Miriam shivered as she closed the door. Then she looked back at me with her eyebrows raised. “You walked? Alone? Up the hill through the blizzard? People die in weather like this.”
“It wasn’t the best decision I’ve ever made,” I admitted. “I saw something on the way here. Some kind of animal, I think. It was big. And white. What do you think it could be?”
“You’re in the country now. It could have been anything.” My eyes must have widened, because Miriam seemed to take pity on me. “I wouldn’t be too concerned,” she added. “There aren’t many animals around Louth that would go after a human. And those that would aren’t smart enough to pick the locks on a door.” Then she cocked her head toward the mansion’s grand staircase. “Come along and I’ll show you up to your room. After your trip you must be exhausted.”
As I followed her across the entrance hall toward the stairs, I noticed that the stone floors were pockmarked, and the plaster walls had been patched but left rough in places. I knew that was how Uncle James had wanted it—imperfect. When I was little, he told me that true beauty is flawed. I was an ugly duckling, so people said that kind of thing to me all the time. But I knew James actually meant it, and his house proved him right. It was a masterpiece. Above our heads, the crystals of a massive chandelier caught the candlelight. The impression the room gave was one of great age and dignity. Having greeted thousands of guests in its time, it was far too splendid to be bothered with an outcast like me. As I climbed the stairs, I searched for signs of fire damage. I didn’t see any, but there was still a faint stench of smoke in the air.
“Do you live here?” I asked Miriam.
“I stay overnight when I’m needed. James asked me to be here to welcome you. Then the blizzard hit and the lights went out. So I’ll be sleeping in one of the guest rooms tonight.”
“Is James away?” I asked.
“No, he’s here,” she replied. “Since we’re getting to know each other, I have a question for you, too.”
“Okay,” I said, steeling myself for the worst.
“ ‘Bram’ is an unusual name for a girl, isn’t it?”
I relaxed a bit. It was a question I was often asked. “My father’s name was Abraham,” I said. “I look like him, so they nicknamed me ‘Bram.’ He’s dead now.”
“Oh,” Miriam said. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
I said nothing. People had been telling me the same thing for years. It had taken me a while to figure out that it was just what people were supposed to do—pretend that they cared. No one ever really meant it.
At the top of the stairs, there were doors on either side of the landing. When Miriam and I hung a right and entered a long corridor, I knew it was the opposite wing of the house that had burned. She guided me past the first two doors in the hall and then stopped at the third, which she opened.
The first thing I saw was the crackling fire. It drew me in, and I suddenly realized how cold I still was. My clothing was sopping wet from melted snow, and I’d almost gone numb from the knees down. Then I noticed the room’s décor—a four-poster bed with a duvet decorated with tiny pink buds. A vanity stood beside a plush armchair covered in rose-colored velvet. The room’s windows hid behind matching curtains, and dark green paint covered the walls.
“I’m just putting you here for the night,” Miriam assured me as I made my way toward the fireplace. I wondered if she worried that the girly décor might offend me. I was thrilled just to have a place to sleep. “With the power out, it would be too cold in the room James chose for you. This one has the best fireplace in the house. But I promise—first thing tomorrow, we’ll move you.”
“This room is fine,” I told her. My skin prickled from the heat of the fire. Pleasure and pain mingled together.
“It should do for now. We’ll get you into the right room in the morning.”
I glanced over at Miriam. She was still standing in the hall. She seemed reluctant to enter. “Seriously, this one’s fine,” I assured her. I didn’t want anyone making a fuss over me.
“Oh good,” she said, though she still seemed agitated. “Here—” She fished two items from the pocket of her robe and headed toward me with an arm outstretched. One of the items was a yellow candle, and the second was a box of safety matches. “Just in case.”
“It’s okay. My phone has a flashlight,” I said, holding up the device. But when I clicked the screen, it was dead. The flashlight app had drained the battery, and my charger was back in Boris’s car. I reached for the candle and matches.
“Thank you,” I told her.
“Be careful with the candle,” she warned me. “Don’t fall asleep with it lit. You know—”
I nodded. “Yes. I’ll be careful.”
When her smile returned, it was far less convincing. “What would you like for your welcome breakfast?” she asked. “How about bacon and eggs?”
“Sounds perfect,” I told her, hoping she’d just leave me be.
“Then it’s settled. I’ll see you in the morning,” Miriam said, heading back to the door. As she reached it, she seemed to hesitate for a moment with her hand on the knob, as if there were something else she wanted to say. But she held her tongue. I turned back to the fire and heard the door close behind her.
I enjoyed the heat for a few more moments before I set the candle on the bedside table and dragged a chair from the vanity to the fireplace. I stripped out of my wet clothes and hung them in front of the blaze to dry. Then I stood there in my underwear, rotating slowly like a pig on a spit. As feeling finally returned to my limbs, I realized that the room’s walls weren’t a uniform green. In the dim light, I could see the outline of trees painted on the walls all around me. I imagined myself lost in a dark forest, scared and alone, with no hope of rescue, and the fear from my walk up the hill returned. I bolted for the bed and burrowed under the covers. They smelled like smoke, but I didn’t care. I pulled the blankets up over my head. Some people run when they’re terrified. Some people scream. I’d learned to hide and hope it all went away. It was a habit I knew I needed to break.
