“She'll have enough money to buy it, that's for sure.”
The girl that spoke was standing on Katie's left. Her blonde hair was cropped to her shoulders and jealousy tainted her beautiful face.
“Holly,” Katie exclaimed, slapping the girl's arm. “Don't be mean.”
“I'm not!” Holly replied. “It's the truth.”
“She has been pouting since we left Toronto,” commented the brunette at Sophie's side.
“Oh, please,” Katie said, “I'm sure you will all find the right man, too. Let's just forget all of that and focus on what really matters.”
“Yeah,” Holly said, “you.”
“Right,” Katie smiled. “Nat, will you find Brian? I'm sure he will be thrilled to see you all.”
The brunette nodded and walked away, her long limbs flowing gracefully. The moment she was out of sight, the others began a hushed barrage of insults and accusations.
“Did you see what she wore?”
“I swear, she'll have slept with half the men working here before we leave.”
“Half? You mean all.”
“As long as she leaves mine alone, I don't care,” Katie said.
Three pairs of eyes turned to Sophie with expectation. She could feel the weight of unspoken pressure and opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came to her. She shut it again after an awkward moment of silence. Holly raised her eyebrows and the other blonde, Chantal, snorted.
“Let's go get a drink,” Holly said.
With that, they were gone. Sophie sighed in relief. With her mother and aunt busy in the ballroom and Katie entertained by her girlfriends, she was happy to have only herself to please. She had almost decided to try out the pool in solitude when Rausch hurried out of a small adjoining chamber.
He called her name, motioning for her to join him. The look on his face startled her. His eyes were wide, fearful, and she felt her muscles tense involuntarily.
“Are you alright?” she asked.
“Yes, yes,” he said, his voice low and rushed. The way he glanced around, as though expecting someone to seize him, unnerved her. “I must speak with you.”
“Me? Okay. Is everything-”
A short girl, one of the castle’s maids, entered the room then, giving Sophie a strange look. She paused before a tall cabinet, pulling out several pieces of linen before glancing around, eyeing Sophie again, and leaving.
“We cannot stay here,” Rausch said when she had gone. “Follow me.”
He moved swiftly toward a hall at the far end of the room. Sophie followed tentatively, watching his graceful movements as he led her across the smooth stone floors and into the front entrance. Beside the wide stairs, he pulled open a door that Sophie had not noticed before. It was painted a deep grey to match the surrounding stonework. He held it for her with an outstretched hand, allowing her to pass through ahead of him.
The corridor beyond was narrow and low. The walls on either side were rough, unfinished, unlike those of the main castle. Naked light-bulbs swung from the ceiling, casting quivering shadows throughout the passage. Sophie shivered.
“Where are we going?” she asked. Her voice bounced from the walls, echoing harshly in the silence.
“Not much farther,” he answered, not exactly answering her question. His voice invited no echo.
They walked in silence, the hall winding in jagged zigzags and seeming to narrow the further they went. Sophie began to feel slightly claustrophobic when she spotted a door at the end of the hall. Relief flooded her and she breathed deeply, the stagnant air filling her lungs.
They scuffled along the short length of corridor until Rausch had gotten close enough to touch the door in front of them but, to Sophie's chagrin, he turned instead into a hall so narrow she had to angle her body to fit through. Had she not been following the old man, she would have bypassed the entrance entirely.
Emerging on the other side, they stepped into a dimly lit room. Oval in shape, it resembled the overflowing room she had found in the tower days prior. The difference being that this shabby furniture was not piled together at random, but organized to create a cozy sitting room. Rausch moved toward the one long couch, taking a seat and motioning for Sophie to do the same. She chose one of the two armchairs nearest the fireplace and scanned the space, trying to look uninterested. Most of the walls were shrouded in bookshelves. Each one was packed to the edges with ancient looking books and knickknacks. A patched quilt was pulled tight over the bed at the far end of the room, its edges tucked neatly over the corners. Not a speck of dust blanketed the exposed woodwork. She was surprised by the freshness in the air despite the obvious wear of the room’s furnishings. The tidiness was in stark contrast to the passageway they had followed in order to reach it.
