The Crimson Inkwell

by Kenneth A Baldwin

  I tucked my sister’s letter and Bram’s inkwell into an attractive leather wallet (an accessory I certainly had not expected Edward to see to) and exited the carriage and presented myself. Edward approved with a blushing nod. He discreetly put another large box on top of the coach before leading me down the quaint road we were on, lined with planter boxes filled with flowering chrysanthemums. Scattered local residents milled about the street, wrapped in warm, albeit courser, material than one might see in Dawnhurst. They smiled at us warmly. The afternoon sun still hung brightly above the tree line.

  “What was that package?” I asked.

  “I’ll explain later,” he replied. “Here we are. We shouldn’t stay long, but it’s my turn to surprise you with a restaurant.” He led me into a local tavern, The Walnut Hearth, and we dined on a humble but delicious vegetable pie and salted pork. We spoke carefully, with just a few staggered sentences here and there, mostly about the logistics of the escape or possible strategies of keeping me safely away from Cooper’s jurisdiction.

  “The police aren’t a unified national force,” he explained. “In fact, there is a great sense of rivalry between certain cities. If we can convince my local force of your innocence, perhaps even at the scorn of Sergeant Cooper, I think we could get them to support your cause with their indifference.”

  “And how might we do that?” My plate had been devoured, devoid even of any crumbs. Now, with some food in my belly, I was feeling more and more like myself. I could think more clearly and more easily committed to Rebecca’s advice to put my emotion on hold.

  “If a member of Cooper’s police force were to suggest that the case had no merit,” Edward said grimly. I winced.

  “You mean if you put your reputation on the line for me,” I said. He downed the rest of his mug.

  “If my father really died by magic, then I’d be doing old Cooper a favor, now wouldn’t I? Without hard facts, he’d be eaten alive in court. It’s best that he cools down and lets the investigation reveal that there is no evidence supporting your conviction.”

  “Still, it’s a little bit risky, isn’t it?” I asked. I winced as I thought of the only incriminating evidence there was, an unprinted edition of Langley’s and an embittered witness testifying I begged him not to print it. “Instead of just hiding me away discreetly, we gamble by getting another local police force involved, hoping they see our side of things.”

  “It is risky, but I’m confident we can get them to side with us,” he said firmly. I took a deep breath and sighed. I had to trust him. He hadn’t yet let me down.

  Of course, neither had Byron, until he did. Now that my energy back, the angry energy inside of me had woken up as well. Byron’s name triggered something. I swallowed hard and tried to fight it.

  “I trust you,” I said, clenching a hand under the table to stop my twitching fingers. I looked at Edward. His face was resolute and dedicated. He looked back at me, and his gray eyes locked with mine. My heart warmed my whole body. I felt the budding anger dissipate, replaced by something else, something lovely.

  “We should probably resume our travels,” Edward said. I nodded, and the moment was over. I couldn’t let myself get carried away. Edward had just lost his father. I had just escaped arrest and lost all contact with my sister. I pushed away from the table, and we made our exit back to the carriage.

  We swept out of the city, the driver making a more furious pace than before, eager to achieve our destination before nightfall. The food had made me drowsy, and the rocking of the carriage over gravel and soft earth almost overcame me. I slipped into a weird half-sleep. Edward kept to himself, reviewing some papers by the light coming through the window. The white noise outside settled in heavily, and the occasional whip of the driver sounded like a violent violation of the atmosphere.

  Soon, we crested a large hill and a large, wild looking vista spilled across my view. Untamed woods stretched across the earth in amorphous patterns, surrounding a little hamlet on the shore of a lake. The sun was retreating quickly behind a shallow hill on the horizon, but it reflected brilliantly off the lake’s surface. I had never seen such a picturesque expanse.

  “Quite a view,” Edward said, noting my admiration.

  “What is this place?”

  “That is Houndstone Town.” He pointed casually at the hamlet. “It’s the only town on Greenlake there. Beyond it just a ways, we’ll see Fernmount House, my not so ancestral home.”

