Where the Briars Sleep

by Emma Beaven

  “Don’t look,” she whispered softly. Catching her dress with her left hand, she turned her back toward the room and descended the stairs.

  There the smells grew stronger, and she could hear footsteps and clattering and clinking, which went a long way to draining her of her fear. The parlor and sitting room doors were both shut, which Rose found curious, as it seemed impossible that she could have slept past dinner. A bright light shone from the kitchen, illuminating the formal waiting area sofa and desk.

  Rose stopped for a moment, placing her hand on the parlor door before changing her mind and fleeing to the warm comfort of the kitchen. Both Violet and Rachel were there, hovering near a basin full of water. The air was heavily scented and hot, but Rose found it enjoyable nevertheless.

  “Is dinner finished?” she asked.

  Both of the servants turned, and Rose had the disconcerting feeling that they were inspecting her. Rachel nodded and gestured toward the counter. “I can get you something.”

  Rose smiled agreeably, trying hard to relax. Violet was staring at her pointedly and made as if to move toward her before Rachel pushed her way in front, already holding a plate.

  “May I eat in here?” Rose asked.

  Violet and Rachel looked at one another. “I suppose, if that’s what you want, Miss Rose.”

  Rose sauntered over to a table in the back of the kitchen where the servants ate and gracefully sat down in a backless chair. She eyed the plate heaped with ham and veal pie and recoiled slightly. “It’s so heavy for this weather, don’t you think?” she inquired as she poked at the food.

  “You don’t want it?” Rachel asked.

  Rose sighed. “No, I do. Sorry, it’s just so hot.”

  Violet stepped closer and placed a hand on the table. “Can I finish my supper here?”

  “Of course,” Rose said, gesturing to the other chair.

  Violet sat down and stared at her food before raising her eyes, her head still bent, to look at Rose. Rachel watched the scene, her own focus on Violet.

  “Violet,” Rachel called. “I’ll help Miss Rose undress tonight.”

  Violet shook her head. “I do that. You know that, Rachel.”

  Rachel’s countenance dissolved into annoyance. “Stop makin’ a scene, Violet. I’ll take care of it.”

  The bickering struck Rose as particularly odd, but she knew it would be pointless to ask. Clearly, they’d had some disagreement, but they wouldn’t dare say anything to her.

  Rose shoveled food into her mouth, her thoughts meandering freely over to visions of her neighbor. Violet was eating quickly too, her eyes turning up toward Rose every now and then and then quickly back to her plate.

  The clatter of silverware was staggeringly loud in the ensuing silence. Rose gazed out the back windows, trying to keep her eyes turned away from the furtive looks being thrown at her. She felt restless and uncomfortable with night surrounding her. She despised it on those days when she slept through the last shimmering of daylight and awoke in the hot, close dark just as everyone else was about to sleep. Sleep now was hopeless. It was better to stay downstairs and read rather than lying restless in the dark upstairs.

  “Do you want a tartlet?”

  Rose snapped her head up. Rachel looked at her expectantly, holding a large serving tray.

  “I… I don’t know. Maybe no.”

  Rachel turned abruptly and went back to the counter. Violet stood, gathering her dish and shuffling toward Rose, who stared down at the remnants of meat and crust on her plate and pushed it away in disgust. “I’m done, I think.”

  Violet nodded, shooting her another furtive look before snatching her plate and hurrying away. Rose pulled her chair back and wiped crumbs off her dress. “I’ll be in the parlor,” she called to no one in particular. Receiving no response, she headed back into the hallway.

  The parlor door was open now and the room black. Rose sighed. “I need a light, please.”

  She waited while Violet lit a candleholder and preceded her down the hallway and to the parlor. Rose seated herself on the hard sofa, and Violet carefully set the candle down so as not to spill the wax. “Will you be needing anything else?”

  “I don’t think I’ll be going to sleep for some time, Violet.” Rose gestured toward one of the side chairs. “Do you want to sit with me for a while?”

  Violet went back to the door and peeked out. “I don’t know if I should.”

  “Come.” Rose patted the seat beside her. “It would be nice to have someone to talk to. Did you get a look at Mr. McCann today?”

