by Clara Cody
She sat up, slowly. "We're in the study?"
"It was the closest room with a fire and a place to lay down. Are you sure you're all right? Can I bring you something to drink? Anything at all." He studied her with a look in his eyes, not of pity, but concern. It had been such a long time since she'd seen that emotion. Since someone had cared for her enough to be concerned. It was a look that made her weak.
"No, thank you. I..."
"Your hands are like ice," he said, attempting to rub some warmth into them. His hands were strong and rough, but his touch was gentle. "You're shaking like a leaf."
"Yes, I suppose I am a little cold," she lied. It had nothing to do with the temperature. Flashes of what she'd seen went through her mind. The cabin. Her mother. The song.
"Here, come by the fire. You'll warm up." He pulled her to her feet, bringing her closer to the fireplace and knelt before it. She was grateful for the warmth and for the brief distraction the move gave her from her horrid thoughts.
"If I asked what you were doing out in the maze so late at night, would you tell me?" Charles asked.
She looked away from the fire and met his eyes. "Of course."
"Would it be the truth?"
Her eyes narrowed. "Because you have always been so honest with me?"
"Fair enough," he said with a sniff, gazing back at the fire. "I'm sorry for that. There are...there are just some things that are better kept to oneself. Can you understand that?"
"Better than most, probably."
Silence hung in the air. Not tense, like it usually was between them, but not comfortable, either. Just...quiet. Except for the fire.
She felt his eyes on her, felt them on her skin. "What are you looking at?"
Charles laughed. "Your hair," he said, reaching out and taking a lock of it between his fingers. "I've never seen it down before." He let the strands slip slowly through his fingers. "It's beautiful."
He swept her hair back, over her shoulder, his hand lingering there a moment too long.
She shivered.
His fingers trailed down her back as he leaned into her, his warm breath on her neck. Her stomach fluttered, but she didn't pull away. She tilted her head, exposing more of her neck. An invitation.
"Your dress," he murmured, his other hand touching her collarbone where she'd torn at her dress.
Her breath was impossible to control and became heavier with every second that passed. Touch me, she begged. She wanted nothing more than to feel his hands on her to drive any other thought from her mind. Touch me.
She couldn't bear it any longer and turned, meeting his eyes, which were heavy looking and hot. She opened her mouth to speak, but in a flash, he was kissing her. His mouth on hers, their lips pressing together, she melted into him, losing herself.
His fierce hands buried in her hair, then at her jaw, at her breast. She moaned, as his mouth moved down her neck to her shoulder and back again.
The image returned, of the couple in the window. Struggling. That scream.
She pulled Charles down on top of her, laying down on the rug.
"We shouldn't—" he gasped, breathlessly.
"Yes." She pulled him close, her fingers on the back of his neck. "Please," she begged. Make me forget.
He gave in, shoving her skirts up to her waist as she pulled at his trousers. He fell between her legs, driving himself inside her. She gasped, wrapping a leg around his.
She bit her lip, trying not to make a sound as he thrust into her, her hips rising to meet his. She clawed at his shirt, burying her head in his shoulder as her body grew hot and tight until it was released in a delicious explosion of oblivion. Everything else was forgotten, at least for the moment.
Stephanie lay over Charles, her hand placed gently over his heart. It beat in time with her own as they caught their breath. She couldn't bring herself to speak first.
His chest glistened in the firelight. Her own body was moist from sweat. His fingers trailed gently over her spine, sending chills rippling through her.
"Are you cold?" he asked, putting his other arm around her and pulling her closer.
"I'm all right," she said quietly.
"Liar. Of course, you're cold. Nothing in this house is ever warm. It's not surprising," he said, gently rubbing her arms. "The cold lives in this house. It gets into your bones and never wants to leave. Like a prison."
"You know a lot about this house."
"I practically grew up in it," Charles said, looking about the study. "We were children together; Victor, Eloise, and I. The three musketeers, her mother called us. This was the only room we never entered."
"Why?"
