by Clara Cody
"Excuse me, ma'am," Stephanie said, backing out of the dining room. Stephanie entered the pantry and waited for the door to stop swinging. When it did, she crept back toward it and placed an ear close to the door.
She heard Charles continue, "Do you really think—"
Mrs. Callowell shushed him again. "Wait," she whispered.
Oh, the other door, Stephanie thought. Of course, Mrs. Callowell was wary of eavesdropping. She crossed the small room in large steps and pushed the door, letting it swing, hoping that Mrs. Callowell heard it. She was relieved to not see Maggie in the kitchen as it back and forth. After a few passes of the door, she tip-toed back to the other side, replacing her ear against the door.
"You must learn to hold your tongue," Mrs. Callowell said.
"Come now, Stephanie is no one to—"
"All the same. Loose lips and all that. We may already be sunk as it is."
Stephanie glared at Charles through the door. She didn't know what he intended to say, but she assumed offense, just in case.
Mrs. Callowell started again, "And no, I don't expect she'll stay another night. To be honest, I don't know what's possessed her to stay this long."
"But why have you invited her anyway? We don't have nearly enough drugs to keep Victor quiet for so long. I can't spend much more time down here. I think he knows something already."
"Don't be foolish, how could he know anything? And about the drugs, nevermind that. You'll go to town and order more tomorrow. Or today if the need's great enough."
"I'm sure it will—"
Mrs. Callowell shushed him again. "Quiet. I hear footsteps. Ah, good morning, Rebecca." Chairs dragged backward on the floor. "Are you quite all right?"
Stephanie's stomach sank at the note of concern in Mrs. Callowell's voice. Was this another part of her plan? To get stuck here with a mysterious ailment until Stephanie's locket was returned to the wrongful owner.
"Yes, yes," Mrs. Burbank responded. "Just a tad tired, I'm afraid. I barely slept all night."
"Was the room not to your liking?" Charles asked.
"No, it was lovely, really. I just had the strangest collection of dreams." She scoffed. "Silly, I know, but it felt as though there was a great weight around my neck the entire night—"
Stephanie gasped and covered her mouth quickly. She listened carefully, worried they'd heard her. They weren't speaking. The dining room was too quiet. There was only one thing to do. Stephanie cleared her throat and took the tray of eggs sitting on the counter and passed through the swinging door as though she'd been meaning to do just that.
"Morning ma'am," she said, nodding to Mrs. Burbank. She got an odd satisfaction from only nodding when she knew how much she preferred a curtsy. "I trust you slept well."
"Quite," Mrs. Burbank responded curtly, staring into her lap.
Stephanie was washing the last of the dishes from lunch, fried fish which was particularly reluctant to part with the pan, when Charles snuck through the kitchen door. He moved around the table and stood next to her. "You don't have to speak to me," he started.
She looked at him from the corner of her eye.
"But I want to talk to you. So just listen."
Stephanie straightened her back and shook the water from her hands. Drying her hands on her apron, she turned to him.
He sighed. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you who I was before. But I didn't lie. I'm not part of that world anymore."
"You looked pretty comfortable for an outsider," she said, looking at her feet.
"I have had a lot of practice. The truth is, I was born to a privileged lifestyle, that is true. But my father...he was a man of many vices. He gambled all our money away, which was no small feat, I can assure you. When that money was gone, he started borrowing and borrowing. Cheating and...worse. So, I have nothing now but my name."
"I-I'm sorry. I had no idea."
"Why would you? The truth is, I didn't want you to know."
"Why?"
"I suppose I didn't want you to know about my father's weaknesses. Maybe you would look at me and see them reflected, as I so often do."
Stephanie reached out, touching his arm, which was strong and hard under her hand. "Of course not. I'm glad you told me."
"So, do you forgive me?"
Stephanie kept her head down, hiding a thin smirk.
"I'll take that as a yes." He pulled something from his pocket, forcing her eyes upwards. He held up two pens, an inkwell, and a book. "I had to make a last-minute ride into town and thought of you."