  “You grew up here?”

  He nodded tersely without looking at me. I couldn’t tell if he was pleased to see it or not. I wondered what memories laid in wait for him here. To me, it looked like a poem, but I remembered what he had said a long time ago about his father wishing he had taken up the family profession. Perhaps to him, the town was a prison. A delightful, picturesque, beautiful prison where he was rich and powerful.

  “Did your parents live apart?” I asked as gently as I could. “It’s just that I realize your father worked in town.”

  “My father was a banker. He used to spend considerable time working away from his family.” A shade passed over his brow. “After finding a measure of success with his profession, he devoted more time to the upkeep of Fernmount and his other hobbies, spending a week here and there in the city only when certain affairs required his attention.”

  “Other hobbies?” I asked.

  “Whatever it is rich men do with their time. I’m not sure he knew what his hobbies were either. I suspect they weren’t hobbies at all, but a means of connecting himself with a certain social layer of society. It was a means of working on his career while staying at home, with my mother believing he was just happy to live a quiet life.” He shook his head.

  “You disapprove,” I surmised.

  “He spent his life earning and multiplying his money. Now he’s gone. I guess we will see if his accounts can settle his debts to my mother.” I must have looked confused because he went on to clarify. “When my father’s business began to prosper, he purchased Fernmount. I was just a child, but my mother told me he purchased it from a noble family who had lost everything. They didn’t want to sell, but my father bought them out at a price they couldn’t refuse.”

  “Did you always live in Houndstone?”

  “My father grew up in Hillborough. Houndstone and Fernmount were a dream for him. Something he worked for relentlessly. I always considered his time away from my mother and me a lot like the house we lived in. The family didn’t want to sell it, but he bought it anyway. Neglect is very expensive.”

  The setting sun cast dense shadows across his face, outlining the bruises and cuts from his sparring at the station. Occasionally, he would twitch or touch his face gingerly with his fingers. The carriage came to the bottom of the hill swiftly. We took a fork to the right and traveled through country until the sun had dipped below the horizon and darkness descended slow and steady.

  I’ll never forget the first time I saw Fernmount House. Six-foot walls surrounded the border of the property, disappearing into dark foliage. Beyond, partially visible through an elaborate iron gate, a large stately mansion made of stone and brick stood over a beautiful courtyard, crisscrossed with holly and boxwood hedges and white gravel paths. Rows of lit, dressed windows dotted across the facade of the estate, divided by a large set of double doors recessed in a sweeping archway entry. Stone sculptures guarded the entryway on either side, a dog and a lion made after what I predicted was a Celtic fashion. I couldn’t help but marvel as the carriage made its way through the iron gate and into the courtyard.

  “Welcome to Fernmount,” Edward said. My breath caught in my throat.

  Several dressed servants stood outside as we rolled to a stop. Edward swung the door open and hopped out, before offering me a hand to help me down. As I stepped out of the carriage, I saw a woman dressed in a beautiful black gown made of silk, her hair pulled back into a braided bun. This could only be Edward’s mother. Selfish thoughts immediately flooded my mind. I was embarrassed of m
y modest clothes in an instant. What would this woman think of me? How could I make her like me?

  She lifted her hand in the air, and Edward left me to kiss it with a deep bow. She nodded once before her face began to break. She pulled Edward into an embrace.

  “Edward, I wish so badly that a more joyous occasion brought you here,” she said in a weak voice. He pulled back from the embrace but held her by the shoulders affectionately.

  “It is good to see you, mother. I pray you got my letter.”

  “Of course,” she said, again assuming her formal etiquette. “Is this the girl?”

  She turned her gaze on me, and I realized I had absolutely no idea how to behave. I tried to remember something about curtseying and performed one as earnestly and deeply as I could.

  “I am so very sorry for your loss, Mrs.—er—Lady Thomas.” I tried to sound sincere, but my sudden cognizance that I didn’t even know what to call her made me sound like a brown-nosing oaf. Why hadn’t Edward explained more to me? Why hadn’t I asked? I had never imagined that Lieutenant Thomas would have come from such wealth. He had mentioned his father was a successful banker, but this? I was completely unprepared.