Rausch sat opposite her, folding and unfolding his hands as though he were impatient or irritated.
“I apologize for being short,” he said quietly. “It is only- that is to say- I am quite surprised.”
“Surprised?” Sophie repeated.
“Perhaps that is not the word I am looking for. What I mean to say is- how do I put it- I have not experienced the likes of this in many years.”
“I'm sorry,” Sophie said, blinking in confusion. “I don't understand.”
“No,” Rausch whispered. His hands were still folding and unfolding incessantly and his face was bewildered. “How could you? I wonder-” he paused, “have you truly seen him?”
The room went silent as death. Nothing but the sound of her own heartbeat pounded in Sophie's ears. The bewilderment on Rausch's face was replaced by a fierce excitement.
“Seen who?” she asked, her voice colored with apprehension.
“Hmm,” Rausch murmured, rubbing his cheek with his crooked fingers. He did not seem inclined to say more, and Sophie did not press. After a moment, he spoke again.
“There are others,” he said, “like me. One, in particular. It has been impossible for me to see him in many years, but I believe you have. Yes, I dare to believe it.”
“Others like you? I don't know what you mean,” Sophie said, assuming he was discussing another staff member. She leaned forward, unable to help herself, intrigued by his sudden enthusiasm. He mimicked her movement, the motion of his hands finally ceasing.
“I watched you return last night,” Rausch said. “The forest was dark, but I have grown accustomed to the shadows. You were not alone.”
Sophie shook her head slowly, trying hard to understand why that was so important to him.
“I’m sorry,” she began, “but – what are you asking?”
“You saw him?”
“Who?” Sophie exclaimed, throwing her hands up in exasperation.
“A man? A young man. You saw him?”
Her eyes widened at the memory of a cold, unflinching stare.
“Yes. I was lost. He helped me get back here. Is there something wrong, Rausch? You aren't making much sense.”
He did not answer, but rose from his chair with the agility of a teenager and bounded to a cabinet nestled between two overflowing bookshelves. She waited as he rifled through the articles within, hearing the rasp of his breath as he searched for something with great distress, or perhaps anticipation.
After a moment, he exhaled loudly and pulled a thick folder from the depths of the cabinet. Without bothering to close the doors, he turned to Sophie, fire burning in his eyes. Taking a seat, he flipped open the folder and traced the page within with the tip of his forefinger. She waited for a moment before her impatience got the best of her.
“What is that?” she asked, leaning toward him, her eyes on his hands.
“This,” he began, “is a portrait, drawn in charcoal. It is from the year 1861 and perhaps one of my most valued possessions.” He turned the page to face her. “Is this the man you saw?”
Familiar piercing eyes looked out at her from the page and she lifted her hand to her mouth. His lips curved in a tiny smile, the same black hair fell over thick eyebrows. Laughter pl
ayed in the depths of his features, the coldness she had witnessed the night before was nowhere to be found.
“That's not possible,” she whispered.
Her mind raced through the possibilities. A relative of the man she had seen, or perhaps Rausch was lying to her. The portrait could not have been drawn so many years ago.
1861, she thought, doing the math silently. No, it's not possible. But that face, those eyes, she knew she could never forget them.
A smile broke out across the old man's face as he watched her absorb the face on the page.
“No,” he answered. “It shouldn't be possible.”
“What,” she stammered, “what are you saying? That the man I saw last night- last night- had his portrait drawn in 1861? That's over a hundred and fifty years ago.”
“Yes. A very long time, indeed.”
Silence resumed and, though it was incredibly uncomfortable, Sophie could not bring herself to speak. She sat with her eyes turned toward what looked to be a tall candle propped beside one of the two windows. Her mind continued to race through potential explanations, or likely excuses, for the resemblance of the man she had happened upon in the forest to the man sketched on the paper held in front of her. A firm refusal to accept the possibility of the supernatural planted itself in her subconscious, digging in its heels.