Stephanie's eyes grew wide at the presents. No one, except her father, had ever given her anything before. She chewed her lip, wondering if she could accept such a thing from a man in his position.
As though reading her mind, he rolled his eyes and forced them into her hands. "Consider it a peace offering." A smile broke across his face and he winked.
She tried to think of something to say. Someway to tell him how much it meant to her. But how could she? How could anyone understand what it meant to her. "Thank you," she said, tears slowly welling in her eyes.
"I have to go back now," he said, nodding towards the kitchen door. "Rebecca wants to read some of my..." he looked flustered for a moment, "poetry books. Heh, I have quite the collection."
Stephanie's brow furrowed deeply. Did he think she was unaware that he wrote poetry? She slipped her wrists from his hands and let them fall to her sides. She could understand not wanting to share his poetry with others, she'd certainly felt enough of that herself. But why could he share it with Mrs. Burbank and not her?
"Will Mrs. Burbank be extending her visit?"
"I believe so. She isn't feeling well at the moment and doesn't feel up to making the journey home."
Stephanie nodded. She'd been expecting as much. "I'll tell Maggie."
"Very well. Now, I really must go." He turned towards the door again. He gave her one last look before slipping behind the door.
Stephanie turned back to her dishes. With all the ideas and worries floating about her head, she relished the simple task of cleaning up after other people.
Chapter 19
Stephanie
STEPHANIE HADN'T MADE up her mind yet. She'd written a note on a small piece of paper, in the smallest print she could muster. Everything she'd learned about the house and its people was contained in the small note. She read it over again, wondering if she could really put it in the tree and open the house, and her employers, up for investigation.
The truth was she still didn't completely trust Theodore Bixley. While he seemed very pleasant and sincere, she was too aware of how men could deceive. And was it any coincidence that Mrs. Burbank had shown up not long after Mr. Bixley approached her in the village?
A knock came to Stephanie's door. Her heart leaped and she quickly folded the letter and stuffed it into her pockets. It would have to wait until later. Smoothing her dress and hair, she walked to the door. She opened it meekly, to find Mrs. Callowell standing before her.
"Good evening, Stephanie," Mrs. Callowell began before Stephanie had the chance to react. "May I have a word with you?"
"A word?" Dread washed over her. Had she done something wrong? Did Mrs. Callowell know about Mr. Bixley? "It's so late," she said, hoping Mrs. Callowell didn't notice that she was still fully dressed.
Mrs. Callowell's face didn't move. "It won't take long."
Stephanie stepped back, opening the door. Instead of stepping into her bedroom, as expected, Mrs. Callowell turned away. "We can speak in the study. Follow me."
Stephanie nodded and followed her, closing the door tightly behind her.
The study was breathtaking. Stephanie's eyes widened as she scanned the room and its contents, trying to take in everything. Shelves of books lined the walls. Tall ladders climbed all the way to the ceiling on each wall. A sepia-toned globe sat collecting dust by the desk Mrs. Callowell sat behind. She cleared her throat.
Stephanie hurried towards the desk in response. Mrs. Callowell gestured towar
ds the seat Stephanie stands beside, telling her to sit. "How do you find yourself here at Ripewood Manor?
"Fine, ma'am."
Mrs. Callowell nodded slowly, as though she'd said something interesting. "You look tired. Is the work too much for you?"
"Oh, no ma'am. It's just..."
"What?"
"I have trouble sleeping, that's all."
"Has that always been the case?"
Stephanie thought back. She couldn't remember a time when she'd slept well, but neither could she recall having slept so poorly. "I don't think so, ma'am."
"I see. And what is it that disturbs your sleep?"
Stephanie shifted in her chair. "I can't say that I'm sure, ma'am. But I dream a lot. It seems I'm always waking up from one nightmare or another."
Mrs. Callowell inclined her head forwards. "I can sympathize."
