"Do you see?" he asked Amelia over his shoulder as he held the white head against his chest and rocked her gently as he would a child. "This is real, not some silly schoolgirl dream. This is as real as death, and as ugly."
"I … I don't know what to say," Amelia managed to sound composed by an effort of will.
Suddenly, he seemed to sag, to be weighted by years of defeats. "Just go away," he said softly, but with an undertone of command, "go away and leave us alone."
She rose swiftly, turned silently, and left the room.
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Chapter Eight
OUT IN THE hall, she breathed deeply, fighting a rush of sudden tears. She was so confused and annoyed, angry and sympathetic, muddled, tired, and stupid. She felt like a puppet, dangling helplessly, waiting to be shifted to yet another puppeteer. Really, she was sick of being treated as if she had no sense or sensibilities. Let them plot and counterplot. Amelia would do only as she wished. After all, she was the heir. That should count for something. Not being a poor relative any longer should give her some courage, some self-respect. Firmly, she pushed down the rising questions of possible danger, the crowding feeling of being suffocated in a sea of other people's wills.
"What are you doing in there?" came Katherine's voice, low and precise with anger, from where she stood with her hands clasped tightly and her eyes narrowed in her bedroom doorway.
Stung by the tone and words after her independent thoughts of a moment before, Amelia answered shortly, "Visiting at her invitation," and walked on into her room.
"What did she say?" Katherine asked, coming to Amelia's bedroom door and speaking insistently.
"Nothing much. She wanted to see who caused the disturbance last night," Amelia answered wearily, aware that by the lie she was aligning herself with Nelville and Mary Louise, but unable to bring herself to do otherwise, to go into the long story she had been told.
Katherine was silent a long moment. Then, she said abruptly, "You probably wonder why we never mentioned Isabella before." When Amelia did not reply, she went on. "But, you see, she isn't quite right. Not that she is dangerously mad. She has times when she is as normal as you or I, but often she has visions and odd notions about what happened the night of the fire, and since you can never tell from one moment to the next what she will say, she doesn't come out into company. She has her own fortune, well, a small competence left her by my uncle, and she herself prefers to be independent of us."
Amelia reached out the open window to pull the jalousie shut against the encroaching morning sun, "What did happen, the night of the fire, I mean," she asked in what she hoped was casual voice.
"I don't know," Katherine answered in the same manner. "A servant careless with a lamp, I suppose. We saw the fire from here, but when we got around the lake it was too late. The whole thing was going up."
"Just like that," Amelia said expressionlessly, for it seemed that she remembered even James saying that they all had been there, Nelville included, but Nelville said not. Who was lying?
"Well, it was night," Katherine said in a righteous voice.
"Where was everybody?"
"Right here, that is, except Nelville. He has never forgiven himself for being out riding with a group of young boys. He thought if he had been there nothing would have happened. He takes his responsibilities seriously. He was wild over it for days."
"Was he?" she said thoughtfully. Had he been riding or had he been busily setting a fire, and what had put such a thought into her head; possibly, the tone of Katherine's voice?
"Oh yes. You have seen the way he rides, I think? It is nothing to how he was then. We were sure he was going to break his neck or wind up a drunkard, but after they found Isabella down in the woods with Grannie Salome, he seemed to pull himself together, though why he should have, I can't really tell. But, it was like he had saved something out of the fire and that something made it possible for him to live with himself."
"Remarkable," Amelia said dryly.
"Yes, but I've told you before how much we owe him. Mirror House would hardly be here if it weren't for him, but then I suppose he has his hopes."
"What do you mean?"
"Well," Katherine said, turning in the doorway, "if he should marry and have children where we others have failed, there is some chance of them inheriting. He is a distant kinsman of Isabella's, and who knows, perhaps that is why he courts her so assiduously."
"That's rather farfetched, isn't it?"
"Not at all. Unless, of course you decide to marry and provide Mirror House with an heir. You are so young while we are getting old."