“I understand the difficulty,” Rausch said, snapping the folder shut. “It is not a natural thing, what we are living here. But never, in these many years, has a human being locked eyes with mine, spoken to me directly, acknowledged my very presence. I cannot, therefore, allow you to leave this castle without exploring the possibilities further.”
Sophie could not respond. His words had reached her ears but her mind blocked their meaning. Glancing around, agitation building inside of her, she tried to process the reality of her recent experiences. Most of her time so far had been uneventful, though a few small details stood out in contrast to the rest. If she looked at them separately, they did not seem to be anything shocking, but put together with Rausch’s claims, they seemed to grow into something more.
She struggled to accept his revelations and fought against ideas that were so foreign to her they seemed almost psychotic. Somewhere deep inside of her, however, she felt a burning understanding.
Rausch watched her with sympathetic eyes, barely able to conceal the excitement behind them.
“1861,” she said, her voice thick. “You're telling me that the man I saw last night has been alive for over,” she paused, calculating, “a hundred and fifty-one years? And you knew him? Which means –”
A bubble of manic laughter erupted unexpectedly and she covered her mouth with her hands, her eyes rounded into shocked circles.
“I knew him well, yes,” Rausch answered, ignoring her outburst. “As for his being alive, that is to be debated. We are all a shadow of something we once were, trapped in the homes we once cherished. What we desire most now is to escape them. It is a fate I could have never imagined, would never wish on anyone. Not even-” he paused. “Not even the one that brought it upon me. I know you sense her presence; I saw it on your face.”
Sophie closed her eyes, a chill running down her arms.
“There are things in this castle that even I do not wish to disturb,” he continued. “I will tell you everything, if you desire to hear it. It is not a pleasant story.”
“I-” Sophie began, but could not finish. She was still unsure of whether she wanted to know more, to accept something that was clearly impossible. Despite her reservations, she nodded.
Rausch smiled faintly and continued.
“You will learn of it, sooner or later. I am sure of that. In all these years there has not been a soul in this castle that could see or speak to me. Nor has he been seen – by my eyes or any other.”
“Who is he?” she asked.
“A very good friend,” he replied. A small smile played on his lips and for a moment he seemed lost in thought. When he spoke again, his voice was soft and low and full of sadness. “He worked in the grounds in the days that I served this castle. When everything-” he paused with a sad sigh, “when it all changed, he disappeared. I have no recollection of the events. All I recall is that he was gone. I assumed the worst, until last night.”
“Because you saw him?”
“I was not sure,” Rausch patted the folder in his lap. “But now I know. My dear Lukas.”
Sophie hesitated before opening her mouth to speak, but Rausch stood and raised his hand. A gloss covered his wide eyes and he seemed to shrink, appearing older and more withered than he had a moment before.
“You must go,” he said, his voice sharp. He hastened to the door, ushering her from the room. Sophie's heart skipped a beat at the urgency in his voice, and she did not protest. Her quick footsteps melded together in one humming echo as she walked, the strong scent of dust and mold once again penetrating her senses.
“Quickly,” she could hear Rausch whispering from behind her. “Quickly.”
His anxiety was palpable, urging her forward, though she stumbled frequently in fear. When they reached the door, he reached over her shoulder and pushed it open. Light flooded into the passageway, burning her eyes. She sped out of the hallway and stood, panting slightly, at the far end of the main entryway.
“What was that?” she breathed, turning to him, but he was gone. The painted door had been pulled shut and the entryway was silent until a trill of laughter sent the illusion of mystery crashing to the ground as Katie and her bridesmaids sauntered down the stairway and through the front doors. The tension seemed to strengthen at the sight of their relaxed happiness. Despite her fear and reservations, she caught herself pondering the face of the man in the woods – Lukas's face – and daring to consider the possibility of Rausch's words being true.
The previously empty second-floor ballroom bustled with activity that afternoon. Tables had been strewn everywhere, chairs scattered randomly, and people were frantically scuttling about, trying to satisfy the young bride standing in the center barking orders.
