by G M Mckay
As I slid out of the stall, I suddenly realized that a conversation had been going on while I was occupied.
“I thought you said she’d be back in a few weeks,” Gil said, his voice strangely flat.
“Oh,” Estelle said nervously, “a few weeks or a month. She bought an open-ended ticket so it might be a bit sooner or a bit later.”
“And you said she was in Florida?”
There was a long pause. “No, not Florida, France. She’s doing a tour of Europe and visiting some relatives along the way.”
“Oh, which ones?” Xan asked with interest. “I stayed in Prague a few years ago with some sort of cousins. They were very strange; they’d only wear black and took me to the ghastliest restaurants. I was a bit relieved to come home, quite frankly.”
“I really couldn’t say,” Estelle said sharply. “Ruth doesn’t share every last detail with me.”
“But surely you have a way to contact her if there’s an emergency,” Gil insisted, “or have some idea of her travel plans. The phone must be working by now.”
“Oh, yes, the company said they’d be out in a few days,” Estelle said hastily. “Ruth left us a travel itinerary in her office but I can’t be expected to remember everything on it right now, can I? I’m so sorry, Xan, but I’m feeling a little lightheaded. Would you be able to help me get back to the house?”
“Of course,” Xan said, shooting a dark look at Gil, “here, lean on me, I’ll help you.”
“Well, that was interesting,” Gil said, watching Estelle hobble away with Xan carefully hovering over her. Apparently, he’d forgotten our argument before lunch and was speaking to me again.
“What was? Why were you interrogating the poor girl?”
“I am sure that earlier Aimee told me that Ruth was in Florida.”
“Florida and France sound sort of the same. Are you sure?”
“No, I guess I’m not,” Gil said “I just feel that things aren’t quite right here. I can’t see anyone in this day and age not fixing faulty phone lines when there’s no cell service.”
“Hmm, you’re probably right but Great Aunt Ruth is eccentric, I could see her being too cheap to fix things. The horses look fantastic anyway. How were they to ride?”
“Good. They’ve been schooled with a very light hand, which says something about their training program anyway. There are a few there that would make some nice prospects. You should tell your mother.”
“I doubt she’d buy anything from Great Aunt Ruth; they’ve always been at odds with one another. I’d like to take that colt home, though.”
“The little bay? Hard to say how he’ll turn out.”
“I’d place my bets on him turning out to be something special. I wonder how much she’d ask for him.”
“Probably more than the two of us have combined, even if he is ugly right now.”
“Probably.” I sighed. Despite living in a mansion, riding the most expensive horses money could buy, and having travelled around the world several times, I still had very little access to capital. Mother controlled the purse strings in our household like a vengeful dragon guarding its hoard, and the only money I had of my own was a small portion of the prize money I’d earned at shows. Besides riding full-time, I’d never actually had a job or made any money on my own. Bally had been a birthday present from Father so I owned him outright, but I was well aware that everything else in my life could be taken away at just a moment’s notice.
“I could probably ask Father for a loan if it’s something I really wanted,” I said slowly. “But I don’t like asking him for favours since it usually throws Mother into a temper for weeks. Then we all suffer.”
“Yes, she’s something, isn’t she?”
We walked in silence and then Gil said, “Jilly, wouldn’t it be nice if we could go away somewhere and open our own barn? If we could get some start-up capital, I’m sure we could attract the right sort of clients. We both have proven show records.”
Oh no, not this again, I thought dismally. Can’t we just have a pleasant afternoon anymore without him being difficult? Still, I felt a tiny shiver of interest. Things always seemed so possible when I was around Gil.
“Come on,” he said encouragingly, seeing the expression on my face waver. “Don’t you remember when we were kids and we talked about having our own barn together where we could train the horses just like we wanted without our parents interfering? We drew up the blueprints and had a business plan and everything. We were going to ask your dad to sponsor us.”
“Were we?” I asked, frowning as I struggled to remember. A dim memory floated to the surface of the two of us lying on our bellies in the hayloft with notebooks scattered around us, chattering excitedly while we carefully designing our dream barn.
“Yes,” Gil said firmly, “we did. It wasn’t that long ago, Jilly, and we talked about it all the time. Why can’t you remember that?”
“Gil,” I said gently, “I believe you, but we were kids. I’m sure we made all sorts of plans. How can I be expected to remember every detail?”
“Because you made me swear that I wouldn’t let you forget,” he said his voice almost a growl, “right before you got sick you said that our plans to leave were the only things that kept you hanging on and that I shouldn’t let you forget them.”
“I did?” I asked in astonishment. Now that was something I definitely did not remember. I must have been sick with fever already. We walked in silence for a moment and I glanced sideways at Gil, still not sure why he was so angry.
“I’m not unhappy at Greystone, Gil,” I said finally. “I don’t see any reason to leave.”
“That’s the problem,” Gil said, “the old Jilly would have seen lots of reasons. She knew that there was more out there in the world and she never would have fallen for someone as obviously rotten as Frederick.”
