior taste in dwellings. But this house already has occupants, so they’ll need to find another. Do tell Mr. Barbridge.”

  “Aye, Mrs. Quent,” the housekeeper said, and departed.

  Along with the post, Mrs. Seenly had brought that morning’s edition of The Comet. In the past, Ivy had never made a habit of reading the broadsheets, but she had read them with greater regularity ever since the Risings in Torland several months ago.

  The days that followed the news had been strange. A queer energy had filled the city. There was astonishment and disbelief that groves of forest that had stood still and silent for ages could suddenly lash out, and there was outrage over the deaths that had occurred.

  Yet it wasn’t only that. There was something else in the air: a kind of excitement. What had been remembered as no more than a children’s tale—if it was remembered at all—was now perceived as perilously real. No one could ever walk by a tall tree again, or cool himself in its dappled shade, and not consider what it would be like to see those branches bend and sway without the benefit of any wind.

  Of course, there were no Old Trees anywhere in the city. People had nothing to fear here, they assured one another. What was more, shortly after the first stories appeared in the broadsheets, there came more news out of Torland. Due to the efforts of the king’s inquirers, the Risings had ceased. The witch who had provoked the primeval forest into action had been discovered and captured. As a result, the Wyrdwood had been contained, and all known stands of Old Trees were now under constant watch. A sigh seemed to go through the city. People went again about their daily business. All was the same as it had been.