* * *
—
When I woke in the middle of the night, I wasn’t even sure that my eyes were open. The fire had died, and the room was so dark, it was as if I’d been swallowed. But I knew that I wasn’t alone. I held my breath and listened. I could hear the faint sound of footsteps nearby. That was enough. I was wide-awake in an instant. My hand shot out from beneath my blankets toward the nightstand and landed first on my lifeless phone. I was teetering on the edge of panic when my fingers finally located the candle and matches Miriam had left me.
When I struck a match and lit the candle, I saw that my bedroom door was open. It wasn’t open a crack as if the latch hadn’t caught. It was standing wide open, and I could sense something lurking just out of sight. For a moment, I sat there frozen, like a doomed girl in a horror movie, watching for whatever it was to step out of the darkness and into my room.
Then the spell broke, and a burst of energy shot through me. If something was coming, I wasn’t going to sit there and wait for it. I threw back the blankets, bolted to the bedroom door, and slammed it shut. My fingers didn’t fumble when I turned the lock.
I took a few steps back and stood there in my underwear, facing the door, gulping down air as my skin turned to ice. My fingernails dug into the candle, and wax dripped down my hand. I expected to hear a rap on the wood or to see the knob twisting. Everything remained still and the room stayed silent. But I knew what I’d heard. Someone was out there. And I had no intention of ever sleeping in the rose room again.
With the door shut and locked, I wrapped a blanket from the bed around my body and started a fire. It was cold, and my hands were shaking so badly that I kept snapping matches in half. Thankfully, there were embers hidden beneath the ashes, and the twigs that I’d tossed onto them caught fire quickly. As so
on as the blaze had pushed the darkness into the corners of the room, I took a look around. There was no sign of an intruder. I checked beneath the bed. Then I threw open the curtains in case someone might be hiding behind them, and discovered French doors with a Juliet balcony on the other side of the glass. The storm had passed and the moon was shining. My windows looked out over the gardens in front of the manor—and the hedges that lined the drive. They were shapeless mounds at that point—nothing human about them—and the world outside seemed perfectly safe and serene.
But I didn’t doubt myself. I knew what had happened. My mind wasn’t playing tricks on me, and I hadn’t let my imagination run wild. I dug through the vanity until I found some paper and a pen, and with my bottom half tucked under the bedcovers, and a tattered cashmere throw wrapped around my shoulders, I wrote everything down. I wanted to make sure I had a record. I knew that without one, details would blur, facts might get twisted, and the story could spiral out of control.
Hours later, I woke to a blinding light. I’d set my writing aside and fallen asleep with the curtains open, and now the sun’s rays were bouncing off the white blanket that covered the world outside. As my eyes gradually adjusted, I was pleasantly surprised by what I saw. In the daylight, my room didn’t feel frilly or fussy. The furnishings were fit for a princess—but one who’d died ages earlier and left them behind. The velvet on the chair was threadbare in places, and the finish on the vanity had worn thin. On their own, every piece would have looked slightly shabby, yet they came together beautifully. If my written account of the night’s events hadn’t been lying there right beside me, I could have convinced myself it had all been a dream.
But it hadn’t. I remembered being scared out of my wits, and I would have asked to move to another room—if not for the painting on the walls around me. The forest that had frightened me the previous evening had transformed into fruit-filled trees and flowering meadows. The artist who’d painted the summertime landscape had been gifted. The plaster was damaged in places, but what remained of the artwork was impossibly lovely. At first, I thought the paint must have darkened over the years. Then I spotted the moon high on the wall and the stars on the ceiling, and I realized the mural showed a night scene.
My attention was drawn to an image directly across from the bed, and I climbed out from beneath the covers for a closer look. A small white boat was crossing a wide blue river. The name on the side of the boat was printed in letters too tiny to read, and there didn’t seem to be anyone inside the vessel.
I circled the bedroom, studying the rest of the mural. In the distance there appeared to be mountains. Eventually I found a few houses—clustered together as though they belonged to a town. Nearby was a tiny storefront with a sign that read maxwell & mason, general merchandise, louth, new york. I searched for signs of life in the village, but the windows were all dark. There were no dogs in the yards or birds in the trees. The only living creature I spotted was a girl in a long white dress on her way to the village. She seemed eager to get there. Her long hair flowed behind her as though she’d broken into a run.
I leaned in to study the girl more closely and saw that her face had been drawn in remarkable detail. She didn’t appear that much older than me. It was odd to see her there, all alone on a dark country road in the middle of the night, wearing a dress that wasn’t made for running. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were wide with excitement. Wherever she was going, I thought, it was somewhere she longed to be.
That was the moment I decided I needed the room to be mine. It didn’t make sense, and I couldn’t explain it. A few hours earlier, I would have rather been anywhere else. But with the sun shining, the room felt right—like it wanted me there. Like I wasn’t crazy for coming. For the first time in ages, I almost felt hopeful. My life in Manhattan was over, but I might have a reason to keep going in Louth.
