"You must stay away from town, Percy. Those men are as rough as sandpaper."
"I don't have any plans of going into town, mother," Percy said with a bored tone, taking a large swig of his claret. "What need have I of mixing with the rough and tumble?"
Mrs. Thornton was pleased.
Behind her napkin, Emmeline smiled, able to imagine that as a young man, anything happening on the island was cause for celebration and participation. But this newly returned man, with all his experiences in Oxford and London, didn't see the need to run off whenever something new occurred. Although, she expected that Lord Cresswell would be there. He sought diversion beyond all else, it seemed.
"Let's retire to the parlor," Mrs. Thornton suggested and Emmeline rose with her. Being with her employer during the evening was something she saw as part of her duties. Percy paced, a glass of whiskey in hand. He looked bored and distracted—although the drunken shenanigans of sailors didn't appeal.
"Livinia Myrcomb recently arrived," Mrs. Thornton said. "Very handsome, she is. The height of Parisian fashion. It's such a shame she couldn't come to our party. You should call on her."
"Has she outgrown those awful freckles of hers?"
"It isn't the absence of freckles that makes for a good wife, Percy."
"You let me worry about what makes a good wife," said the young man dismissively.
Emmeline stifled a yawn as she continued with the embroidery she had chosen to take up, primarily so she could constantly be distracted from searching eyes. She had risen early that morning and it had been an eventful day. The needle bit into her thumb and she winced, which drew attention. "I might retire before I make a complete pin cushion of myself," she said with a placating smile.
Percy murmured his goodnight, while Mrs. Thornton remained silent. It felt like relief walking out of the parlor, as though she could breathe freely again. Every moment with them, she felt as if she had to say and do everything right, never put a foot wrong, or risk the condemning looks from Mrs. Thornton, or worse, an accusation that she was setting her sights higher than she should.
Closing her bedroom door behind her, she locked it. She was alone again, loosening her stays to breathe easily. The air in her room was warm and heavy, making her feel sleepy. It would be wonderful to escape into her dreams for a while, experience something other than the monotony of her days here—and the constant feeling that there were things going on that she didn't understand.
She rested with only a sheet, sleep tugging on her mind, drawing her down into its sweetness. She dreamt of traveling, but she didn't know where to, or where she had come from. She was simply waiting to get where she was going.
Suddenly, she was harshly shunted out of her dream, her mind taking stock of where she was. It was the dead of night and she was in her bed. It was too early to wake. Placing her hands under her cheek, she let her thoughts drift again, but a creak jarringly stole into her mind. It was so out of place, her mind sharpened and she lay as still as she could, listening.
A scratch. It sounded as if it were on her very shutters. Intensely sharpened senses honed in on the noise and she sat up in her bed. A scraping noise started and continued on and on. There was someone outside. Silence ringed in her ears as she listened, her eyes darting to seek some movement. Each noise reverberating through her head, rang in her ears. The creak of a step.
"Who's there?" she called and listened, but no one answered. Unwittingly, she drew the sheet up her, as if it would form some protection. Each one of her hairs stood on end and she didn't dare move, even breathe.
A thump made her heart contract painfully and she jolted as she sat, her eyes searching the darkness where her shutters were. It wasn't entirely dark, there was some light, but she only really saw that when a darkness moved across behind the shutters, followed by a dragging sound.
Panic soared inside her. Her throat closed over and she tried to breathe as silently as she could, but it sounded so loud, drowning out noises that could be there. There was someone outside; she had seen them walk across the window. Then they were gone. No more movement was seen. Still, she waited.
Her lungs burned with need, but her breathing was too loud for her to hear. Looking around desperately, she searched for something she could brandish, a weapon of sorts, but she had nothing. Books and a candleholder. With no fires, there were no fire pokers, or anything else suitable.