"It was her father's domain. Even though he was rarely here. For holidays, mostly, which made damned near every holiday miserable if you were Eloise and her mother. But still, even when he wasn't here, he was here. He was always here."
A chill ran down her spine.
"Not that we were much into books at that age, anyway. We played more in the maze, the forest. We went swimming, fished."
"That maze. It was...unsettling."
"It's not so bad during the day. Better now that Eloise took down that awful fountain."
"The one in the center?"
He looked at her. "There used to be one in the center. It was horrible. It used to give Ellie nightmares. Me too, actually. It was her father that had it commissioned, of course. Who else would want—and in her mother's likeness, no less."
"But you said it was taken down?"
"Yes, as soon as her father died, she ridded the house of anything that reminded her of her father. That was one of the first things to go."
"Why would she get rid of one garish fountain just to put in place another?"
"Another?"
"Yes. In the center of the maze."
"There isn't another one. There isn't anything in the center of the maze anymore but a flower bed."
Then what had Stephanie seen? Had she imagined all of it?
Chapter 22
Stephanie
"WHAT YOU THINK YOU're doing?" Maggie cried, standing in the doorway to Mrs. Burbank's room.
Stephanie clambered to her feet while trying to stuff the bag under the bed. "I-I-I...nothing."
Maggie pointed at her feet. "You're snooping," she hissed.
"N-n-no, I...I..." She stopped. "All right, fine. I was snooping. You caught me." She huffed, crossing her arms. "But, let's just be honest, you want Mrs. Burbank gone as much as I do. We all want her gone. I know how the missus feels about company and Charles doesn't like having her here either. And she's doesn't seem ready to leave anytime soon, so we gotta try something else."
Maggie's mouth bobbed, looking for something to say. "And you're the person to make 'er go?" she asked, doubtfully.
Stephanie nodded.
"And why's that?"
"Never you mind," Stephanie said, punctuating it with one final, satisfying nod.
Maggie looked between her and the bag behind her feet. "What you got against her anyway?"
"She's a bad person."
"You don't even know her."
"I don't have to." That wasn't a lie. Rebecca was bad all the way down into her soul. That was something you could see in her eyes, in her smile. Once, when they were girls, Rebecca made Stephanie watch as she pulled out the hairs from Stephanie's doll's head, discarding them at her feet. Even then, she'd known what her sister was.
Maggie sighed. "Fine. But think next time, girl. If you were gonna be snoopin' around, why wouldn't you do it while you were cleaning? At least you'd have an excuse to be here." She looked at Stephanie, expecting a good response.
The truth was she hadn't even considered it.
Maggie threw her hands into the air, scoffing. "You got a lot to learn about the sneaking business. You sure you a maid?"
Stephanie blushed but laughed. "I never needed to spy on someone before."
"Well, you'd better get to it before they come back," Maggie said, waving her hands
like she was shooing off a cat. "I'll keep watch."
"Oh, right," Stephanie said. "Good idea." She crouched down again and pulled the bag out from under the bed, taking out the letters. She unfolded the top one and nibbled anxiously at her lip as soon as she read to who the letter was addressed.
Dear Mr. Bixley,
I'm afraid that, despite your regrets, you will not find leaving my employment as easy as you hope. I have already paid you half the sum we agreed upon for you to find my locket. I have every intention of holding you to our negotiated terms and, if you fail to comply, you will be in breach of contract.
I will await word from you. Notify me at once when you've learned something as to the whereabouts of my necklace.
Sincerely,
Mrs. Rebecca Burbank
Stephanie couldn't help but feel sorry for Mr. Bixley. Rebecca was certainly no one to trifle with and now he was going to be on the receiving end of her wrath.
She folded the letter and placed it within the envelope. At least now she could trust Teddy whole-heartedly. The letter was addressed to Mr. Bixley at Coldwater Mine Motel in town. Stephanie repeated the name over and over again in her mind, in case she ever needed to get word to him.
A gasp from down the hallway was quickly followed by a slamming door and Maggie's hurried footsteps moving down the stairs.