  Violet came toward the sofa hesitantly. “I really shouldn’t, Miss Rose, and you shouldn’t either.”

  “Have you been reading the courtesy books, Violet?”

  Violet put a hand to her cheek. “I wouldn’t, Miss Rose.”

  “Well, I won’t tell if you won’t.”

  “You don’t want the others to talk,” Violet said shyly.

  “Come on, just sit with me for a little while.”

  Rose watched as Violet reluctantly sank onto the other side of the couch, her bulk causing the cushion to sag. She put her head down just as she had in the kitchen, her gaze raising just a tad as she waited for Rose to speak. Rose got up and shut the door to the hallway. “Maybe we should have a drink.”

  Violet shook her head. “I’ll get into trouble for sneaking it.”

  “We wouldn’t really be sneaking, now would we?” Rose asked. “My father lets me drink with him on various nights.”

  Violet shuddered and seemed to sink into herself even more. For a while, the only sound was the rather obnoxious ticking of the clock as the two sat still. Rose’s thoughts whirled as she stared at Violet.

  A crack like that of a floorboard sounded outside, causing Rose to fly toward the door. She pressed her ear to the keyhole, listening carefully for breathing.

  The sounds had ceased, and the house frequently cracked when it settled; however, the possibility that someone was standing at the door was far too likely. Rose flung the door open quickly and peered down the hallway. The light still streamed from the kitchen, but she could detect no other presence in the shadows that hung along the hallway. She took a single step near the deepest shadows by the closet behind the stairwell but couldn’t bring herself to turn the knob on the door.

  Snatching her dress in her left hand, Rose whirled back around and fled into the parlor. Violet watched her warily, her hands clasped tight in front of her.

  “Is someone out there?” she whispered.

  Rose shook her head and sat back down, fidgeting slightly with her necklace. “I just feel jumpy at night sometimes.”

  Violet leaned in close. “I know, Miss Rose. Everyone does.”

  “Do you?” Rose asked. “Tell me, did you see what went on this afternoon during the parlor visit?”

  A loud knock sounded on the door, causing them both to jump. The tension in the air dissipated instantly as Rose tried to compose herself. “Come in,” she called.

  The door opened slowly to reveal Rachel, a silver tray in her hand on which lay a teacup and a plate holding a slice of cake. “I brought you some apple walnut cake.”

  Rose sighed. “Thank you, Rachel, but I wasn’t really looking for anything to eat.”

  Rachel gently set the tray down on the table near the lamp and lowered her eyes. “I’m sorry, Miss Rose, I thought you might be hungry. You didn’t eat much dinner.”

  Rose reached for the plate and teacup. “Thank you, Rachel. It’s very nice of you.”

  “Come on, Violet,” Rachel said, her hand whipping through the air toward the door.

  Violet stared helplessly at Rose for a moment before getting up and following Rachel out. Rose sat still as the door closed and she was left alone in the parlor. The clock chimed loudly in the stillness, making the room seem even lonelier.

  Rose sipped a bit of the tea, overly conscious of the mirror hanging above her. It couldn’t have been. It must have been brought on by the headache
. Her skin throbbed with the familiar itch she’d been experiencing lately whenever her thoughts drifted in that particular direction. The parlor had been a safe place, but now everything was ruined. How many rooms would she be driven out of?

  The worst part was how it was always creeping into her head, her imagination conjuring the most hideous possibilities and scattering the seeds of them throughout her consciousness. Every time her eyes closed, thoughts of things easing themselves out of the shadows to approach her sleeping form flooded her head.

  After waiting in the silence for a little while, Rose got up and grabbed the light. There was nothing to do but try to go to bed.

  Wrapping her shawl close, she hurried up the stairs, carefully avoiding looking to the right as she breached the landing and fled around the corner. The room was dark and silent except for the slight whistling sound Maggie made as she breathed. She was draped across the bed, arms splayed out past the edge, blankets piled onto the foot of the bed and drooping to the floor.

