The Curse at Rose Hill

by Camille Oster

  "That was before the swelling set in. His leg is broken. He couldn't walk down the stairs let alone chase anyone around. There is someone responsible for this and they have to be found. But placing accusations where they don't belong isn't serving anyone. It only increases the chance that the person will get away with their despicable act."

  There was grumbling in the crowd and some started to turn away from her. It was hard to tell whether her words meant anything. They were angry and maybe having a direction to aim that anger was more important than ensuring the assumptions were correct. Either way, she had said what she felt she had to. Percy wasn't the person they were looking for, that much she was sure. She couldn't bring herself to believe he was such an excellent actor he could pretend the amount of pain he was in. And the ankle was broken. The swelling attested to that.

  If not Percy, it meant someone else was responsible. The finger had always been pointed at Lord Cresswell, as much as she didn't want it to. But there was also Mrs. Thornton, whose madness seemed to grow by the day, and for some reason, Emmeline was a party to it, the means to beat a curse.

  Discomfort ached in her chest again. Someone was toying with her, and she didn't quite know who or why.

  At the edge of the graveyard, she saw the old woman who had warned her to leave a while back, had said that there were evildoers here. What did she know? She was slow and people passed by her as they left. The mother of the boy was led away, still lost in her grief. Emmeline sighed.

  Whatever this all was, it was claiming real lives. If Mrs. Thornton was to be believed, most of her family. Now a boy who could be nothing but innocent.

  Leaving Joseph, Emmeline walked after the old woman, slowly making her way back to the cottages by aid of her walking stick. Her gray hair was tightly tied back in a bun.

  "Excuse me," Emmeline called when she reached her. "May I have a moment?"

  "A moment?" the woman asked. "You may have several. It will take me more than a moment to get home. I see you are still here. I did tell you to leave."

  "You spoke as if you knew things."

  "We all know things."

  "Rosa," Joseph said in greeting to the woman. "Please excuse us. It has been a trying day. We should go back to the house," he said to Emmeline. Emmeline couldn't understand why Joseph was urging them away when this woman clearly knew something.

  The woman was being obtuse and it was starting to annoy Emmeline, and she didn't want Joseph to get in the way. "Do you know who murdered the boy?" The woman stopped and turned to her.

  "Miss Emmeline," Joseph said. "We should go."

  Rosa waved him away. "You go. I will speak to the child. There are things she wants to know." Grudgingly, Joseph complied. It was clear he showed deference to this woman. It appeared she was an esteemed elder in this community. Or perhaps it was more than that. Did Joseph fear this woman? Or was it what she would find out that he feared? "You think I would keep something like that quiet?"

  "If the motivation was right."

  "What are you accusing me of, girl?"

  "Of knowing something you're not telling."

  "Then ask if you want to know."

  "Do you know who murdered this child?"

  "No," the woman said and started walking again.

  "Do you know of this curse Mrs. Thornton believes in? It's actually more than her, it seems. And why would she think I could break it? I heard her say she thinks I could break it."

  "It is a guilty heart that bothers her. The consequences of her choices haunting her mind."

  "What guilt? What has she done?" Was it Mrs. Thornton who was responsible for this? It couldn't be in entirety. She would never hurt Percy, or kill her own family.

  "And you are the key, the one all this surrounds."

  "How can I be the key? I just arrived."

  "No, you returned."

  The statement stumped Emmeline. She had never been here before. Was this a case of mistaken identity? Or was this something else? Something older. "Was I born here?"

  "Right over there," the woman said, pointing at a cottage. Emmeline only stared at it, her mind racing. Everything that had happened and that she had known, all tried to compete for attention inside her head.

  "I was born here?" She took a step back, trying to consider all the implications. This was where she came from.

  "Your father was Philip Thornton. Mrs. Thornton had you taken away and the heartbreak killed Undine."

  "Undine?"

  "Your mother. That is the curse Mrs. Thornton fears, the heartache of a wronged mother. Bringing you here, the woman thought she could break the curse of a dying woman."

  Absently, Emmeline turned back to Rosa. "I didn't know."

  "Sent the child away, she did. Was inconvenient. Blond you were. Lighter than you are now. Looked like a white child living in the slave quarters. Unseemly, it was. Everyone knew whose child you were, would guess the moment they saw you. Undine was fair, you were fairer. Such a beauty you have become, too. That woman hates you. Never think otherwise, but she fears you more."