  She nodded curtly to me, without bothering to correct—or clarify—which title I should have used to address her. I could have kicked Edward in the shin for not providing me with any details.

  “Edward has told me that you are quite the writer,” she said with a stone-like expression. I could not read any emotion, positive or negative, to indicate how she felt about the stumbling idiot her son had brought home. I was suddenly struck with fear about what Edward may have already revealed to her.

  “That is kind of him,” I said warily.

  “It sounds like a perilous job,” she continued. “You write under a pen name?”

  “I do,” I confessed.

  “Edward said a recent story of yours has earned you some notoriety.”

  I nodded. It didn’t seem like she knew the specifics. That was something at least.

  “Well, you are welcome here,” she said with a terse glance at her son. He buried his eyes in the ground. “I regret that the house will be in mourning during your stay. Tragedy has fallen on us.”

  I didn’t know what to say. I tried my best to look supplicant.

  “Rose will show you to your rooms. I’m sure you’d like to freshen up.” She raised an eyebrow and looked me over on the last words “freshen up.” “Don’t you have any bags?”

  “Unfortunately, she had to make a quick exit, and her bags could not be retrieved at present,” Edward said. “She has only this.” He grabbed the package he had bought earlier from the carriage. “I’ll carry it up to her rooms for her.”

  “Very well,” Mrs. or Lady Thomas said. Her face and posture were the picture of politeness, but something emanated from her that put me on edge. She had to be suspicious of my motive and my background; any good mother would be. She had just lost her husband of many years, and her son brought home a woman she’d never heard of before. As she excused herself, I couldn’t shake a cold, snubbed feeling. I don’t think Edward’s mother liked me or that I was here this week of all weeks. This intuition spoiled any feeling of surprise that came upon learning that Edward’s mystery parcel was for me. I followed Rose into the house, Edward toting the package at my side. She led us through tapestried hallways and deep mahogany woodwork framing marbled floors.

  “I’m sorry about my mother,” Edward said quietly. “You can imagine she isn’t quite herself.”

  “Of course,” I replied. “Still, I may like to know what you told her about my situation.”

  He slackened his pace a step and lowered his voice more so to escape Rose’s earshot.

  “Nothing about magic,” he said. “My mother is deeply superstitious. She thinks magic is very real and very dark. If she heard that you had some connection with it—” He stopped himself here. I imagined he was struggling to finish the sentence in his head. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know what he came up with.

  This was not great news. I had really been hoping that she was a no-nonsense, the earth is solid all the way through, type of person. That way, even if the truth about my accusation came out, she would at least consider any magical involvement hogwash.

  I shook my head. Even without the magic, that unpublished edition of Langley’s haunted me. I had planned to lock it safely away behind my marriage with Byron. Now, there was no telling what Byron would do. I had never known him to be spiteful, but his betrayal had caught me flat-footed. I had never really known him at all.

  “Very well. We will have to keep the mysterious details of my magical experience under lock and key. From her at least. To you, I will explain everything and anything, if you would like.”

  He carried the parcel in silence. An occasional gas lamp illuminated his ruminating features. Given the age of the house, I was surprised that gas lamps had been installed already. Edward’s father must have been enterprising. I had read that young money was always eager to innovate in ways the old families never liked.

  “Would you like me to explain anything?” I prodded after another moment of quiet. I needed Edward to trust me. I needed to open up to him. There was a whole part of me he didn’t know, and I regretted not telling him before. I wouldn’t make that mistake again. I needed him to know me completely.

  “Here you are, miss,” Rose said, opening the door to a richly furnished bedroom. I turned to Edward, awaiting a response. He looked uncomfortably at the floor.

  “We will be having dinner shortly. You may want to change,” he said, handing the parcel to Rose. He turned and retreated down the hallway, leaving me with nothing to do but follow Rose into the room.

