by Tessa Candle
But these civilized books, though showing a breadth of interests and no small amount of learning, seemed relatively pedestrian compared to the ragged, crusty tome that clung like dry lichen to left corner of the bottom shelf.
There was no title on the spine, only the remains of some symbols, which were obscured by tatters in the binding. Lord Canterbourne's fingers itched with the desire to examine it more closely, and simultaneously with a sense of revulsion at the very idea of touching something that looked so singularly in decay that it might be contagious.
Despite this latter aversion, he reached out to the book. Its surface seemed to tremble and pulse in anticipation of his touch. He pulled his hand back.
“Lord Canterbourne,” came a perfectly English voice behind him, “I am sorry to have kept you waiting.”
Canterbourne stood up from his crouch and turned to see a peculiar looking man standing in the middle of the room. It was not just the yellow robe and scarlet waist-sash, or the jewelled staff which he held in his hand, that gave Orefados an outlandish cast.
The man's hair was jet black and shot through with silver strands that looked like shooting stars in an inky night sky. It put Canterbourne to mind of the design of a magician's cap, decorated with constellations and phases of the moon. And yet this man's hair seemed a locus of more serious cosmic phenomenon than the costume of any bogus sideshow wizard.
The man's face was as dark as a chestnut, which was not, in itself, so odd in such a climate as this. But it was at the same time both distorted and strangely smooth for being so obviously weathered. And his eyes had a trick of imprecise focus, which Canterbourne found unnerving.
Taken all together, he was barely recognizable as the man Canterbourne had seen in his father's company all those years ago in London. It had been a long time, to be sure, but certainly not long enough to see such an alteration.
When Canterbourne had seen him at the assembly, Orefados was just another well-dressed, slightly bored-looking rich man about society. Now, not only had his choice of clothing become outlandish, but he had acquired a considerable bulk. Yet Canterbourne could not say precisely where this extra heft resided.
Some moments it seemed to be a paunch that protruded above the sash at his waist. At other times it appeared to form into a hunch at his shoulder. Indeed, time alone was insufficient to the task of such a transformation. Had Orefados been ill? Canterbourne took an instant disliking to the man, without precisely knowing why.
“Do I have the pleasure of meeting Lord Orefados, at last?” Canterbourne tried to keep himself from sounding peevish, by adding, “And it is a great pleasure,” although it was nothing of the sort.
Orefados looked right through Canterbourne with his vague focus. “The pleasure is all mine, Lord Canterbourne. But let me delay you no more than is necessary.” The man's fingers rubbed together as though he were twining a strand of yarn. “Have you brought me something?”
“Indeed I have.” Canterbourne found he was well pleased to be rid of it. He retrieved the silk bag from the table. “You seem to be expecting me. I suppose you knew more of my father's plans to give you this than I did. Nonetheless, here it is.” He handed over the bag.
Orefados reached out to take the gift at a pace that Canterbourne found maddeningly slow. He thought the man must be more than a little out of his wits.
When his host finally took the bag from his hand, Canterbourne experienced a painful spark transferring with it. It felt just like when he was a child and he and his friends would rub their feet on wool mats and reach out to shock one another.
The strange man's face did not register any pain, however. He merely set about examining the seal, as though he were aware of the strange provision that it should not be broken.
“I see the seal is intact.” The man's voice seemed to boom in accusation, then returned to a normal register as he added, “Would you like to see what is inside?”
“No, though it is kind of you to offer. I should prefer not to see what has been so consciously hidden and forbidden by my father.”
Orefados smiled to reveal large teeth, pointed and extremely stained, as though from drinking great volumes of wine. His voice was mocking. “Well, aren't you the dutiful little son. I wonder what your father ever did for you to deserve such dedication.”
Lord Canterbourne tried not to bristle at such a remark and assumed his best noble sang froid. “It is enough that he was my father, and that it was among his final wishes. No further merit is required, for a gentleman would never consider dishonouring any reasonable final wish of his predecessor.”
“Hmm. Just so, just so. But now that you have discharged that testamentary duty...” The man's inviting smile was unnerving as he paused to caress the silk bag with long, leather-coloured fingers. “...Will you not also indulge my wish of showing it to you. It is, after all, mine to reveal now.”
Canterbourne found the man's insidious persistence irksome. “I am afraid not.” He inclined his head. “I am pleased to have given it to your hand. I hope it is to your liking, but I am glad to be rid of it and shall depart now. Good day, Lord Orefados.”
The man's eyes narrowed. “You are leaving so soon? Will you not stay to take refreshments and see the grounds?”
Canterbourne marvelled at the duplicity of the man who, moments prior, had been desirous not to delay his guest more than was necessary. “I thank you for the offer, but I have other plans.”
“Such as?” The man's right brow rose.
Canterbourne did not attempt conceal his ire. “I am not accustomed to giving an account to anyone of my movements or intentions.”
“Yes, yes. Of course not. Forgive me, Lord Canterbourne. I have lived too long among my inferiors.” He exposed his teeth once more in what Canterbourne optimistically believed was meant as a smile. “I hope you will be pleased to come again.”