"Please, I'd rather not talk about that," she said, her head beginning to ache with the contradictions and the useless effort to understand.
"As you wish. But, truly, my dear, it would be so nice for us all if you would choose to marry James. It isn't as if you had romantic notions, or loved someone else."
"How do you know?" Amelia asked sharply.
"I don't, of course, but I hardly think you would accept the suggestion so calmly if you did."
"Neither James, nor Nelville has asked me to marry them," she said defensively, her dark eyes meeting Katherine's squarely.
"Credit them with a little proper feeling. You are still in mourning for your mother, and they hardly know you, or you them. I only mention it so you will be prepared, so you could come to an adult, reasoned decision."
"Then, you admit that you invited me here to marry into the family?"
"If you must be so literal, yes," Katherine replied, her blue eyes avid and her hands clasped competently.
"Suppose I decide not to marry at all when, and if, they ask me?" Amelia asked quietly.
"Then, it wouldn't be pleasant living in the same house together, would it? I mean …"
"I believe I see what you mean," Amelia said, looking her in the eye from across the room.
"I'm glad you understand," Katherine said smiling. "I never thought you were a stupid girl." She closed the door behind her as she went out.
Feeling cold despite the warmth of the room, Amelia stood where she was. What gave some people the assurance to say such things to other people, she wondered? Katherine had as good as said that if she didn't marry James-or Nelville if James failed-that she could look for another home. Such self-assurance. How could she stand there and say that when she knew that legally Amelia was the owner of the house. But did she know it? Could Katherine be so calm, so decisive, if she had not solid right behind her? Perhaps what Nelville and Mary Louise had told her were lies, all lies. How could she tell?
She went to the window and leaned her head on the jalousie. Between the slats she could see the curving shoreline of the lake glinting like glass in the sun and the deep shadows of the pines. They looked cool and green, and even though she knew it was a false impression, after the oppressiveness of the house, they and the cool stone seat of the little temple seemed inviting.
She left her room and went down the stairs, noting the hollow ring that the sound of her footsteps stirred through the house. What made that, she wondered? Was it the bare floors and walls, the great rooms minus their sound absorbing furniture, or could it be the absence of love and happiness and laughter? Feeling morose and irritated, she left the house behind her and followed the path to the pines.
It was quiet under the trees, except for the rustle of insects in the straw and now and then the falling pine straw filtering through the branches. The lake reflected hotly, a dancing glare that shifted a reflected light on the stone of the temple, despite the fact that not a hint of breeze stirred the surface of the lake.
Sitting down on the semicircular stone bench inside the temple and picking up a piece of pine straw, she began to braid it idly. The grove was peaceful, filled with patches of sun and shadow and the dry sharp smell of resin baked out of the trees, but as she sat there she became aware of a presence. She looked around carefully, feeling with each moment a greater certainty that there was
someone watching; stealthily, quietly, watching, and listening, so that she became conscious of the sound of her own quickened breathing and the rhythmic rush of blood through her veins. Then, through an opening in the trees, she saw the house and with a grim sureness recognized her watcher.
Through the hooded eyes of the blank, closed jalousies, it followed her movements, guarding the road to escape back down the tunnel of trees. Malevolently, intently, it scanned the grove, its grilled lowered windows a grinning row of dark decayed teeth beneath the jutting upper lip of the gallery. Omnipotently, it saw her crouched in hiding in the temple under the trees, and like a great monster of animate wood and glass and metal, it stood in the foreground of her mind, glaring its hates and twisted dreams, and threatening to pull her into its maw of decay and useless age.
Standing quickly, she walked deeper into the pines and her blind footsteps, pushed by senseless fright and a half angry defiance, found a path. It led on around the lake, twisting and turning, edged with the remnants of a garden. Scrubby azaleas filled with dead wood lined the walk with a scattering of spring flowering bulbs, their leaves flattened and drying with the advance of summer. Brambles tore at her dress and threatened to trip her feet, but she pushed on, forgetting her morbid imaginings about Mirror House, hoping that the path led to the ruins of Harvest Hall among its weeds and vines and last year's sage brush. The path trailed away into little more than a rabbit run, climbing up hill and curving beneath several great oaks where it was clearer. Then, suddenly it stopped, and Amelia found herself staring down into a huge hole.