“I want that set up in the corner,” she said, pointing at a young man in a uniform who was dragging a table piled with cards and papers toward the exit. He repositioned himself and began to heave it in the opposite direction.
“Wait,” she shouted again, this time waving her hands toward another man, “I didn't say to move those. Mom! Will you show these people what I want? I can't do this by myself.”
Carol rushed over to her daughter and tapped her shoulders soothingly before hustling to the group in question, shouting instructions that were less than polite.
Sophie hung back by the doors and watched the activity with her arms folded across her chest. Tim had chosen a seat as far from the action as possible, being there only to satisfy his wife's demands. Their eyes met and he smiled, waving a bottle of beer in her direction. She smiled back, but shook her head at his invitation, turning away and busying herself with the pile of place cards that had been thrust at her when she arrived.
Put them in alphabetical order, her mother had said.
It didn't make much sense to her, because the guests were not to be seated alphabetically, but she had not dared to question it.
As she worked, Brian sauntered to her table, a smile on his face. When she looked up to greet him she noticed that, though his hair showed grey and his eyes were lined from laughter, he was extremely handsome. The sparkling green of his eyes emitted kindness and his hands were soft as he touched her arm in greeting. Suddenly, she could almost understand Holly’s jealousy the previous day. Banishing the thought, she smiled up at him. It was simple to be relaxed in his presence because his demeanour did not demand anything from her.
“How're you holding up?” he asked, straightening one of her many piles on the table.
“Fine,” she answered, “good. Thanks.”
“No, thank you,” he said. “This can't be easy for anyone. She's quite excited.”
He motioned to Katie s
tanding in the center of the room with her hands on her hips. Her eyes were narrowed in frustration as she chastised a flustered looking woman carrying a massive flower arrangement.
“It's to be expected, I guess,” Sophie responded, keeping her eyes on her work. “It's a big deal. For her, anyway.”
“Yes,” he murmured, turning away, “for me, as well.”
His voice was saturated with admiration and love and Sophie glanced after him, watching him embrace Katie for a second before she pushed him away and gestured toward the room with anger in her eyes.
“It's not right,” she could hear her sister say. “How hard is it to do what I ask?”
Brian leaned his head in and whispered something in her ear, causing her anger to melt away, her frown replaced with a wicked smile. She threw her arms around his neck.
“I just want everything to be perfect,” she said, kissing him on the cheek.
Sophie turned back to the place-cards, an unexplained blush creeping over her face and neck. As she shuffled Troniak, Ellie into the pile of T's, a loud voice behind her made her jump.
“You're not finished with those yet?”
Carol pushed past her, seizing the neat piles and shoving them into a shoebox under her arm. Sophie opened her mouth to protest, but her mother snatched the cards from her hands and walked away, the back of her blonde hair bouncing with each step. As it had before, the scent of expensive perfume lingered in the air behind her. Sophie crossed her arms, leaning against the frame of the doorway once more. A moment of blissful silence passed before Katie's bridesmaids came prancing through the door, missing her by inches, garment bags draped over their arms.
“Katie,” Natalie chimed as she neared the bride. “Come with us, we're going to do a little dress rehearsal of our own.”
Her brown hair billowed over her shoulders in loose ringlets, making her tanned skin glow underneath. Sophie watched it ripple over her toned arms and back. Holly and Chantal had their hair done in much the same fashion, but somehow it failed to look quite as elegant.
Katie clapped her hands with a few tiny jumps and followed two of the three girls out of the hall. Natalie lingered behind, her eyes on Brian as he watched his fiancée exit with a satisfied smile on his face. When he turned and saw her watching him, his eyebrows went up in shock. Sophie's face must have mimicked his as she watched the brown haired beauty lick her lips and wink before turning and following the others out of the ballroom. She watched her go before catching Brian’s eye. Confusion was plain on his face and he shrugged with a shake of his head.
Ashes of Iris Page 7