“That’s not fair,” I said quickly, feeling stung. “And I don’t like this conversation anymore. Let’s talk about something more pleasant instead.”
Gil sighed heavily and rubbed a hand over his eyes. “I can’t do this any longer,” he said, his voice thick with emotion.
Something in his tone sent a jolt of fear through me and I reached out instinctively and put a hand on his arm.
“Do what?” I whispered, my heart beating rapidly. Don’t leave, don’t leave, don’t leave, I chanted silently, fearing the worst, knowing that this day might come eventually.
He looked into my eyes a long time, guessing my thoughts. “I can’t stay at Greystone forever, Jilly,” he said finally. “I’m suffocating there and I can’t stand around and let you throw away the rest of your life.” He held up a hand to cut off my protest. “I’ve spent too long waiting for the old Jilly to come back and I’ve about given up; I can’t do it any longer. Someday soon, I’m going to do something different in my life than work for your harpy of a mother. And you’ll have to decide whether you want to come with me or not because when I leave, I won’t be coming back.”
He kicked at the ground violently and then strode off in the direction of the house without a backward glance.
I stood there staring after him, my head throbbing and my throat clogged with tears. There was a deep and terrible sadness in my heart, a feeling of loss that eclipsed anything I’d felt for awful-Frederick. There was a small thump against the heel of my boot and I looked down to see Morris standing with one paw on my foot, rubbing his heavy head against my left shin, a blissful look on his face.
“Oh, Morris,” I said, my tears finally finding their outlet.
I reached down and scooped him up, holding him tight against my chest as I cried into his soft fur. He didn’t squirm away; he just broke into a deep, comforting purr.
By the time I’d reached my room, washed my face and changed into dinner clothes the emotions I’d felt earlier had faded to a more comfortable level and I’d managed to compose myself. I wasn’t even sure what all the fuss had been about.
“I think Gil’s being
very silly over nothing, Morris.” I told the big cat. “Why should anything have to change? We can just keep things exactly as they are forever.”
Pondering, I made my way slowly down the hall to where dinner was waiting.
Chapter 8
Dinner was a strangely formal affair that evening. Instead of serving us in our rooms, Belinda and Aimee had set out the dining room table properly and we gathered around in the stiff, high-backed chairs and ate a six-course meal fit for royalty.
I was surprised when Jacob and Estelle, and then Aimee and Belinda, found spaces for themselves at the table and sat down as naturally as could be. Not that I minded, of course, but I’d have thought that Great Aunt Ruthless would have been a stickler for the rule that the help ate somewhere else out of sight.
“We run a strange house here,” Belinda said, catching my eye. “Ruth had her own ideas and I suspect that she was often lonely. She decided long ago that meal times were when everyone would gather and discuss the running of the house together. She always insisted that we were a team and that Dark Lady Farm was the master of us all, not herself.”
“Is,” Estelle corrected quickly, “you meant to say Ruth is.”
“Of course I did,” Belinda coughed, looked down at her plate and took a large bite of chicken.
Xan and Estelle sat close together, talking quietly to themselves and practically ignoring everyone else, their heads nearly touched as they laughed over some private joke.
Watching Xan and Estelle so cozy together sent a little pang of longing through my chest. Once upon a time that had been Frederick and me, in our own little world, laughing over something silly that nobody else would understand. And it wasn’t that I missed Frederick for himself, even I could see that he’d been a complete jerk, but I missed having a second half, that someone who was supposed to be always in my corner.
I caught Gil watching me from across the table and knew he’d guess my glum thoughts, but as soon as I smiled, he looked away abruptly and struck up a conversation with Belinda beside him.
After that, it was a silent meal for me. I ate the delicious food, lost in my own thoughts and listening half-heartedly to the conversation around me.
Belinda suggested that everyone retire to one of the little sitting rooms for dessert and coffee, and I thought that maybe this was my chance to slip away and go mope in my room alone for a while. Maybe Morris would be there to curl up with me.
“Now, don’t run away so quickly,” Belinda said quietly, coming up behind me just as I was heading down the hallway. “You come along to the library; I have something to show you.”
“I was just going to my room to rest,” I said, “I think I might have a headache coming on.”
“I expect that will clear up once you’ve had a moment to yourself. If you don’t mind, I’d also like to have a quick word with you,” Belinda said. “Alone.”
“Oh, all right.” I shrugged and followed her down the hall.
We went through the little hidden door into the library and found Aimee already kneeling on the hearth lighting a fire.
“It gets cold in here,” she said brusquely, sending me an accusing look. “It would have been easier if you’d stayed with the others. Now I have to light two fires and bring your dessert and coffee all this way.”
“Oh, you didn’t have to …” I started to apologize.
“Never mind, it’s done now,” she snapped and bustled out without looking back.
“Don’t pay any attention to that sour-puss,” Belinda said. “Sit down, please. I’d like to say this to you while we’re alone.”
I sat down obediently near the fire and watched her expectantly, noticing how she twisted her fingers nervously together. What on earth could she possibly have to tell me?
“Now, you know I’ve been with this branch of your family a long time,” Belinda said, waiting until I nodded before she went on again. “So I know a little bit about what makes you people special.”