Filled with charred timbers, half-rotted, warped, and weathered, clambered over by vines, caved in; it was the cellar of Harvest Hall with a group of sassafras saplings growing among the sage in one corner. Whatever she had hoped to find, a hint of a happier, freer place than Mirror House, some measure of content, answers to the questions that troubled her, was not there, and neither was the inspiration to find the answers within herself.
Turning away, she made for the road that curved around the lake, and dividing, went one way to the main road, and the other way, back to Mirror House. In a few minutes, she stood in the sand of the road, able to see Mirror House rising grimly on its hill, and the ruins of Harvest Hall, with the lake between them, stretching before her. A curious calm possessed her. Her rambling had done that much at least. It had given her peace, a kind of self-assurance, for now she felt better able to cope with the demands, the pattern of lies and deceits that lay before her. Fighting the tangible resistance of blackberry briars and saw vines had given her the confidence to fight her way through the tangle of other people's lives and discover the truth for herself. At least she intended to try. Lifting her head, she smiled, squinting into the sun, and suddenly realized that for no reason, she was happy.
Behind her on the road, to destroy her hard-won peace, came the sound of hoofbeats! It was almost a relief when Reba, on a chestnut mare whose coat glistened in the sun, pulled to a dust swirling stop inches from Amelia, for it meant it wasn't Nelville.
"So, there you are," Reba said icily, when she had quieted her dancing horse. "Katherine was worried. It's past dinner time."
"Is it really?" Amelia asked in a conversational tone that showed nothing of her annoyance at the choking dust settling on her dress and damp skin and the overbearing hauteur of Reba's manner.
"You had better get back," Reba said distinctly, and kicking her horse vigorously in the ribs, she rode away without looking back, as if certain Amelia would do as she suggested.
Hands on hips, Amelia watched her go until she merged with the trees down the dark shadowed road that led away from Mirror House. Had there been the suggestion of an order in her voice, or was that her imagination? The idea grew that she was being watched. Hadn't someone come after her every time she left the house? But, how did that compare with Katherine's suggestion that she would have to leave if she refused to marry as they wished? She had heard of strange things happening in the South, before and since the war, among the landed families who were a kind of law unto themselves. Could they force her to stay at Mirror House and marry? Would they? Perhaps force was what Katherine had meant when she said staying would not be pleasant if she refused. How strong was their need to hold on to Mirror House? Was she wrong to think that their need was very great?
Frowning thoughtfully, flushed with heat and the exertion of walking around the lake, indignant at Reba, and frightened at the trend of her thoughts, she crossed the yard, climbed the steps, and reluctantly reentered the house. Just inside the hall, blinded by the transition from bright sun to the dark interior, she collided with Nelville, and he caught her arm in a firm grip that burned the imprint of his fingers through the fine cloth of her sleeve. They stood for a moment very close together so that the bronze mask of his face floated just above the level of her eyes, unsmiling and detached, but she could see the sparkles of refracted light like splinters of emeralds in his green eyes and the separate upward curling hairs of his brows. For a stunned instant of time, they stood in the hall. Then, he said, "Are you all right?"
"Yes," she said briefly, breathlessly.
His eyes narrowed and a one-sided smile lifted the corner of his mouth. "Dabbling in the occult?" he asked quizzically.
"What?"
"The smell of your perfume is tantalizing, but familiar," he said, watching her face carefully.
She could feel the rush of warm blood to her face as she remembered the little packet of herbs beneath her shift … 'a love potion if you like' … could he mean that? The sweet aromatic scent seemed to fill the air around them, brought forth by her exertion in the sun, and now, her agitation.
"It's only a luck charm," she said defensively, positive that somehow he knew it was also a love charm.
"If you wish," he said drily.
