Camille made a noise of disgust, then joined me on the fountain. With her side pressed against mine, we could have almost been at the piano. I missed those days.
“Even if we could find these other dukes from far away, the second they came here, they’d find out. Everyone would tell them, eager to be the one credited with saving His Grace from a doomed match.”
“Then maybe we go to them.”
“Papa would never sanction such an idea.” She wrapped her hand around mine, squeezing my frozen fingers till a little bit of life sparked in them. “At least we’ll always have each other. Sisters and friends till the end. Promise me.”
“I promise.”
A figure approached us, silhouetted larger than possible against the wall of mist, a cape swirling about his frame. Heels clicked across the garden tiles, heading our way. For a moment, I thought Papa might have come looking for us, but the shadowy shape morphed. It was a woman in full skirts. A curtain of fog swirled around us, growing too thick to see, but I heard her laughter, carefree and breezy.
It was Eulalie. I would stake my life on it.
My mouth went dry as I imagined her ghost, fated to walk an endless loop to the very cliffs where she’d met her end. When the bank of fog dispersed, Camille and I were alone in the garden.
My knuckles were white as I gripped her. She’d have to take Verity’s drawings seriously now. “You saw that, didn’t you?”
“Saw what?”
“The shadow. The laughter…it sounded just like Eulalie, didn’t it?”
Camille raised a questioning eyebrow at me. “You’ve had too much champagne.” She turned with a swish of skirts, heading back inside and leaving me in the fog.
Heels clicked behind me again, though the garden was empty, and I scurried after her.
My eyes fluttered open, blinking back sleepy grit from the corners. It felt far too early to be awake. The party had ended after three, perfectly timed with the tides to send the guests back to Astrea. Tinted-glass buoys filled with luminescent algae lit the docks, giving the partygoers an enchanting sight as they hurried away from Highmoor as fast as their court heels would carry them.
After the conversation with Camille in the garden, it had been difficult to ignore her words. I watched as sister after sister approached a conversation only to be met with half smiles and glazed eyes. Papa and Morella seemed oblivious to it.
I rolled over with a groan, wanting to hide under the warmth of the covers. Then a glint of light on my vanity caught my attention.
Eulalie’s pocket watch.
I’d meant to show it to Papa days ago, but it slipped my mind after seeing Verity’s sketchbook. Even now, a shiver of unease rustled down my spine as I remembered the lurid drawings.
Removing the lock of hair from the watch, I twirled it between my fingers, studying the golden strands. The bit of wire had baffled me at first—I’d always seen hair tied with ribbons or lace—but as I looked at the inner workings of the pocket watch, it suddenly made sense.
Edgar was an apprentice clockmaker.
He worked with coils of wire and springs.
Had he clipped off a bit of hair as a love offering to Eulalie?
I frowned. Eulalie’s killer was undoubtedly a rebuffed suitor, someone upset his affections weren’t returned. If Eulalie had kept this watch and lock of hair secreted away, it stood to reason she shared his feelings. Why else would she have kept them?
But such a strong, fidgeting anxiety had radiated off him in the marketplace. Edgar couldn’t get away from us fast enough.
Edgar knew something. He must.
I tinkered with the pocket watch, mulling over what to do next. I obviously needed to speak to him, but what would I say? This was too big to handle on my own. I snapped the watch shut with a resolute click and went downstairs to find my father.
* * *
I burst into the dining room, but it was clear I’d come in at the wrong moment.
Camille, her fingers deathly white around the fork, was smashing her kippers into little bits until they resembled a massacre more than a breakfast. Rosalie was sullenly nursing a cup of tea, and Ligeia, riddled with anxiety, kept gnawing at her silver-polished nails. Lenore was still in bed, presumably sleeping off a well-earned champagne headache.
Papa sat at the head of the table, his jaw clenched and a tense weariness surrounding his eyes. “It was everyone’s first social gathering. Perhaps having so many of you out at once made people uneasy.”
Camille frowned, her lips thin and pale. “I agree with you, Papa. The cursed Thaumas sisters did make people uneasy.” Her fork screeched across the china plate before she shoved it aside.
She must have filled him in on everything she’d heard last night.
He sighed, waving away her accusation with a flip of his hand. “No one believes in curses but those ridiculous peasants in the village.”
She struck the table in a fit of rage. “Robin Briord is hardly a fishmonger, and I heard it directly from his mouth! We’ll never find a match, none of us! We’ve all been tainted by our sisters’ deaths.”
Rosalie had tears in her eyes. “He really said that?”
Camille nodded. “I suppose we ought to consider our good fortune. We’ll always have Highmoor. Once Papa di— When I am the Duchess, you’ll always have a home here.” She snorted, her eyes dark and moody. “The House of Cursed Spinsters.”
There was a small noise beside me. Morella had crept in, still in her dressing gown. I didn’t know how much she’d overheard, but it was enough for the blood to run from her stricken face. I offered a small smile, but she pulled away, clutching her belly.
“Is my son to be cursed as well?” she asked with a glint of despair, her reedy words drifting above the breakfast table.
Papa jumped from his chair. “My love, you’re supposed to be sleeping in. After such an exciting night, you need your rest.”