  If only I could sleep like that, Rose thought. She set the light down on the bureau and began pulling down her hair. The ham and pork pie she’d picked at earlier sat heavily in her stomach, making her feel queasy. And, she realized, she hadn’t bothered to have a drink since she’d thought she would stay up for a while.

  Maggie rolled over and snored loudly. Rose whirled around and very carefully observed her, trying to ascertain whether there was anything unusual in her posture. Maggie continued to snore, however, so Rose, still wary, pressed her face close to her sister’s, hoping desperately that her eyes would not suddenly open. Maggie’s snores slowly depreciated into loud, sighing breaths. Rose let out her own breath and moved away from her sister.

  Removing her dress and folding her shawl, Rose placed them on the bureau rather than opening the new wardrobe. It didn’t matter what wardrobe or what dark place—the parlor was certainly proof of that. And now, in the dim light from the lamp, Rose did not relish looking inside that particular piece of furniture. She pulled open a drawer from the bureau and pulled on a fresh shift.

  Maggie rolled over again, and once more, Rose felt compelled to carefully inspect her before climbing into bed beside her sister. She lay for a while with the lamp still glowing, watching the shadows bounce on the wall. If only Violet had stayed with her in the parlor. Violet had been with them since Rose was fourteen years old, and she was close and comfortable with the older woman. Still, she knew Violet wasn’t meant to be her constant companion. And neither, for that matter, was Maggie. But Rose couldn’t bear to be alone anymore. There was no solace to be had. She had to make her match. It was so close, right within her grasp.

  Rose put the lamp out and lay for a time in darkness, her eyes wide, her gaze jumping between Maggie, the wardrobe, and the door in quick succession. It was terribly hot in the room, but she had yanked the blanket over herself and pushed Maggie closer to the other side of the bed. She lay on her back, the blanket tucked under her skin, sweat slowly soaking through her shift and making her uncomfortable.

  At some point, though Rose had no idea when, she fell asleep.

  Thirty-Four

  In the morning, in the dim light, Maggie was hanging over her, her fingers moving down toward Rose’s face. Rose woke immediately, a strangled cry escaping her throat.

  Maggie snatched her fingers back and frowned. “What?”

  “What are you doing?” Rose gasped.

  “Just brushing your hair off your face. You forgot to put it up last night, and it’s all tangled.”

  “I didn’t ask you to do that, did I?” Rose snapped, slapping at her face to brush the hair back. “I can take care of my hair.”

  “Are you feeling well, Rose?” Maggie asked softly.

  “I’m wonderful, thank you.” Rose sat up fast, causing her head to throb. “I need to get ready.”

  “Calm down, Rose. You don’t have to rush.”

  Rose frowned angrily at her sister. Maggie was speaking to her like she was a child—again.

  “Just let me be a moment.”

  “Fine. It’s raining, though, so don’t expect a visitor.”

  Rose suddenly became aware of a rushing sound and realized Maggie was right. It was raining hard, the water racing like a river down the windows, blurring the world outside. “At least it’s cooler out.”

  Maggie nodded. “Try to compose yourself, at least, before you come down. You don’t want to upset Daddy.”

  Rose sniffed and pointedly rubbed her head. Before thinking, she asked, “Maybe you could get me a dress?”

  Maggie shook her head sadly but went to pick something out, nonetheless. “What do you want to wear?”

  “I don’t care,” Rose said softly, rubbing her head more fiercely, trying not to let on how much it hurt.

  “There’s a dress over there.” Maggie pointed toward the heap on the dresser.

  “It’s from yesterday.” Rose pulled herself up. “I can just get one myself.”

  Rose waited, but Maggie stood watching with that infuriating expression and made no move to help.

  Rose slowly shuffled to the bureau. Rose pushed the door a moment, hoping Maggie would rush over. Her sister, however, stood perfectly still, her hands clutched at her waist.

  “Well?” Maggie called as Rose continued to procrastinate.

  “I told you my head hurts,” Rose said.

  “I’m going downstairs, then,” Maggie said, a thinly veiled challenge in her tone.

  “Go ahead.” Rose slammed her bedroom door shut after Maggie’s retreat.

