Walls of Ash

by Amber Newberry

  “Just one more piece, Bernadine, then I promise I will go put on that abominable gown,” I called down the length of the Long Hall, and she grumbled herself out.

  My Aunt and Uncle had invited friends from London and the nearby village to stay the weekend, and this would be my first dinner at the family table. Everyone was making such a fuss over the preparations because of the visitors. Aunt Emmaline even brought a gown back from London for me that would be appropriate for such an occasion. I had not yet changed into it, though it was extremely close to time for the guests to arrive. Truthfully, I did not care for the gown with its huge puffed sleeves and giant, billowy bow tied at the back, but a young lady of a great house would be expected to wear such things.

  My father was once the head of Rhineholt, the ancestral home, like his father and his father before him and his before him and so on. The house belonged to my father up until an incident involving a highwayman somewhere along the forest road out of the small nearby town. The man ‘ended’ my father, as Aunt Emmaline delicately put it, and my mother disappeared from the scene never to be found. My mother and father were on their way to a ball at Hilbourne Abbey, just past the forest and through the small village. They would have stayed the week had they completed their journey.

  My mother’s cloak was found washed up on the shore below the cliffs that lined the edge of the forest. Rhineholt was left in need of a successor, and my Uncle Charles took charge of the house and the land around it. My Aunt Emmaline was unable to bear children, so they kept me in the family home, treating me as their own. They were kind to me, but I was not offered the affection that a grieving child might need.

  “Miss Tam! Yer Aunt will have me head,” Bernadine called into the hall, again interrupting my thoughts. I ignored her, continuing the rather long piece I had chosen to intentionally stall for time.

  I only have one memory of my mother. She kissed the palm of my hand before stepping into the carriage to Hilbourne Abbey and on the journey that would lead to her demise. She has always been the same in my dreams of her, flushed cheeks and a smile. I have no memories of my father, but I have always imagined him as he looked in his portraits. There was one of them together, hanging in the Long Hall with the rest of the Rhineholt family. My father appeared strong and stern, a man not easily forgotten. I would often stare at these portraits, as I was doing just before dinner time while my hands drifted over the ivory keys of our spinnet.

  When I was very young, I would pretend that my mother and father could listen to me play from their portraits. It was a silly idea, but it was soothing to think that they were watching over me, even though they were gone. With my eyes closed, I imagined them standing nearby, listening and clapping when I finished the piece. At the end of each session, it was my tradition that I curtsied to all the Rhineholt family lining the walls before leaving.

  “Miss Tam! Yer gonna have the missus in a huff!” Bernadine called from the doorway.

  She was ignored, again.

  Music became a release for me. I played often and practiced far more than my governess asked me to, which delighted her because I did not care for many of my other subjects, apart from history and literature. Among the things I disliked about growing older was the lack of time to myself. I heard talk of a school where nuns groomed girls into polished young ladies. They taught the German and French ways at their convent in the Bavarian countryside. After my return from the German school, there would be a London season, and it seemed that the arrangements were already beginning. I would be eighteen by that time, and I was none too eager to be walking toward an altar. I found my escape in the music echoing in the Long Hall.

  “Lady Rhineholt is in a mood, miss. Yeh put off dressin’ just long enough to get ‘er cross. Yeh best be expectin’ a word or two! Yer lucky she hasn’t the time to scold yeh proper before the guests turn up.”

  Having guests at Rhineholt always got the servants in an uproar, particularly Bernadine. I passed her in the hallway on my way upstairs to go change, where she promptly turned to follow me. I sighed as I listened to her remind me of this and that all the way up two flights of stairs.

  “Don’t yeh forget to pick up the skirt of that new gown as yer walkin’, miss. It were shipped in all the way from London an‘ she won’t have yeh tripping all over it. It’s a trifle long an’ Lady Rhineholt would be devastated if yer face found the marble right in front of them guests. It would be calamity an’ I can just imagine the talk downstairs. Oh, the storm ye’d conjure up!”