“Papa, I have something I need to speak with you about,” I said, finding my voice as he approached us.
“Not now, Annaleigh.”
“But it’s important. It’s about—”
“I said not now! I’ve had all I can stand of everyone’s important news this morning.” He threw a warning glance at Camille before escorting Morella from the room.
My breath fell out in a rush as they left. I jammed the watch into my pocket. Purple floral arrangements still dotted the table, and the smell of wilting lilies curdled my stomach. I poured a cup of coffee, leaving it black, and sat down with a sigh.
“So dramatic,” Camille muttered.
I ran my finger over the cup’s handle. “No one likes the situation we’re in, but we don’t have to torment her with it.”
Camille turned on me. “Since when did you become her champion? You hated her too.”
Rosalie and Ligeia eyed the door, judging whether they might leave the room unscathed.
“I never hated her. She’s carrying our new brother or sister and having an increasingly difficult time with it. Shouldn’t we allow her a little kindness?”
“How much kindness would she show us if her little sun god was inheriting Highmoor? Do you honestly think she’d allow eight spinsters room and board? We’d all be out faster than Zephyr’s arrows.”
Verity came in, hopping down the last step. “Who’s faster than Zephyr? No one can outrace the wind god!”
I shot Camille a warning look. The Graces didn’t need to know of any discord between us and Morella.
“You’re sure to be, wearing those shoes,” I exclaimed, spotting her fairy slippers peeking out from her robe. She’d worn them ever since they’d arrived. I wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d slept in them.
Verity smiled, twirling to best show them off, then spun to the buffet, standing on tiptoes to peer up at the pastries. Camille helped
her make a plate. She put a generous serving of kippers on first before adding the berry tart Verity pointed to.
“I feel like going back to bed,” Rosalie admitted, sprawling her arms out on the table and lowering her head. “Spending all night not dancing was exhausting.”
“No fair! I still have lessons!” Verity exclaimed. She climbed into her seat and waited for Camille to bring the plate over.
“Fish first.”
Verity glowered up at her. “Yours are still on your plate.”
“I’m the oldest,” Camille shot back.
Verity stuck her tongue out but eventually dug in. “What are you doing this morning, Annaleigh?”
The watch burned in my pocket, but I couldn’t bring it up now. Not with a fight festering just below the surface. “I ought to walk the beach for more kelp. Morella is nearly out of lotion.”
“The beach?”
We all turned to see Fisher standing in an archway. “Fancy company? I could row you out to the little islet with all the tide pools. You should be able to find whatever you need.”
I sensed Camille’s eyes on me but nodded, smiling up at Fisher. “After breakfast?”
He grinned.
Striding in, Papa said, “We need to talk.” Scanning the room, he caught sight of Verity. “Darling, why don’t you take your breakfast upstairs today? It can be a special treat.”
Her eyes lit up. “Are they in trouble? Camille didn’t eat her kippers.”
“She didn’t? Perhaps I’ll speak to her about that.”
Pleased, Verity scooted out of the room, tart in hand. The fish were left behind.
“Fisher, would you excuse us? I need to speak with my daughters. Privately.”
Fisher vanished down the hall.
Papa waited a beat before starting in on us. “Morella is very upset,” he said. “Inconsolable.”
Camille bristled, clearly not backing down. “Imagine how we feel. We’re the ones in danger of dying off, long before that baby is born.”
He sighed. “No one is dying off.”
“Then she has nothing to worry about, does she?” She slumped back into the chair. “I suppose you want me to apologize for having a conversation that wasn’t about her that she chose to eavesdrop on?”
Papa raked his fingers through his hair. “Just don’t bring it up again. Not around her, not among yourselves. I’m placing a moratorium on the curse. Which doesn’t exist,” he added. “Now, I have to travel to the capital this afternoon. I’ll be gone at least a week, maybe more. There’s an ugly bit of business King Alderon has requested his Privy Council weigh in on.” He sighed. “Morella is more tired than she lets on and could use a little looking after while I’m gone. Pampering, even. Understand me?”
Rosalie, Ligeia, and I nodded. After a pointedly long moment, Camille did as well.
“Good,” he said, and strode out of the room without a backward glance.
I longed to run after Papa and show him the watch, but he was in too foul a mood to listen. He’d snap at me, and I’d lose any chance at being taken seriously. I stared down into the depths of my coffee, wondering what to do next.
Fisher poked his head in from the hall. “Annaleigh? All ready?”
I pushed the cup aside. “Coming!”
The sky was a vast blue void as we set out for the little islet on the far side of Salten. The sun hadn’t been seen in over a week and now drenched down in radiant splendor, as if apologizing for its long absence.
While Fisher manned the small craft, I peered across the expanse of open water, counting sea turtles. The giant beasts were favorites of mine. In the springtime, females hoisted themselves onto our beaches, laying their eggs. I loved to see them hatch. With powerful pectoral flippers and giant, wise eyes, the little turtles were perfect miniatures of their parents. They’d burst free and work their way down the beach, already drawn to the sea, just like the People of the Salt.
“Look!” I pointed to a great leathery hump breaking the surface yards away. “That’s twelve!”