Moving silently, she grabbed the candle holder, not that it would do her much good if someone attacked her. With bare feet, she stepped closer to the window. A bang on the shutters made her scream and drop the candleholder. The shutters rattled with the impact. Emmeline remained silent, in some misguided notion of thinking she needed to be unseen and unheard, even after she'd called out for who was there, and screamed when the shutters had been hit. There was no way the person out there didn't know she was there.
Someone was out there, someone trying to get in. Emmeline didn't know what to do, but crouched to fumble for the candleholder, finding it with a hard grip. How easily could they break those shutters apart? They served as no real barrier, did they?
Stumbling backward, she moved into the far corner and strained her ears to listen. The silence rang louder and louder in her ears. They could come in at any moment. How could she possibly fight them? She had never fought anything or anyone.
Violently, thuds of her heart shook her chest. She'd be surprised if whoever was out there didn't hear it. With a shaking hand, she searched for something else to use as a weapon, but she gripped nothing but a hairbrush. Still, it felt better to have something in her hands than nothing.
With wide eyes, she tried to see any movement outside the shutters, but there was nothing. No steps, no scrapes, just still, foreboding silence.
Why was she here? How had she gotten herself into this? She had been safe back in Boston. Now she was here, faced with an intruder who intended God knew what. Were these her last moments on earth? Was this how her life would end?
A scream startled her so badly, she fumbled her grip on the hairbrush. She almost screamed herself from the sheer shock of it. Think, she told herself, trying to rein in her panicked mind. It wasn't her scream. In fact, the scream was elsewhere in the house. Yelling. Male voices. Had they gotten into the house?
Emmeline crouched down in the corner, wishing this would all go away. Another scream. This time, she knew it was Mrs. Thornton. Mrs. Thornton flashed through her mind. Were they attacking her? The awful thought pierced her. She had to help.
Rising from her position, she renewed her grip on the hairbrush and ran toward her door. The lock wasn't workable with her numb fingers that refused to let go of the brush. A new sense of panic washed over her, of being trapped and imprisoned. This fear consumed her and she cried. No, calm. Think, she told herself.
Calmly placing the hairbrush between her thighs, she unlocked the door and stepped into the darkness of the hallway. Her hand shook as she brandished the hairbrush ahead of her. Mrs. Thornton was still screaming.
"Mother," Percy called from somewhere. Percy was there. Emmeline's mind gripped onto that, trying to feel some assurance from it. How much assurance that really was, she didn't know, but it helped to know she wasn't alone.
Down the hall, she saw Mrs. Thornton's form emerge from the darkness, her hands tightly clasped to her chest. The sight nearly gave her a heart attack before she realized who it was. "There's someone out there."
Percy's thin frame emerged too, wearing his nightdress. Joseph arrived shortly after, bringing a lantern with him. "Chase them away, Joseph," Mrs. Thornton said, her voice desperate and panicked. "Get them away."
Joseph walked to the front door. It wasn't fair sending him out there alone to deal with it. "I'll come," Emmeline said.
"No, Miss Durrant," Percy said, but Emmeline wasn't listening.
The cool air greeted her as Joseph opened the door. Nothing was seen in the doorway and they stepped outside. Movement made her freeze and her heart skip a beat, bu
t she realized it was only Joseph's lantern creating shadows.
Joseph reached his hand out to grab her, to stop her from moving forward, and Emmeline looked down. There was a drawing on the floor, and lump in a dark stain.
"Stay here," Joseph said and walked away, carefully moving around the corner of the veranda and out of sight.
A creak behind her made her knees almost give, until she realized it was only Percy and Mrs. Thornton. "What is that?" Percy asked, now holding a candle in his hand.
"It's witchcraft," Mrs. Thornton said, her voice a terrified whisper. "They've cursed us."
Percy moved around the depiction—shapes and crosses. Bringing his candle lower, they saw that the lump was a dead bird, its neck in an unnatural position.
A whining noise escaped Mrs. Thornton and she stepped repeatedly back and forth from one foot to the other.
"Inside," Percy ordered, grabbing Emmeline by the arm and urging her to the door. Once inside, he shut the doors.