  While I found her reminders more than a little irritating, it was far better than what my governess might have said to me. Hilda was hired by my Aunt Emmaline, after a recommendation from a friend, for her talent of turning young people into ‘responsible adults’. My room, which was still in the nursery, was right next to that of my governess, but I was glad this would not be the case for much longer. I knew that she was priming me for the convent school with her lessons in literature, arithmetic and history. She was also asked to teach me the spinnet that sat in the far corner of the Long Hall. This was, as she put it, “A requirement of well-bred young ladies.”

  My youth was, I imagine, like that of any other well-bred child. It was a privileged existence, but also a cage, beautifully decorated, but locked tight always. I dreamed of breaking free of that lock, but part of me felt a sort of need to be within those walls that had once sheltered my mother.

  I rounded the corner at the top of the stairs with Bernadine in tow. When we reached my room, she turned me over to my Aunt, who was waiting for me in my chambers.

  “Well, I do hope you are satisfied with yourself,” she said dramatically, holding out my gown to me.

  “I am sorry, I lost track of time... I was practicing in the Long Hall again...”

  “Never mind, we have to hurry, the guests will be here any minute.” She sighed as I stepped into the gown. Her hands swept my hair up so that a few orange curls escaped and dangled around my temples. She shook her head.

  “Shame you got your mother’s hair... that orange color...” I was taken by surprise by the note of endearment in her voice as she suddenly wrapped her arms about me. My Aunt and Uncle were not affectionate people.

  “Now, please do mind your manners. Doctor Haskins and his wife will be joining us, as well as Lord and Lady Hilbourne and their son Julian, whom you may remember. Their younger son has not yet returned from France. There is also the Eckhardt family, whom your Uncle has been doing some business with in London...” She rambled on but I stopped paying attention. Then I dragged my feet through the hall and down the stairs while she reminded me of proper etiquette. The dress was, indeed, too long, so I had to be careful not to step on it.

  We paused by the Long Hall when I realized I forgot to put on my gloves.

  “Really, Tam, you are simply provoking me,” exclaimed Aunt Emmaline.

  “I can’t imagine the pandemonium with Celia Hilbourne in this house! A young lady without gloves!” Her hands were on her hips as she spoke, and I hid the smile that always came with being scolded by her.

  “I will go and get them, then. Go and meet the guests,” I said. She shook her head, knowing that I would find a way to cause further ‘pandemonium’.

  “You would certainly find a way to ruin the dress, or come back with your hair in shambles. That simply won’t do. With the way this evening has gone, you’ll turn up with one glove and not the other! I cannot allow it. So you will wait here until I return.” She turned and immediately swung back around to face me.

  “No. You will wait in the Long Hall where no one can see you without your gloves.” Then she waited for me to turn and walk through the door, tapping a slippered foot on the marble.

  I immediately went into the Long Hall, and while it was wicked of me, I laughed when she was out of ear shot. My voice echoed in the empty room long after I was silent. It felt as though the people in the portraits were laughing at me. The generations of Rhineholts forgotten stared me down. Their faces were
difficult to make out, but I could see their eyes, and it felt as though they saw me, too.

  The Long Hall was very dark, transformed into a haunting vision. There were a few lit candles along the walls, and their reflection cast waves of light over the shiny, marble floor. The room seemed longer with the darkened corners, and there was something sinister about the way it looked this time of night. I usually found comfort in the many portraits that seemed to keep me company, but it now felt as though the eyes of the long gone Rhineholt ancestors burned my skin.

  When the moon was high over the moors, Rhineholt became a dark place with long, lonely corridors whose shadows gave breath to many secrets. Mist gathered around the trees and walls of the fortress, and as I looked out a tall thin window, it seemed that all my surroundings were shrouded.

  I walked over to the spinnet. The lid was propped slightly open, and I caressed the ivory keys. A small gust of wind moved a tiny curl against the back of my neck, and I breathed deeply. There was someone in the room. Turning, I saw the figure of a man standing in the doorway. His face was not easy to make out in the shadows. Little bumps appeared on my neck where the curl brushed by.