"Afternoon ma'am," Maggie called, rather loudly. Soft voices carried upwards and down the hall to Rebecca's room.
Stephanie's heart jumped. Without thinking, she stuffed the papers back into the bag and shoved it inside the wardrobe. The voices carrying up from the foyer pushed her to move faster. At any moment, they could start ascending the stairs and she'd have to explain her presence. She dashed from the room and closed the door carefully behind her.
The voices increased as she approached the stairs. For good measure, she reached over and slammed the door to the servant's quarters just as Maggie had and started down the stairs.
Mrs. Callowell and Rebecca stood in the foyer speaking to Maggie.
"There you are," Mrs. Callowell said, looking up at Stephanie. "Rebecca was just mentioning that she has a few letters that need to be sent but Maggie hasn't the time to send them. Take them out to the post box for her, will you?"
Rebecca's eyes widened momentarily, mirroring Stephanie's surprise. "That's quite all right," Rebecca said, touching Mrs. Callowell's arm.
"It's no bother," Mrs. Callowell assured her. "You wanted to take a nap, did you not? Stephanie can take you to your room and take your letters at the same time."
Rebecca seemed to be at a loss. Stephanie quietly reveled in her momentary distress, understanding the problem perfectly. Rebecca was hoping to send the letter to Mr. Bixley. If it was Stephanie taking it, she could be sure that she'd read it.
Too late for that, Stephanie thought.
Rebecca smiled thinly at her hostess. "Very well. I am quite grateful, thank you, Eloise." She turned from Mrs. Callowell and started up the stairs towards Stephanie.
Stephanie's hand tightened around the banister as Rebecca approached, her glare unyielding. With Mrs. Callowell standing at the bottom of the stairs, Stephanie didn't have the nerve to return her glare, though she did in her heart and mind.
Rebecca brushed past and Stephanie followed her to the room she'd just left. Stephanie wondered if any lingering trace of her remained in the room. If there was, Rebecca didn't seem to notice. She crossed the room to her wardrobe and eased the doors open. She withdrew her bag and carried it to the bed, while throwing dagger-like glares at Stephanie. Once she set the bag on the bed, she looked over it with a discerning eye. She looked back at Stephanie and then to the bag.
Stephanie's heartbeat quickened.
Shifting her jaw back and forth, Rebecca returned to the bag and pulled the papers out. Rebecca sniffed, letting the letters and papers fall from her hand; except for the letter on top. She flipped over the letter to Theodore in her hand and stared at Stephanie, her mouth agape and her eyes glowing.
"I didn't put this letter in the envelope, Stephanie. Have you been going through my things, dear sister?"
Stephanie swallowed hard, maintaining her composure, and stepped forward. "Yes, as a matter of fact, I did." She clasped her hands tightly in front of her to hide their shaking.
"And the little sneak even admits it! You've developed quite the nerve. I could get you fired for this, you know?"
"You won't."
Rebecca pulled back, her eyes wide. She recovered quickly. "And why's that? The goodness of my heart?"
"No. It took a while, but I've come to learn that you have no such organ. I am quite confident that you will not tell anyone of this; furthermore, that you will leave this house at once and never bother its occupants again."
Rebecca released a snide chuckle that sounded all too forced. "Well. Look who thinks she's grown a spine. What makes you think I'd do either?"
"Because, if you don't, I will tell Mrs. Callowell who you really are. The daughter of a poor gravedigger, the sister of a lowly maid. The same sister who was forced to work in your own house, so she could support their dying father." For the first time, Stephanie saw real fear behind Rebecca's cold facade. "Can you imagine if that information were commonly known?"
She seemed to have the upper hand. It was a loose grip but if she could just manage to maintain it, she might be rid of Rebecca.
"Who would believe you? You're just a maid."