Through the salon window, although shuttered as well, Emmeline could see Joseph's lantern move from one window to the next, until he came in through the door and shut it behind him. "They've gone," he said.
"I want them whipped," Mrs. Thornton cried, her voice cracking and uneven. "I want them gone." Percy led her to the parlor. "Don't tell me it's all in my head," she said, "because it's not. They're trying to kill us. They tried to kill you."
"Someone is trying to scare us," Percy said, placing his candle down on a table.
"It's them. They're trying to get rid of us. Enchant us so we do what they want. You know they can. You've seen it." Tears streamed down Mrs. Thornton's face.
"No such thing, mother. It was only someone playing a prank."
"You saw it, Percy. With your own eyes. The gris." Mrs. Thornton was pointing to the door. "They're cursing us."
Joseph was there with a teaspoon and the vial of laudanum. Mrs. Thornton pushed his hand away when he extended it toward her mouth. "I don't want to be drugged into oblivion when there is danger at our very door."
Further away, Emmeline stood with her arms tightly to her chest. She couldn't think of anything else to do but to stand there.
"I will make some tea," Joseph said, giving up on the laudanum. He disappeared.
"We have to get rid of them," Mrs. Thornton beseeched her son.
"We can't, mother."
"We'll get new ones, replace them."
Percy groaned with exasperation. "You're being ridiculous."
"Don't tell me I'm being ridiculous, Percy. You deny what is right before your eyes."
"You can't always trust what you see. It is most likely some children playing pranks."
"In the middle of the night?" Mrs. Thornton said with utter disbelief.
"Probably some drunk mariners."
"Your pigheadedness will be the death of us all," Mrs. Thornton declared. "You need to leave here, Percy. It is you they are trying to kill."
"Nonsense, mother. Take some of your laudanum and calm down. You will see this rationally in the morning. There are no such things as curses. Only foolish people who give themselves over to hysterics."
Mrs. Thornton growled in anguish. Emmeline could only feel sorry for her. For herself, she didn't know what to believe. She had no idea what that drawing and dead bird was supposed to mean. Clearly, it was meant as a threat. Gris, Mrs. Thornton had called it. Shifting over to a chair, she sat down. She was clearly not going to sleep again that night.
Chapter 20
At dusk, Emmeline had finally calmed down enough to sleep again. The house was quiet and the day started outside her shutters. Right now, she felt safe. Last night, she hadn't felt safe in the least. There had never before been a moment when she'd felt like that—truly in danger. It wasn't what she'd felt during the storm, nor staying in Lord Cresswell's house—even as he might be the one responsible for all this.
There had been a person outside the house. She refused to believe in spirits or anything such. Evil existed in people, not spirits. Mrs. Thornton obviously believed differently. To her, that depiction on the veranda, which Joseph had scrubbed off with a brush and pail as soon as everyone was calm enough had meant a curse. With so many of her family members lost, it wasn't perhaps surprising. According to her, Lord Cresswell was lost to that magic.
Curses couldn't be real. The world would be a dangerous place if it were, a place with no protection against people intending harm. There was nowhere to hide from a curse. One could not shut the door and lock it out. One could not bar it. Only magic could protect against magic.
These things did not exist, she told herself sternly. It was the overreaction of a sensationalist mind. Back home, the priest had said so. Evil lay in dwelling on such things, he had said. Superstition, the enemy of Christianity.
With a shifting growl, her stomach lamented its hunger. She hadn't eaten that morning and it had to be coming up to lunchtime. It was time to rise. A groggy feeling still weighed down her limbs and her mind. Sleep had been hard and intermittent, her mind still wanting to dwell on the panic of the previous night.
Percy was sitting in the dining room as she walked in. An empty plate lay in front of him. "Morning," he said brightly. "Mother should be with us in a moment. Joseph believes she is rising. Are you hungry?"
"Yes," Emmeline replied.
"Good. A good meal and we will put the silliness of last night behind us. Today, I am going to see the admiral and get some assurance that we will not be bothered by any of his mariners again."