For a moment, Stephanie was taken aback. She'd never seen Mrs. Callowell look anything but cold and impenetrable, but for an instant, she seemed almost vulnerable. The look faded quickly.
"But it's important to not let our dreams get in the way, is it not?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Good girl. How are you getting along with Maggie?"
"Oh, Maggie's wonderful."
"And Charles?"
"Charles?" Stephanie asked, her voice weak.
"Yes, Charles." Mrs. Callowell tilted her head, regarding Stephanie carefully. "How do you get on with him?"
Stephanie looked away. "Fine. I suppose."
Mrs. Callowell's head turned to the other side. "You suppose?"
"I don't see him much."
"Are you nervous for some reason?"
Stephanie shifted again, folding her hands in her lap. "No, ma'am."
"Do you have any reason to be afraid of Charles?"
She felt her cheeks go red. "Oh, no ma'am. Charles hasn't done anything, I swear."
Mrs. Callowell regarded her for another minute, without speaking. "Very well. You may go."
"Yes, ma'am." She rose and walked to the door, her hands shaking, terrified that she'd said something wrong. But what else could she have said?
STEPHANIE PACED HER bedroom floor. Where had all those questions come from? Had Charles said something to Mrs. Callowell about her? Maybe it was Stephanie herself that gave her away. Was she so transparent?
The unfinished letter still lay in her pocket. If Mrs. Callowell was already suspicious of her, she might be watching. Could she risk sneaking out of the house again to place the letter in the tree hollow? She felt the locket through the material of her dress. What should I do?
Something pulled at her. She went to the dark window, drawn by something unseen and looked down, a strange certainty that she already knew what she would see. She was right.
A figure stood in the garden below. The same tall, raven-haired woman she'd seen before, but now she was closer to the house.
Stephanie's hand flew to her mouth as she gasped. She knew the woman's face perfectly. It was a face she'd seen almost every day of her life, staring up at her from the locket.
Her mother.
Stephanie's hand fell on the cold surface of the glass. She shook her head as she stared down at the woman. How can this be?
Her mother looked up at her and nodded, reaching her hand out before her. She curled her fingers inward, beckoning Stephanie forwards.
Stephanie leaned against the glass. Her breath spread a cloud of steam against the window, distorting the woman's image. She wiped the fog away but only in time to see the woman disappearing into the overgrown hedge maze.
"No! Don't go!" Stephanie ran for the door, hitching up her skirts. She flew through the house and out the back door. Stephanie followed the stone walk to the gardens.
It was empty and quiet now. Dried flowers and weeds blew in a soft breeze that Stephanie barely noticed. The half-moon shone down, casting weak shadows about the garden.
Stephanie looked around but saw nothing out of place. It was as though no one had been there. "Mother?" she whispered.
A soft tune traveled out from the depths of the maze. A sweet, soothing voice called her, pulling her forward. It was the same tune her father had taught her, that her mother had taught him. Stephanie's heart thundered in her ears.
Through the chilled, silent air, she listened as the soft, slow notes drifted towards her. Around her. She stepped towards the maze, ready to flee back to the house at any moment. The sound grew stronger as she approached, walking half-turned towards the house. The entryway to the maze was black and framed by dark, green shrubbery. As she watched, something passed. A shadow in the darkness, a ripple of black satin.
Stephanie gasped and halted her footsteps, looking back to the manor. The kitchen door stood open. Had she closed it? She shook her head; it didn't matter.
She turned away from the manor and took another step towards the maze and another. She realized she wasn't afraid anymore. Her mother was waiting for her.
Stephanie faced the black threshold to the maze. Reaching her hand into the maze was like dipping her hand into black, thick oil. It disappeared into the darkness before her. She followed her hand into the maze.
She couldn't see anything. The walls of the maze towered so high above her head that they blocked out most the light. Stray branches and sticks brushed her cheek and caught in her hair as she passed. She was going somewhere but she didn't know the destination. The song led her deeper into the maze. She followed, turning and continuing when the song urged her to.