“Special?” I said in surprise. “How so?”
“There’s no need to be secretive about it,” she said impatiently, glancing toward the door, “and we won’t have much time alone together so I’d like to speak plainly now if you don’t mind.”
“Of course. Are you talking about making money with that Golden Touch thing? I’m pretty sure that’s just a silly superstition. My theory is—”
Belinda cleared her throat loudly and gave me a stern look. “Young lady, this is not the time to be funny. I’m not saying I know how to explain it, but I’m well aware that almost every one of you is blessed with a unique gift.”
“Um, okay,” I said, a little taken back by her abrupt tone. She’d been much nicer earlier.
“Now, Betty has shared a little of what happened to you when you were young, how your gifts came early and were a bit too much for you to handle. She thought that with your special birthday coming up you might need more guidance and preparation than you’ve been given at home. I don’t like to speak ill of anyone but that mother of yours—”
She stopped when she saw my blank expression.
“Belinda, I don’t have the faintest clue what you’re talking about,” I said weakly. “Honestly, I have zero gifts or talents of any kind. Unless you count riding horses or failing at relationships.” This last bit was my attempt at being funny but she didn’t crack a smile.
She stared into my face, her expression worried.
“Oh, my dear, this is not good at all. I’ll have to consult with Betty. Or perhaps the doctor will know what to do. Maybe your injury—” She wrung her hands together then stood up abruptly.
“Here, there isn’t any time to waste.” She went to one of the tall bookshelves, running her finger along the leather spines until she found what she was looking for.
“Jillian, whatever you may have been told, this family’s gift is not about being good with money. It’s that they’ve used their other talents in order to acquire that wealth. When they use that silly ‘Golden Touch’ phrase, it’s a sort of catch-all that lumps all the individual abilities together. I suspect it’s their way of being able to refer to it in public without anyone being suspicious.
“Here,” she went on, ignoring my incredulous expression as she shoved the book into my hands, “I expect all your answers are in this book. Your Great, Great Grandfather Alocious wrote it. He had copies made for each of his children to pass down to their descendants. He was a very opinionated man, and I dare say that many of his ideas are horribly old-fashioned; he didn’t fancy that women should do much of anything with their lives, for example. But he lays it out in a pretty straightforward way that I think you’ll understand.”
“Betty, I don’t think—”
“Just read it,” she snapped and then took a deep breath to calm herself. “Shall I see if the coffee is ready?”
“Um, okay,” I said, shrinking back from her a little. Clearly the woman was a bit unhinged and it would be best to humour her until I could escape to my room. I would read a few pages and then slip away when the coast was clear.
I ran my hand over the inky black cover. The book in my hands felt heavier than it should have for its small size and the leather had a strange, sinewy feel to it that I didn’t much like. The title, A Strange Family History, was embossed on the cover with gold. I tried to flip it open to the first page and was surprised when it fell open instead to a spot in the middle of the book where the binding had been stretched. The chapter heading read: A False Gift of Elements and there was a line-drawing of a woman wearing an old-fashioned dress, balancing two towers of flame on each outstretched hand. The sketch was quite good, very life-like right down to the arrogant sneer on the woman’s face. I frowned, noting a small burn mark in the upper right-hand corner of the old paper.
A false gift of elements? What on earth does that mean?
I flipped back to the beginning of the book and was surprised to see that it began with a two-column list, each with a heading. The first column had Tru
e Gifts written above it and the second column said False Gifts.
Precognition was the first item in the True column, followed by Clairvoyance, Telepathy, Dowsing, Prophecy, Psychometry and Astral Projection. There were more but I stopped there, shaking my head with disbelief. This seriously couldn’t be what Belinda thought our Golden Touch was. I’d spent enough time with my crazy family to know that there was not a drop of magic between the lot of us. The idea of Mother using some sort of psychic gifts at all was laughable.
I glanced over at the False column and froze. Potions, Conjuration, Levitation, Divination … the list went on, but it was the seventh one down that had caught my eye. Perception of Spirits.
Suddenly my stomach heaved. There was a pressing feeling in my skull, like something wanted very badly to get out, and I clapped my hands against my temples and closed my eyes, waiting for the feeling to pass. It did pass and I stayed very, very still, holding my breath, overwhelmed by a strange feeling that I was no longer in my body. I don’t know how long I would have stayed like that but for Belinda bustling into the room with a tray laden with coffee and dessert. I’d missed my chance to slip away.
“Oh, my dear,” she said gently, setting the tray down. “Are you all right? Now you see what I was talking about, of course.”
“No, no, I don’t see anything at all,” I said faintly. “I just feel a little strange. I need to go lie down.”
“Not quite yet,” Belinda said firmly. “Hear me out first and then you can go rest. I spoke with Betty when you arrived and she mentioned that you might be unprepared, but I didn’t expect it to be this extreme.”
“You spoke to her?” I asked. “I thought the phone was broken.”
“Oh, the fickle thing comes and goes,” she said quickly, “due to the old lines in the house.”