Fisher used the moment to pause, lowering the oars. “Biggest one yet too. Look at the size of its shell!”
We watched it take a gulp of air, then dive below the waterline. The wind tousled Fisher’s hair, highlighting the sun-bleached streaks, and I was struck again by how much he’d changed since leaving Highmoor. His eyes fell on mine as he smiled lopsidedly.
“It’s so beautiful, isn’t it?” He raised his chin, gesturing to the island behind me.
I glanced back at Highmoor. Its four stories rose steeply from the top of the rocky cliffs. The stone facade was a soft gray, covered in ivy. A pretty pattern of blue and green shingles dotted the gabled roof, sparkling like the prize jewel in a mermaid’s crown.
My eyes drifted to the cliff walk. “It looks like nothing bad could ever happen there, doesn’t it?”
His eyebrows furrowed as he nodded. “I think I walked into something I shouldn’t have earlier.”
“That makes two of us.”
His silence felt like a gentle prod for more information.
“I had something I wanted to discuss with Papa, but he and Camille were locked in a battle over that nonsense about the curse, and I never got to tell him. And now he’s left for the capital, and who knows when he’ll return.”
“Is it really so urgent?”
“It felt like it this morning.”
“And now?”
I shrugged. “I suppose it will have to wait, whether it is or not.”
Fisher slid his fingers over the oars but made no motion to continue rowing. “You can talk to me about it, whatever it is. Maybe I could help?”
I ran my hand over the pocket watch but did not withdraw it. “I…I think Eulalie might have been murdered.”
His eyes narrowed, the amber darkening. “Mother said she fell from the cliffs.”
Tucking flyaway strands of hair behind my ear, I nodded. “She did.”
“You don’t think it was an accident,” he guessed.
I dared to look up, meeting his stare. “It wasn’t.”
A heavy wave slapped against the side of the boat, startling us both.
“Why haven’t you said anything to Ortun? You always used to go running to him with any problem.”
“I wanted to but…it’s different now. He’s different. He’s pulled in so many directions,” I said, speaking to myself more than Fisher. “He’s not a widower with a manor full of daughters anymore. He’s a husband again. I just wish…”
“Go on,” he nudged when it became clear I wasn’t going to finish.
My mouth raised into a smile the rest of me did not feel. “I just wish I could let him handle it. It feels too big for me alone.”
He smiled. “It’s too bad we can’t ask Eulalie what happened to her, you know? She was never one for a short story, was she?”
“Never,” I agreed.
Our eyes met, and a spark of shared intimacy warmed me. It was nice talking about Eulalie again with someone who truly knew her. With all the preparations for the ball, it felt as though she’d been somehow forgotten.
“Do you remember the time she…” I trailed off, my throat unexpectedly thick with tears.
“Oh, Annaleigh,” Fisher said, wrapping his arms around me without hesitation.
I pressed my face into his chest, letting him hold me and my heartache. He ran his fingers across the back of my neck in soothing circles, and something decidedly not grief unspooled within me. Against my ear, his heart picked up in tempo, matching mine. I lingered there, counting the beats, wondering what would happen if I allowed him to make the next move. But Hanna’s sharp tsk of disapproval popped into my head, and I pulled away.
He studied me for a long, silent moment before picking up the oars. He worked them against the waves,
turning us toward the islet once more.
I bit into the corner of my lip, longing to diffuse the air between us. It was suddenly too heavy, too weighted with unclaimed meaning.
“Fisher? Do you believe in ghosts?”
The words were out before I could even think them over, and though I feared he’d believe me mad, his eyes crinkled, amused.
“Ghosts like…” He waggled his fingers at me, trying to look creepy.
“No, real ghosts. Spirits.”
“Ah, those.”
The waves around us darkened as we passed the drop-off. Gulls roosted in the islet’s nooks and crannies. They drifted above us, scanning for food for their young.
“I did when I was a little boy. I thought it great fun to make up stories and scare the younger children in the kitchens. Once I told a tale so horrid to Cook’s daughter, she had nightmares for a week and finally tattled on me. Mother was less than pleased.”
“And now?”
“I don’t know. I think you get to a certain point in life when ghosts are no longer fun. When the people you love die…like my father, your mother and sisters…the thought that they could be trapped here…it’s unbearable, isn’t it? I can’t imagine a worse fate. Unseen, unheard. Surrounded by people who remember you a little less each day. I would go out of my mind, wouldn’t you?” He stopped rowing. “I’ve been away for a while, but I still recognize that look on your face. Something’s bothering you. Not just the thing with Eulalie. Something else.” He reached out, squeezing my knee. “You know you can tell me anything.”
“Verity has been seeing ghosts.” It fell out in a rush, like a river racing off the edge of a cliff. “Ava and Elizabeth, Octavia and even Eulalie now.”
Fisher sucked in a deep breath. “Truly?”
I waved my hand, wanting to push the conversation aside. “It sounds absurd, I know.”
“No, no, it doesn’t. I just…What do they look like?”
I told him about the sketchbook, about the plague pustules and snapped necks, the splayed limbs and bloody wrists.
House of Salt and Sorrows Page 9