  "She fears this curse."

  "It is her guilty conscience."

  "How old was I?"

  "You were just walking."

  Emmeline felt tears welling. All that pain, child and mother being separated, anguishing them both, and all because everyone would know that Philip was finding his pleasure outside the marital bed. "My mother died."

  "She just stopped. Around here, it’s hard to find a reason to live. If that reason be taken away, nothing replaces it. She just faded away."

  "Did Philip love her?"

  "Pish. What do men know of love?" the woman said dismissively. "Men only know what they want."

  At this point, Emmeline couldn't even bring herself to consider if her mother had consented. It was too much to take on as it was. This was where she came from. Her childhood dream that her parents were explorers, out in the wilderness, trying to get back to her melted away from her heart, where she had always secretly kept it. The truth was something much darker, more cruel—as she had always feared.

  It felt as if her knees were weakening. Everything she had believed had been false—her beliefs about her parents, her reason for coming here. It had all been lies. Her mother would be in that graveyard behind her. Undine, her name had been. This was the origin of her and she had been taken away because she had been embarrassing. It was a brutal truth.

  Emmeline didn't know what to do with herself. She was living in a house with a woman who had sent her away. Granted, she had been safe. She had been educated, spared the life of unending toil. But she had been stolen from a mother who clearly loved her. Would she trade the cold upbringing in a convent for the love of a mother if it meant a life of slavery, of being the property of another? It wasn't something she could answer. A mother's love was all she had ever wanted.

  Time passed and she didn't move. The woman, Rosa, was gone, but Joseph stood waiting for her in the distance. "Miss Emmeline," he called. "We must get back." Emmeline could hear the anxiousness in his voice. He had to return to the house, but he wasn't going to leave her.

  There was wetness on her cheeks and she wiped away the tears. She hadn't realized she had been crying.

  Joseph had to get back. The distress she was causing him was clear. He may even suffer punishment for her reticence. With a deep, shuddering sigh, she turned away and started walking. There was a hollowness inside her, as if she had expelled every emotion and there was nothing left. It felt too hard to think, and right now, she just wanted to be empty.

  "Did you know?" she asked quietly as they walked past the sugar mill, a large, noisy structure.

  "Know what, miss?" Joseph asked.

  Emmeline didn't answer him, unable to bring herself to speak about it further. He didn't know, or pretended he didn't. Percy probably didn't, considering he'd been making advances to what was technically his half-sister.

  Unable to contain herself, Emmeline started to laugh. It wasn't partic
ularly funny; she just needed to laugh.

  "Are you alright, miss?" Joseph asked.

  "I think this place drives us all mad," she replied. Maybe she could just be mad for a while. The mirth drained away, leaving an echoing emptiness in its place. Nothing here was true. Did that include the sweet words Lord Cresswell had told her, the passionate kisses as well? Was everything here false, designed to hurt and maim?

  Chapter 30

  Funnily, Emmeline was more willing to believe in curses now than she had before she'd learned the truth. Undine's curse blighted this family, the hurt and rage visited back on the woman who had caused so much. Maybe not through act or gris', but Mrs. Thornton had suffered for her actions all the same.

  The worst was that Emmeline could even understand why Mrs. Thornton had done it. On the surface, it was understandable. Her husband had been unfaithful and the proof was there for everyone to see.

  There was only that woman, Rosa's, word for it, but in hindsight, an offer of employment reaching her all the way from the Caribbean hadn't simply been a stroke of luck as she had seen it. It had been calculated, the response of a terrified woman, desperately seeking some end to a supposed curse that was attacking her family.

  Emmeline sat on the veranda with her book in her lap. She hadn't read a word of it. Of late, she hadn't been able to bring herself to eat with the family, had claimed illness. No one questioned her. Percy was unable to and Mrs. Thornton was too distracted by her own fear to see anything out of the ordinary.

  Although much was explained by this new knowledge, not all was. Someone had still killed that boy. Someone had still tried to kill Percy. In her heart, she knew this wasn't Mrs. Thornton. Someone was doing this. Both of Emmeline's parents were dead. Undine could have relatives that sought vengeance on her behalf, but this was someone cold enough to kill an innocent boy.

  Could it be Lord Cresswell? Has she been so fooled to not see such dark intentions? She had been fooled coming here, thinking she would embark on her new career as a companion to fine ladies. That had all been a lie and she hadn't even suspected that such an offer could be anything but genuine. How naïve she had been. Was she naïve now as well?