  Rose hated that Maggie thought she could do this to her, but what could Rose tell her? That she was being stalked by something that didn’t—couldn’t—exist? That she had been afraid something would reach its hands out from the depths of the wardrobe and yank her inside?

  She tried slowing her breathing to regain calm and control. She selected a long, embroidered fichu, and dressed carefully, then yanked her tangled hair up on the top of her head. Gazing at herself in the mirror, examining her disheveled image, she whispered, “No,” to her reflection.

  She pulled her hair down and began brushing as she stared at her forlorn, tight-lipped countenance. Once her hair was sufficiently straight, Rose carefully began winding up again.

  A quarter of an hour later, she appeared in the parlor, her fichu discarded for a long pink shawl, and her hair carefully pinned. The rain continued to beat against the tall window at the front of the parlor, the rest of the room draped in the dreary shadows of the gloomy morning. Rose’s pulse had slowed, but a great melancholy had fallen like a pall over her. She inspected the room for a time, weighing her options as to what she would do that morning, and then quickly departed to the dining room to check for breakfast.

  Maggie was still sitting in a chair, poking at her food. She frowned at Rose as she entered and flipped the mass of curls at the top of her head. “You got dressed,” Maggie deadpanned.

  “And?” Rose snapped, pulling out a chair and carefully seating herself.

  “Are you going to church today?”

  Rose looked toward the window to stare at the raging storm. “I don’t know. I guess so.”

  Maggie followed her gaze. “I don’t want to go. We might get sick out there in the wet.” She gestured toward the serving platter in the middle of the table. “Do you want something?”

  Rose pondered the offerings on the table. “Just tea.”

  “The tea’s cold.”

  Rose scoffed. “I’ll just have Rachel heat it up for me, then.”

  Rose nodded and pushed her chair back, preparing to head back out into the hallway, when the knocker on the front door banged twice. She stopped in her tracks, and Maggie sat up straight, her eyes wide. Rose turned and stared at her sister, who shrugged despite her obvious excitement.

  Maggie finally got up and rushed over to Rose. They hung onto the doorjamb and watched as Christopher emerged and opened the door. After just a moment, he stepped back in, admitting his
visitor to the hallway. Realization struck Rose hard, and she shoved Maggie back and closed the door, a grin nearly splitting her face apart.

  Maggie tightened a fist around her sister’s shawl, her own smile bursting across her face. “I don’t believe it.”

  “Shhh!” Rose hissed, grasping her sister by her sleeve so the two appeared intertwined. She leaned against the wall, her breath loud and fast.

  “He can’t hear us, I don’t think,” Maggie whispered. “Why do you think he’d come on a Sunday?”

  “I don’t know, to take us to church?” Rose pulled her sister close and hugged her tightly. “What do we do?”

  Maggie glanced back at the table. “Pretend we’re eating. We have to calm down. We have to!”

  The sisters raced to their seats and stared at the table blankly for a moment. Rose fingered the lace tablecloth, trying to decide what to do. She looked at Maggie, who stared right back at her, her eyes wide and nervous. Maggie giggled loudly, and Rose’s attempts to shush her sent her into her own fit of laughter.

  “Shhh,” Maggie said, her giggles refusing to subside.

  “I’ll be quiet when you be quiet.” Rose clapped her hands over her mouth, trying to stifle the sounds erupting from it.

  “I like you better like this,” Maggie said, her giggles finally beginning to disappear.

  Rose smiled. “Me too.”

  “No one’s knocked yet,” Maggie whispered, nodding toward the door.

  Rose turned and eyed the door as well. “Maybe we should just go out. How do I look?”

  Maggie got up and walked over to her sister. “I might not have brought that color shawl with that print, but at least you cleaned yourself up a bit. What about me?”

  Rose looked down at her lap where the pink shawl glared back up. “I’ll go without it, then,” she muttered before stepping back to appraise her sister.

  Maggie had dressed for church in a red gown with blue and yellow silk embroidery at the hem. Her dress was cut slightly higher than she normally wore it, and Rose felt a guilty tinge of relief upon noticing it. “You look lovely.”