The clothes I’d left hanging by the fire were damp but wearable. I pulled on my jeans and sweater and set off down the stairs in search of my uncle. But when I reached the bottom of the grand staircase, I paused. The urge to explore was too strong to resist.
I opened a door that I knew must lead to the burnt wing of the house, and stepped into a parlor. I lifted the collar of my sweater up over my nose, though the wool couldn’t mask the stench of smoke. The fire had spared the room’s floor and walls, but a dark black stain crawled across the ceiling as if searching for the door. The temperature plunged as I walked from room to room, and the damage grew worse the farther I went. Eventually, it was impossible to tell what function the rooms had once served. The plaster had burned off the walls, exposing the stone underneath, and the ceiling was little more than a matrix of charred wood. In places I could see into the floors above. At one point I came across a small mound of snow in the middle of a room. I looked straight up and caught a glimpse of the sky. At the far end of the wing, the glassless windows were all boarded up.
“Good morning,” someone said, and I nearly leaped out of my skin. I spun around to see Miriam standing there, her hands shoved into the pockets of a long denim skirt. Her graying brown hair was pulled back in a no-nonsense ponytail, and her sweater bore several prominent holes. She may have been smiling, but the expression seemed forced. I didn’t blame her for being a bit wary of someone like me.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” she said. “I guess you figured out that the power’s back on. The plow came through early this morning, and Boris dropped off your things. I went upstairs to let you know, but you’d already set out to have a look around.”
“Sorry—” I started nervously.
“It’s okay,” she assured me. “I would have wanted to check it out, too.” Then she paused for a moment to take in the room. “It may be hard to believe, but this was once the most beautiful library. I saw a picture of it in a magazine. The walls were lined with shelves filled with leather-bound books. Your uncle had built quite a collection.” She stopped, her mouth twisted as if the library’s destruction were too much to bear. “Do you know what happened?”
“There was a fire,” I said, stating what would have been obvious to anyone with eyes or a nose.
“Yes.” Miriam caught my gaze and held it. She was waiting to see if I’d heard the rest of the story.
“My uncle’s second wife died,” I added.
“Did you know her?” Miriam asked.
“No,” I told her. “James and my mom—it’s complicated.”
Miriam nodded. “It often is,” she said.
“Did you know her?” I asked.
“Of course,” Miriam told me. “Dahlia and I both grew up here in Louth, and my son went to school with her daughter, Lark.”
The mention of the name sent my heart racing. “Lark was here the night of the fire, wasn’t she?” I inquired as casually as I could manage. “How is she?”
Miriam grimaced. “She was hurt. I’m afraid she’s still unwell.”
What a nice way of putting it, I thought. My mother hadn’t been quite so kind.
“You have a son?” I asked. I was just being polite. Miriam’s son didn’t interest me. I was thinking of a school photo of Lark that had been published in the paper after the incident. I’d seen a pretty girl who’d done everything she could to hide her looks with ghoulish black makeup. I had a million questions—but none I could ask without seeming morbid.
“Yes, my son’s name is Sam. He graduated from high school last summer, and he’s been taking care of the manor and its grounds to earn money for college. If you see someone working on the property, that’s probably him. I’m sure he’d love to show you around.”
Miriam seemed to think I might need a companion. I hadn’t come to Louth to make friends, and I didn’t need a social life getting in my way.
“I know your uncle will be glad to see you,” she added awkwardly when I didn’t respond. “How long do you think you’ll be staying?”
“I have no idea,” I told her.
Miriam frowned. That clearly wasn’t what she’d wanted to hear. “I see,” she said. Then her voice dropped an octave, and I figured something important was coming. “It’s not my place, but I feel I should warn you. I know you’ve been through a lot, but this may not be the best time for an extended visit.”
Miriam had been so discreet until that point. But her warning left little doubt. She knew about me. I crossed my arms over my chest, but I still felt exposed.
“There’s nowhere else for me to go,” I told her. It was true.
“You have no other family?” Miriam seemed skeptical.
“No, I don’t,” I said bluntly. She had no right to interrogate me. “Everyone but my mother and uncle is dead. I’m surprised James didn’t tell you that, too.”
Miriam took in the information and released a weary sigh. “James hasn’t been himself since the fire.”
“Oh really? Who has he been?” I asked, my anger rising. In my experience, people never really changed—they just removed their disguises.
Miriam attempted a smile. I think she assumed I was joking. “You’ll see what he’s like now,” she told me. “Don’t act shocked when you do.”
“Okay,” I agreed, though it seemed a bit silly to promise that I wouldn’t be shocked when I had no clue what to expect. “Is he up yet? I should say hello.”
As I turned to head back the way I’d come, Miriam’s hand flew out and grabbed my forearm. “One more thing before we go.” I looked down at her hand gripping my arm. She had my attention, but she paused as if reluctant to continue. “I want you to come to me if anything…unusual happens during your stay here.”
“Like what?” I asked, my curiosity piqued.
Don't Tell a Soul Page 2