She came to the center of the maze. A large stone fountain sat in the center. Dominating the fountain was the sculpted figure of a young, robed woman. Stephanie cringed as she looked at it. The woman held a jug, tipped over, from which one might expect water to pour. But not on this statue. Water sprung from the woman's wide-opened mouth in a thick, powerful gush. Her eyes were wide as though she couldn't imagine such a thing was happening to her delicate mouth. Stephanie looked away.
Stephanie stepped to the side, and there, at the edge of the fountain, behind the statue, was the glimmering figure of her mother. Stephanie gasped, stepping forwards. "Mother?" she whispered.
Her mother's dark hair hung about her face, a dark curtain framing a beautiful, bright window. She nodded, silently.
Stephanie stepped to the edge of the fountain. "But how?"
Her mother pressed a finger to her lips and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, they were bright white, glowing like the moon. She looked down at the pool before her.
Stephanie followed her gaze but saw nothing. Not even her mother's reflection shimmered in the dark water. Her mother reached down, letting her fingers penetrate the surface of the water, which neither bent nor rippled to her touch.
Stephanie watched in astonishment. How could the water remain unaffected by her mother's touch? But she was wrong. The water was affected, but not like she thought.
An image emerged from her mother's fingertips, spreading out across the surface. Blurry at first, Stephanie strained to make it out.
Slowly, it congealed into a singular shape, a solid image. It was a shack of some kind. A wooden shack with dark windows and a weak looking door. Stephanie could see it perfectly. A light flickered to life from behind a window. A pair crossed in front of the window, silhouettes against the yellow light. A couple embraced. No, not embracing. They stumbled out of the way of the window again. A scream rang out in the night and the image rippled. Stephanie jumped away as the image dissolved into the black water. When she looked up again, her mother's image was gone as well.
She looked about the court in the center of the maze. She was alone with the four walls surrounding her and the imposing statue. The woman looked down at her, accusingly. Stephanie stumbled back until she met with the bristly wall behind her. She jumped away from the wall again, looking up. The wall seemed to be standing over her, falling forwards as the clouds above passed.
Her chest constricted, air caught in her chest as she struggled to breathe.
She spun around, looking for a way out. Every wall had a small black passage buried within it. But which had she entered through?
Stephanie tore across the maze to the opposite wall, running with all the speed she could muster until she crossed into the darkness of the maze. She moved quickly, one hand following the hedge and the other outstretched before her. She met roughly with a wall in front. It startled her but she kept moving. She took a left. She bumped into another wall. Right. Her breath grew labored and her chest constricted more as she heard the sounds of the water fountain gushing. She'd gotten turned around.
She tried to trace her steps backward, following the hedge but met with another wall only a few meters away. She turned and instantly met with another hedge. Gasping for breath, she turned again only to run into the hard branches of another hedge. She felt the walls around her, closing in. She couldn't breathe. Her breathing was labored as she heaved air into her body. She couldn't feel it. The air wasn't reaching her lungs. She fell to her knees, tearing the neck of her dress open. She couldn't breathe. The darkness started closing in on her and her eyesight. Black edges narrowed her field of vision, moving inwards like paper soaking up ink. Her face met with the hard, stony earth beneath her. The last thing she saw was a pair of boots stepping towards her before the darkness took over.
Chapter 21
Stephanie
"STEPHANIE," SHE HEARD a voice calling. But it sounded so far away. "Stephanie!"
Her eyes opened.
"Thank god," Charles said, staring down at her. A bookshelf towered above his head. They weren't outside in the maze anymore. A fire crackled close by, the warmth of it heating her skin. She lay on something soft. A settee. Charles knelt beside her. "You scared me, what happened?"
It came back in flashes. Her mother. The maze. The image in the water. Her head throbbed with the memory. Then she'd been running and... "I got lost. I couldn't find my way out of the maze and I...I'm sorry, I'm so foolish. I shouldn't have been there in the first place."
"Don't worry yourself," he said, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "You're inside now. You're safe."