"It wasn't mariners," Mrs. Thornton's dull voice said as she walked into the room.
"Of course it was. I will speak to him. He really should have better control of his men."
Dark circles shadowed Mrs. Thornton's eyes. "Perhaps you should enquire about buying a commission."
"Don't be ridiculous, mother. This is my plantation, and some drunken sailor won't scare me away from it."
"It wasn't some sailor," Mrs. Thornton said, banging her palm on the table.
"It doesn't matter who it was. I will not bend to intimidation by anyone. I don't care who it was." Percy's obvious blasé attitude belied how angry he truly was. "Next time I will shoot first and ask questions later."
Emmeline didn't point out that defense hadn't exactly been Percy's natural reaction during the night. He had hid inside with the women. Perhaps part of his anger was related to how he'd reacted. It would hurt for a man to realize he was cowardly when it came down to it. For herself, she felt cowardly as well, hiding in a corner of her bedroom, terrified out of her wits. It hadn't been an admirable reaction. In truth, she was a little ashamed of herself, but then she had no experience with anything like this. It hurt to know she wasn't braver than she was.
"Oh, and we have an invitation," Percy said with a smile that looked a bit forced.
"What invitation?" Mrs. Thornton asked.
"It seems our esteemed neighbor is throwing a ball."
"Mr. Kerwin?"
"No, Cresswell."
Mrs. Thornton gasped. "We will not be attending a ball there."
"Mother," Percy chided. "He is our neighbor and an important part of this community. I don't want to hear any more of your mad ravings. He is throwing a ball and we are going, and that's final." Percy walked out and they could hear the main door slamming as he left.
The worried expression on Mrs. Thornton's face was pitiful. "I'm not mad. He doesn't believe me. That man will be the end to all of us."
"It is just a ball. I am sure he can manage to not be despicable for an evening," Emmeline said, trying to reassure the woman, while also hiding her own worry. She had seen Cresswell on the property the day Percy had been 'pushed.’ Now a ball. He seemed the least likely person to want to throw a ball. What could his objective be? To lure Percy away? A ball was an awful way of doing so, inviting the whole island to witness his nefarious plans. But it could also be brilliant. Who could point a finger on him if everyone was there?
If all th
is craziness of curses and dark mystical deeds were true, they would be walking into the enemy's lair, unaware and unprotected.
No, she was being fanciful again. This was Mrs. Thornton's contagious fear speaking and Emmeline had to rein herself in. Obviously, she was curious about a ball. Being here, she had attended a few functions, but never a ball. She had nothing but her standard muslin dresses to wear, the one he'd given her being the fanciest of the three she now had.
Mrs. Thornton rose and left the dining room, a whimper still showing her distress. Emmeline sighed. As much as she didn't like Mrs. Thornton, she didn't like seeing the woman suffer. Percy was right that they shouldn't perhaps bend to Mrs. Thornton's delusions. The best thing to do was to face fears, especially irrational ones.
In the back of her mind, though, she could hide the fact that the gris drawn on the veranda had very much been real, and there had been a dead bird showing the caster's willingness to do harm. A shudder went through her body.
Unable to think what else to do with herself after eating, she walked out on the veranda. All the signs of the gris were gone, washed away, and the bird removed.
"It will rain today," Joseph said from down amongst the roses.
"Is Nelly's knee arthritis saying so?" Emmeline asked.
"So she says. I thought I would cut madame some roses to cheer her."
"That's a lovely thought."
"Beauty always calms the wrought mind," Joseph said, snipping the stem of a flower.
Emmeline joined him. "What are curses? Was that thing on the porch a curse?"
Joseph froze midway to the basket. "Some believe such things. Dark things and dark spirits."
"Voodoo," Emmeline said, running her fingers over the buttery softness of a petal.
"Yes, miss."
"And what is a gris?"
"No need for you to thinking of things like gris-gris. Such things are only dangerous to people who believe them."
The Curse at Rose Hill Page 12