Stephanie nodded. "You're right. Few would believe a maid over a fine lady. But, you forget that I spent time in your home. I saw you and your friends and your enemies. You have more of the latter than you think. You're not nearly as pleasant as you like to pretend, and I believe that there are more than a few that would be very interested in my story. I dare say that there must be at least one person who would like to see you taken down a peg or two. Once they got word of any scandal, it wouldn't take long to dig up the rest."
Rebecca's face grew red. Her nostrils flared as she took a quick step towards Stephanie, who took an instinctive step back, fearing Rebecca would hit her. But she didn't. Rebecca stopped and set her jaw tightly, grinding her teeth. She sniffed, looking out the window and back to Stephanie. "Fine."
The word resonated in Stephanie's mind. Fine. She'd actually done it. She suppressed a triumphant smile. "A wise choice. I want you to leave this house and leave me alone. You and I have no ties stronger than that of a former employee and employer."
Rebecca ground her teeth and looked anywhere but at Stephanie, seemingly considering her options. Taking a deep breath, she nodded, looking like she'd just bitten into a lemon. "Fine. Your terms are...agreeable."
Stephanie resisted breathing a sigh of relief. Showing her anxiety would do no good now. She held out her hand.
Rebecca raised her eyebrow expectantly and Stephanie gestured towards the letters in her hand.
Rebecca seethed, forcing air through her flared nostrils but handed the letters to Stephanie; except for the letter to Theodore. "I believe I won't be needing to send this anymore."
"As you wish." Stephanie turned on her heel, quickly spinning away from Rebecca and moved toward the door, trying to hide her smile.
Once she'd closed the door behind her, the shouts and sounds of things being thrown about the room told Stephanie that she needn't bother.
Chapter 23
Stephanie
THE RIDE INTO TOWN was long and jostling. Charles tried his best to distract her with his tales and adventures from his years abroad, but by the time they stopped in front of the hotel and Stephanie climbed down from the carriage, she felt her stomach churning like clothes in a washbasin. It was a small consolation when Rebecca stepped down, holding Charles's hand, looking rather green as well. She was so close to being rid of her sister that even a rolling stomach couldn't stifle her mood completely.
Charles walked to the back of the carriage to remove Rebecca's luggage while Stephanie looked about casually. The hotel was small since few p
eople ever needed to stay in town. There were at least two people staying there now; Theodore Bixley and Rebecca's driver, who'd been sent there to await her call. Stephanie was keeping an eye out for the former. Like her previous trip to town, the people avoided her eye and passed by quickly, ushering children along. Charles, however, seemed immune. One man tipped his hat to Charles before glaring at Stephanie and giving a throaty harrumph. After he'd passed, he spat on the ground behind her.
Burdened with several bags, Charles marched up the steps to the hotel. Rebecca followed closely behind him and Stephanie, a few paces behind her.
Charles turned at the sound of following footsteps. "You really needn't come inside, Stephi," he said, nonchalantly. "I'm sure you will be much more comfortable waiting outside."
"I'll be quite all right," she said. She just wanted to get inside and check for Mr. Bixley. They had much to discuss and she needed answers. Once she found him, she'd have to manage to get away from Charles, but first she had to find him.
Charles put one armful of bags to the ground and scratched the stubble on his chin. "Someone really should stay with the carriage."
Stephanie decided on another approach. "Oh, I'm feeling terribly faint," she said, putting a hand to her head. "I'd like a glass of water."
Charles dropped the other armful of bags and pushed past Rebecca, who looked much worse than Stephanie. "Of course, you've been in the sun too long," he said, softly as he took Stephanie's hand and gently led her inside. "The terrible state of the road couldn't have helped. I should have gone more slowly."
Rebecca scoffed behind her.
The front room of the hotel was dark, with a wide, high desk at the far side. They turned and Charles led them to a small restaurant. A bar stood to the side and a few tables were scattered around.
Stephanie scanned the room quickly. She hadn't seen Mr. Bixley but not all the men were in plain view and facing her. Charles led her to a small table close to the door and held out a chair. His eyes were full of sympathy and relief as he looked down on her. She forced herself to return a weak smile.