  “Do you play?” the man said, stepping into the Hall and what little light the candles cast. He was tall with the lightest of hair that was was short and brushed forward onto his forehead. His blue eyes had a rather solemn look from his high cheek bones and brooding brows. He was elegantly dressed in a gray velvet coat with gold buttons. I was stunned and did not answer.

  “Forgive me. I am Eckhardt. Otto... though everyone calls me Eckhardt.” He gave me a slight bow, which made me smile and lightened the mood immensely.

  “Tamsin,” I said, nearly forgetting my manners. “Tamsin Rhineholt. Yes, I do play.”

  “Perhaps after dinner you would entertain your guests with a tune?” he asked stepping toward me.

  “Perhaps...” I began as Aunt Emmaline briskly entered the Long Hall.

  “I’ve found your gloves...” she paused at seeing Eckhardt.

  “Forgive me! It is so dark in this room tonight, I did not see you, Mister...”

  “Eckhardt... Otto Eckhardt,” he said with a slight bow toward her.

  “He has told me that we may call him Eck--”

  “That’s very well, dear.” She handed me the gloves, “Have you lost your way, Mr. Eckhardt?”

  “I was simply admiring your beautiful home and got distracted by some of the more... interesting pieces.” He was staring at me, and I became uncomfortable.

  “Will you follow us into the drawing room, then?” she asked and led us out. I turned to look at the painting of my mother and father. It was the first time that I had not given them the childish curtsy and for some reason, I felt nervous for it.

  As we walked toward the drawing room, Eckhardt asked many questions about Rhineholt House, which I proudly answered.

  “The structure was built by Charles Rhineholt, whom my Uncle was named for,” I said.

  “It is all Elizabethan?” Eckhardt asked, and I was happy to find he was very interested in the subject.

  “Of course, and Charles Rhineholt would not have a single imperfection. He was very particular as the home was a gift to his son for his wedding. They say he was a torturous old man who had parts of the house redesigned so many times that his architect went mad and threw himself from the East tower.”

  “Tamsin, I’m sure that’s just a story they tell in the servants’ hall. Must you insist on telling that nonsense to every visitor?” My Aunt asked. I was captivated by Rhineholt, and I knew the history inside out. This was not a tale that was whispered among the servants, it was written in the house records that my Uncle kept in the library.

  “It is a rather intriguing story,” Eckhardt said, walking behind me. I turned my head to see him smiling at me and faced forward immediately.

  Arriving in the drawing room, we saw that everyone else had arrived. Aunt Emmaline asked forgiveness on account of my gloves. Although I was acquainted with many of our guests, I became truly nervous when my Aunt presented me with great ceremony. My legs shook, and I was glad of the bulky skirt that hid them from sight.

  Doctor Haskins was an older man and his wife was plain, even next to my Aunt. He asked after my health, which appeared to be his traditional first topic of conversation. Then there was Eckhardt and his father who was simply an older version of his son and a thin, timid-looking woman who was introduced as Eckhardt’s mother. They were German, but I had not detected much of an accent when I first met the man in the Long Hall. My Uncle stood with Eckhardt’s parents talking of London.

  “Tamsin will be seeing London for the first time, shortly. We plan to spend a while there before she departs for school in Stuttgart,” Uncle Charles said, I noticed a look exchanged between the Eckhardt men.

  “How interesting, we come from near Stuttgart, ourselves,” Eckhardt’s mother said.

  “I have not been farther than the village through the woods. This year will hold many adventures for me, it seems,” I replied.

  “You will be delighted with Stuttgart, it is very beautiful. The Black Forest is simply enchanting,” Eckhardt said.

  “I do so look forward to seeing it for myself,” I replied.

  “Tamsin, we mustn’t forget to welcome the other guests,” Aunt Emmaline said, taking my arm. I noticed a nod from Eckhardt to which I smiled in return.

  I followed my Aunt to where Lord and Lady Hilbourne stood with their eldest son, whom I recognized and cringed. Lady Hilbourne walked right up to me and took both of my hands, kissing my cheek. I was taken aback.

  “Apologies for my forwardness, your mother and I, we were very close and... you just look so much like her, now.” I had not seen the Hilbournes in some time.