The man snapped his fingers. Canterbourne knew not how anyone outside could hear such a summons, but the eccentrically clad servant returned at once to the room and saw him out.
He was thankful for the guidance as he once again made his way through the unnerving maze of carved walls. This time—he could not explain why, for he hoped never to be a guest at the place again—he carefully noted and committed to memory every twist and turn on the way back.
Canterbourne resisted the urge to dust himself off and shake his feet, before climbing into his carriage and departing.
A weight lifted from him as he settled into the cushions. His filial duty was discharged, and now he could focus all his energy on the calling of his heart. He smiled dreamily as the carriage rolled down the drive.
Chapter 14
Elizabeth picked Silverloo up and held him tightly to her as the footsteps neared. She had not locked the front door. Could that horrid man have followed her? She was utterly alone, her aunt and uncle far away in the vines.
Silverloo licked her neck and smiled up at her. He was very relaxed. Would he not growl if the man had come?
The door to the kitchen opened and Elizabeth gasped involuntarily. She stood up, ready to flee.
A woman in a blue cotton dress and white apron walked in and smiled in surprise.
“Ah! Miss Whitely, no? I am Mrs. Grissoni, the servant.” Her curtsy was sweetly rounded and bouncy.
Elizabeth let out a relieved breath and returned the smile. “Yes, I am Miss Whitely. I am very pleased to meet you, Mrs. Grissoni. I am sorry for being so startled—only I had completely forgotten that you were coming today.”
“And this is the little dog. So handsome.”
Elizabeth set Silverloo on the floor, and he scampered over to greet the new person and receive the pets and belly rubs that he knew were his due. She smiled at the scene of the furry little sultan holding court on his back and completely charming this latest member of his harem.
“The mistress warned me there was a dog,” said Mrs. Grissoni. “The way she spoke, I think to myself 'Ah, maybe I should hide all the food away s
afe.' But he is a perfect little milord.”
Perhaps it was the effect of the social deprivation she suffered in her new home, or perhaps it was the woman's affection for Silverloo, but Elizabeth took an instant liking to Mrs. Grissoni.
She did not have the reserved and overly deferential manners of English servants, but what she had was better. It was genuine warmth, which held the possibility of the companionship that Elizabeth was missing.
An idea suddenly struck Elizabeth. “Mrs. Grissoni, did you put a frying pan in the larder closet?”
“Si. I just rendered some nice pork fat to make dinner. But then I think, ‘Ah, maybe is too tempting for the dog.’ I see you make some space, so I hide the pan. I hope is no problem, Miss.”
Elizabeth laughed with a great grin of relief that the world had not gone mad around her. It was not a magic closet after all. The pan had been placed inside by human hands for a perfectly rational purpose. “Not a problem at all. Only I had forgotten you were coming today and I was surprised to see the pan suddenly appear.”
“Ah.” The woman nodded. She went into the larder to retrieve the frying pan, and noticed the bowl full of trout. “And here are some nice fish, Miss. Shall I fry them up for dinner?”
Elizabeth hesitated. How could she make an excuse not to eat them? Her nerves were much calmer now, but she quailed at the thought of eating the fish that so reminded her of her earlier terror.
“I suppose they should be cooked up while they are fresh. Do my aunt and uncle like trout?”
“The master and mistress no have big appetites, but they eat what is before them. Never complain. They only think about wine, you see, Miss. Not about food. But I hope you like my cooking. I like to feed.”
Elizabeth could not raise an objection to such a kindly impulse. “Do you think—will it be acceptable for you to dine with me? Aunt and uncle will come home so late, and I would love the company. You see I have set up this little kitchen parlour.” She gestured at the table and chair. “I am sure we can find another chair.”
“It will be very nice, Miss. Thank you, is very kind. I finish my work and cook up the trout. Why you no rest now, until dinner?” She smiled and ushered Elizabeth out of the kitchen.
The woman no doubt had much work to do. Perhaps it was unkind to ask her to dine with Elizabeth, for it would delay her work, and might compel her to stay later. But Elizabeth would think about that another time. For the moment she needed the companionship and could not help being a little selfish.
She did not lie down to rest. She sat down at her chair and wrote a letter to Lenore, which she hoped she would some day be able to send to her, when she finally found out her direction.
How many new wards with strange accents could there be in this little town? Surely someone would have heard something.
Chapter 15
Lord Canterbourne had only just turned the first corner on the winding road away from Abbazia Pallida, when the carriage suddenly slowed. He strained his neck to see out the window, then opened the door and leaned out for a better look.
A young lady was running erratically in the road ahead of them. He ordered Tonner to halt the carriage, and got out to run after her.
“Miss, please wait!”
At the sound of his voice, she turned her wild, round-eyed gaze upon him and struggled to run faster, though her health was clearly not in any state to support such exertion. He finally caught up to her and saw that a rope still trailed from her ankle. Had someone bound her legs?
He grabbed her arm at the elbow. She twisted away and made to run again, but he stepped on the rope attached to her ankle.
“Ach, weiche von mir, Satan! Lass mich in Ruhe.” She cried out, and her face twisted with tears.
He felt an instant pity for her. What must she have endured to put her in such a state?