"Grannie Salome gave it to me."
"I know." His tone was correct, but the look on his face was not. Devils of laughter danced in his eyes and a corner of his finely formed mouth quivered irrepressively.
Embarrassed, she stepped around him, determined to ignore his obvious enjoyment of her discomfiture; then, struck by a thought, she turned. Before her better judgement could stop her, she asked, "How did you know how this charm smelled?" But, as he tilted his head and raised his brows, she said hastily, "Never mind," afraid that he would tell her, however delicate, or indelicate, the occasion might have been when he had learned the scent of a love charm.
She went on down the hall with her head high and her back straight, too painfully aware of the crinkled corners of his eyes in the otherwise straight face, the silent laughter that was worse than loud cackling would have been in anyone else. She thought of going back and telling him in her most flirtatious fashion that he would be wise to be careful around such a potent love philter, but she lacked the courage, or was it the audacity? On second thought, she was certain that Nelville would not be a safe man to flirt with; he took little frivolously. Even in his irreverent, impossible bantering, he was, or seemed to be, deadly serious.
"Did you have a nice walk?" Katherine asked as Amelia came late to the dinner table. She was sitting alone with only her dessert plate before her and a coffee cup in her hand and she looked up, waiting patiently for Amelia to reply, waiting in a poised concentration that suggested she would wait with her coffee suspended before her mouth if it took years to get an answer from Amelia.
"Yes," Amelia said shortly, reminded of her suspicions of Katherine and Katherine's motives.
"Reba said you went to the old house," Katherine continued even in the face of Amelia's reluctance to make conversation.
"Yes," Amelia replied.
"Quite overgrown, I expect," Katherine said. "I wouldn't go around there again, if I were you. Snakes, you know, not to mention spiders and every sort of briar and poison ivy. An unhealthy place."
"I enjoyed it," Amelia said evenly.
"Not to mention the old well," Katherine said as if she hadn't heard. "It's never been
filled in, and I think it is very dangerous with the few old rotten planks and vines over it, nothing at all substantial. It's probably caving in for several feet around it. I would really prefer you to stay closer to the house, for my sake. I worry so when anyone goes over there, or if you must explore take someone with you to see after you."
"I feel capable of seeing after myself," Amelia said carefully, putting down her fork. "I appreciate your concern, but I would feel like a prisoner in this house if I couldn't walk around freely. I'm sure you understand." She stared hard at Katherine, uncertain that her statement of emancipation would remain unchallenged.
"Certainly," Katherine said shortly, her pale eyes narrowed and her mouth drawn in, "if you feel so strongly about it. It's obvious that you have no idea of my feelings, our feelings, I might say, about that old house, or else you would respect my wishes. You are an unfeeling girl who doesn't care for the rights of others. Very well, do as you please!" Rising from the table, Katherine walked away out the door that stood open, with her back stiff and her skirt flouncing.
Amelia tilted her head with its crown of heavy dark hair and smiled after her. Her defiance might be foolhardy and unmannerly, but it was no less enjoyable for that.
Sometime later, when she should have been having her afternoon nap, she sat on her bed fully clothed, too keyed up to sleep, too tired to think. The door and jalousies were shut and not a breath of air stirred in the room. She felt groggy with heat and she vowed irritably that she would not make a habit of the afternoon siesta, though what else she could do to pass the time while everyone else slept she did not know. She had a headache, aggravated by the faint sickish smell of sweet smoke that seemed to hover in the entire upper story of the house in the heat of the long afternoons. She wondered about Sylvestor's habit of smoking and what was in the tobacco he used, though come to think of it, Reba had said once that it wasn't a real tobacco, more a sort of gum, though what difference that made she couldn't see. Listlessly she got up and went to the window on the side of the room away from the front gallery. There might be a breeze on that side of the house. She opened the jalousie, then frowned. With the jalousie open the smell of smoke was stronger, not weaker, and with a difference. This smelled of burning cloth.
The Secret of Mirror House Page 12