  “You must call me Celia! I will not have any objection!” she said looking sideways at my Aunt, who I knew did not like that idea.

  Lord Hilbourne took my hand, commenting on how much I’d grown since last he saw me, and told me that I should call him Reginald from then on. Next I was passed over to Julian for the standard ‘Good evening’, and I could not hide the fact that I still found him utterly loathsome. He was almost five years my senior, with unruly dark hair that was carelessly rustled into a stylish mess. His expressive grey eyes seemed to be constantly amused and his thin sideburns expertly framed his strong jaw line and only added to the look of arrogance. His cravat was not as extravagant as Eckhardt’s, but he still managed to look elegant in dark blue and silver and his smile suggested a certain amount of belief that the world was simply putting on a show for him.

  One summer, Hilda took Leonard and Julian Hilbourne as her charges while Celia and Reginald spent a year on their plantation in India. The journey alone took several months and when they left, their sons were away at school, but on their summer between sessions, they would need someone to look after them. My Aunt and Uncle volunteered Hilda, who was given extra wage to keep an eye on us all.

  Leonard was a chubby, light haired boy about three years my senior, who I did not care for. He took to calling me ‘Rusty,' a name I despised, which was coined by his older brother on their arrival at Rhineholt. I would often hide from them in hopes that I could escape the torture, but Bernadine always seemed to know where I was and would give me away. When they both left in the early fall, it was quiet, but I almost missed their presence because Rhineholt was so lonely again. I did not miss Julian pulling on my braids at all.

  Julian went to learn the trade business on their family’s estate in India the same year that Leonard enlisted to go and fight against Napoleon in France. The battle of Waterloo happened quickly after his enlistment, and when he was injured his family sent him to their London House. Although my Aunt would not often discuss the war with me, she would share messages and letters that she received from distant cousins and Celia. The most recent letter told of Leonard’s coming arrival in London, which would now be very soon.

  Julian took my hand and kissed it, a traditi
on I found thoroughly disgusting. I snatched my hand back as quickly as it was taken.

  “I see we are still where we left off,” he said, smiling down at me. He was much taller than I remembered, though that is to be expected when eight years pass. His hair was also darker, and he seemed to have taken some sun from his time in India, but his eyes were still the same grey they were when he was a boy. I turned away from him, but Aunt Emmaline noticed and gave me a nudge of the elbow.

  I forced a smile. “How lovely to see you again Mister Hilbourne.”

  “Are we to be so formal, now?” he asked as a conversation began between my Aunt and Lord and Lady Hilbourne, “We do go so far back, after all.”

  I changed the subject. "You are just back from India?"

  “I am,” he responded proudly. "I'm sure you would find it an intriguing place, it is like nowhere you've ever been, I can assure you. India is somewhat of an adventure and far different from civilized old England." There was an amused lilt in his voice. He was implying that I was too young and well-protected to have ever been anywhere outside of the country, let alone the walls of Rhineholt. It frustrated me that he was very nearly right.

  "Oh? Is that so? I imagine you fit in quite well with the uncivilized," I said with a raised eyebrow.

  He had an unmistakably sly smile on his lips as he spoke his reply.

  "Well, I certainly do get along with the locals." I was relieved that Eckhardt came up to us then.

  “I don’t believe that we have met,” He said to Julian, and they introduced themselves to one another. Had Aunt Emmaline noticed I was not doing my duties as hostess, I would surely have been scolded.

  The butler announced dinner. As everyone began to shuffle toward the dining room, Eckhardt took my arm, and I saw that Julian was amused by this. Luckily, Celia was next to me at dinner, and I was less nervous because she made me feel so at ease.

  Celia was beautiful, with light brown hair and dark eyes, and although she was older than my Aunt, she appeared to look much younger. She explained that she was half French and half German, though I could not detect more than the German accent. She told me of the time she spent at the convent school in Germany with my mother. Her family was from Stuttgart and lived near the school. My mother had often spent holidays and summers at their home. She also said that she believed the Eckhardts lived near there, as well, though she was not really familiar with them.