“My name is Lord Canterbourne.” He kept his voice calm, as if soothing a child. “Will you not let me assist you? Do you understand English?”
She looked at him with mistrust, but held still. “A little.”
He smiled reassuringly. “I will step off this rope.” He gestured to her ankle restraint. “But please do not run away. Only talk to me. Tell me how I can help you.”
She nodded.
He released the rope and stood watching to see if she would run again. “Has someone hurt you? Can I take you back to your family?”
“I have no family.” Tears began to trickle down her face. “Ghosts and devils own me now.”
Was her mind affected, or did she simply lack the vocabulary to express her situation?
Falling upon her knees and clasping her hands, she cried out, “Oh please take me from this hell. It is not safe. He will come. He will come!”
Chapter 16
Elizabeth was opening her book for a little reading, when she heard a knock on the outer door and the footfall of Mrs. Grissoni en route to answer it.
She steadied herself, for she did not want to let her hopes rise to high. Still, might it not be Lord Canterbourne at last? She took a little mirror from her closet to check her appearance.
It was nigh on dreadful, for her hair had not fully recovered from her earlier flight of terror. A spate of freckles was forming across her nose. But she might have ignored them, if it were not for the fact that when she reached to touch them, as though she might rub them off, she saw how scratched her hands were.
Her impulse was to put on gloves, but they would be preposterous paired with her current slightly soiled dress. Yet she could hardly come out in one of her good gowns, dressed as though she were going to a dinner party. And anyway, there was not the time and there was no maid to assist her.
She did her best to straighten her hair, then tried to calm her heartbeat as she went to see if Lord Canterbourne had finally come.
“Mrs. Grissoni.” Elizabeth was startled to see the woman poised to knock upon her chamber door just as Elizabeth opened it.
“You must come quickly, Miss!”
She followed the servant out to the front door and beheld, standing in the cluttered entrance room, Lord Canterbourne and Lenore.
She was confused to see them together and a little embarrassed at their surroundings, but could scarcely restrain her joy. Her delight turned to concern, however, when she noticed the mad desperation on Lenore's face. The girl ran to Elizabeth and threw herself upon her neck, sobbing.
“Oh Miss Whitely! Elizabeth! How can it be? Thanks be to God. Save me, I beg you. Save me!”
Elizabeth knew not what to think. She wrapped her arms around her distraught friend and held her as she sobbed. She gave Lord Canterbourne an inquiring look over Lenore's shoulder.
He could not have had anything to do with the girl’s distress, surely. His expression was one of bewilderment, though it was clear that he knew more than Elizabeth did.
After Lenore had stopped sobbing, Elizabeth led both her guests to the little kitchen parlour, which now had three mismatched chairs around it.
They sat, and Mrs. Grissoni poured some red wine into cups. Elizabeth observed, with relief, that it was not her aunt and uncle's house vintage—they generally made white—but was some the servant had brought from town.
Elizabeth turned to Lord Canterbourne. “I am very happy to see you both, my lord, but I cannot account for seeing you together.” She kept one arm tucked around Lenore's shoulder. The girl stared into space. “And whatever has happened to my sweet friend?”
“I was surprised to see that you two knew one another. She is, I assume, the young maiden you mentioned meeting as you travelled?”
Elizabeth nodded. “Yes. Lenore Berger.” Lenore did not even register the mention of her name. “But I do not know what she is doing here. She was to go to her guardian, who lives somewhere around Melonia.”
“Well, that may be, but on my way to see you I found her wandering in the road. I cannot tell you what she has endured.” Lord Canterbourne shook his head. “But I believe I am at least as grateful as she is to s
ee you.”
Elizabeth's cheeks grew warm and her heart fluttered.
They shared a shy smile between them, then he continued. “When I found her, she was in such a state that I could not leave her.”
Lenore did not say anything, but sipped her wine and continued to stare vacuously with her otherworldly blue eyes, shuddering occasionally.
Elizabeth stroked the girl's hair. “I am so relieved you brought her to me. Did she not tell you what happened to her, my lord?”
“I am not sure if she is rambling madly, or whether her English is not sufficient to express what has occurred. Only she mutters, half in German, half in English, about demons and ghosts, and being owned by one so that she may never be free, and the abomination that brings desolation. It is all quite puzzling, yet I sense...” He trailed off and shook his head.
“What is it, my lord?”
Canterbourne looked conflicted. “Will you think me terribly superstitious if I admit that, for reasons I cannot explain, I feel her fears are quite justified?”
Elizabeth shook her head gravely. “I should never presume so much, my lord. But even if I were so bold as to make surmises about your lordship's beliefs, I could hardly call superstitious those misgivings that I myself harbour. But I should like to hear your lordship's thoughts, for this is such a mystery.”
A disturbed expression spread over his face. “She had a rope around her ankle when I found her. It appears that she chewed through it in order to escape.”
His face contorted into a pained look of horror at this thought. “So someone very real has constrained her and, we must assume, tormented her. And yet, when she speaks of devils and ghastly goings on, I think she is not being metaphorical. She believes her tormentor to be something beyond this realm.” He paused and met Elizabeth's eye. “And I am inclined to believe her.”