  The room was carpeted with a beautiful and bright rug, under a carved four poster bed, accompanied by intricate end tables and muslin curtains on tall windows. On the wall was a beautiful oil painting of a ship at harbor. Its attendants prepared it to embark on the sea. I had never dreamed of staying in such a lavish room.

  Rose unpacked the parcel on the bed and produced a decadent green dress and crinoline. The silk sleeves were designed to drape off the shoulder, to accentuate the thin, velvet-paneled bodice. It was gorgeous. I eyed the fit dubiously. Were those the measurements I had given him?

  “How will I fit in that?” I wondered aloud.

  “Not to worry, miss. I can help you into your corset. I’ve helped Lady Thomas countless times, and you look to have a good shape about you.”

  So, it was Lady Thomas. I wondered how they managed to procure a title. I assumed Luke Thomas had bought one with the house.

  “Thank you, Rose,” I said. My sister had always been the fashion conscious between us. “I confess I haven’t worn a corset much before.”

  “Oh,” Rose said, a little bit troubled. “I’m afraid it’s an acquired taste, miss. I’ll make it as loose as I can this time around.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Would you like me to draw up a bath for you as well? I imagine you’d like one after such a long journey.”

  I blushed. “Oh, that’s not necessary. I can draw up my own bath.”

  “Your own, miss?” She looked concerned.

  “Well, I just mean I don’t wish to trouble you,” I said. I hadn’t expected her reaction.

  “I appreciate your concern, but I’m a maid of the house. I’m here to help.” She performed a practiced curtsy.

  “Of course,” I said, regretting I’d mentioned anything.

  “Bid me do, I will obey.”

  Her words hit me like a hammer to the chest.

  “What did you say?”

  “Bid me do, I will obey,” she stared at me expectantly. “I’m at your disposal. Shall I draw the bath?”

  Bid me do, I will obey. My mind raced back to my dream about the fog man. Or had it been a dream? The downy fog. The floating feeling. The sudden exit. Instinctively, I reached for the wallet hanging around my wrist and felt the inkwell through the fabric. It was sti
ll there next to Anna’s letter.

  “A bath would be fine,” I replied, without looking at Rose again.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Mrs. Lady Thomas

  I FOLLOWED ROSE through the hallways of Fernmount toward the dining room. I tried to be as graceful as I could, the green gown rustling between tapestries and portraits of what I assumed were Thomas family members or else family members of the previous owners of the house. All of the eyes in the portraits seemed to follow me, peering at me with scrutinizing expressions, each of them asking silently one to another what the city rat was doing in their home dressed like an imposter, as if she dared to belong.

  I passed bedrooms, a front room, a study, each with a warm fire blazing to fight against the winter heat, but I still felt cold air on my bare shoulders and the back of my neck, giving me goosebumps. Or did the goosebumps come from the unshakeable feeling that I had not truly escaped the evil that faced me? Cooper, yes. The magic, no.

  Rose’s earlier utterance haunted me, the echo of the downy fog being, a letter from the space between reality and fantasy. Bid me do. It was such a peculiar syntax. Was it possible that it could have been a coincidence? I shuddered to believe there were more forces at work in Fernmount than I wanted to believe.

  We turned into the lounge, where Edward waited for me, looking at odds in a smart bow tie to compliment the boxing wounds on his face. He stood next to a warm fire in a carved, stone hearth, staring into the flames. Rose curtsied and gave me an encouraging look before vacating the room. Edward turned toward me, an expression of longing chasing out his vacant stare.

  “Luella—Ms. Winthrop,” he said, “you look stunning.” He looked embarrassed. I had never seen him embarrassed before. I found it endearing. I felt the misgivings over my appearance begin to melt away the more he looked at me.

  “Thank you. You clean up quite well yourself. I’ve never worn anything so elegant in my life,” I confessed. Or daring, for that matter. I had been self-conscious of the way I filled out the gown he had chosen for me. I had never considered myself a true beauty, always relying more on my ability to turn a phrase and make men feel comfortable around me.