  A tortured groan escaped her. She didn't want it to be true. The one thing she wanted was for those kisses to be real, but there were things that urged her to be cautious. He had told her they had done evil, that all she saw was an illusion. What had he meant? What was real and what wasn't? And where was he? She had heard or seen nothing of him. Did this mean he had achieved what he'd set out to? She needed answers.

  "Miss Durrant," a voice said, drawing her out of her thoughts. "You look much too serious."

  "Mr. Hart," she replied, looking down on the man below. "I must admit I was miles away." She didn't even hear him approaching, even on his horse.

  "A look like that, I would wonder if you are considering leaving us."

  Was it that obvious? She really should be. The pay she had accumulated here would be sufficient to book her passage, but to where? There was also a big question she needed an answer to with regards to the promises in a pair of dark eyes. Until she had an answer, even if heartbreaking and potentially vicious, she needed to know. "Is that something that temps you, as well, Mr. Hart?"

  "Leaving?" He laughed. "Leave such glorious sunshine and lush land? Not on your life. Gets in your blood and stays there."

  Emmeline frowned. Did he know about her heritage? No, how could he? He hadn't been here back then, and she doubted the people here would gossip about old happenings with him. The statement was just a throwaway comment.

  His horse shifted impatiently. "And where is that handsome beau of yours?"

  She was about to deny his implication, but what was the point?

  "Haven't seen him around for a while," Mr. Hart continued.

  No, he hadn't been around for a while. "I am sure he has things that need his attention."

  "By the state of his plantation, you would think so. It's going to ruins. If ever there was a man who needs a bit of managing, he would be the one. Unless you think his affection isn't true."

  This conversation was making her intensely uncomfortable. "I am sure Lord Cresswell knows his own mind."

  "If it is him keeping you here, you should pin him down."

  "Thank you for your advice, Mr. Hart."

  "If given the chance, some men string their sweethearts along because they can. If I really were thinking of leaving, I should like to settle things once and for all." Urging his horse forward, he rode away. It was beyond odd getting romantic advice from a man such as Hart, but he did have a point. This complication with Cresswell—she didn't feel comfortable calling it a relationship as that entailed something of permanence—was the only thing keeping her here. If it were true, that was one thing, if not, there was nothing holding her here. The next ship sailing north would do. She could be a teacher. Under the circumstances, she could probably even insist on a good reference, considering she wasn't brought here in good faith, or even really given the opportunity to act in the capacity she had been hired for.

  Maybe Mr. Hart was right. She didn't want to sit here and wait for Lord Cresswell to reveal what was on his mind. If there was nothing true here, she wanted to know, and not be strung along being a diversion for a bored lord.

  The path to his estate was at the edge of the left field. She had ridden down it; she knew where it came out. It would be a simple thing to just walk over there and get the answers she needed. It would mean walking through the jungle, which scared her. There was also the risk of an impromptu storm, but there was no more risk now than any other time. Who knew how long she would have to wait here otherwise. He didn't, after all, know that being here was as uncomfortable for her as it was.

  Making up her mind, she determined to do it. Putting the ignored book aside, she rose from her chair and walked to the stairs. Ingrained habit told her she needed an umbrella, but she knew why Mrs. Thornton had insisted so consistently on her staying out of the sun. Now she was afraid Emmeline's skin would darken with the sun. Her skin was a problem; it was both too light and also too dark. In summary, the main problem was that Emmeline was there, the unwanted bastard child of her husband.

  Anger made her march down around the field and into the jungle. Sound immediately dampened with the heavy vegetation. For a moment, it appeared quiet, but then the creatures of the jungle made themselves heard. Screeches and calls in the dense foliage, giving to darkness behind. It was so thick, there was no way getting through it if not for the path.

  Ignoring the depths at each side of her, she kept her eyes on the path, following it without question. Eventually, it would give to fields again—his fields. Pushing down her unease, she kept going, because this short temporary unease was nothing compared to staying at Rose Hill for who knew how long.

  Again, the state of the crop was evident. Even she could tell that this wasn't a well-managed plantation. Mr. Hart, being an expert, had just blatantly stated it as well. There was something unknown here, too. The state of these crops showed something here was hidden. Lord Cresswell had even said that everything around him was an illusion. According to Mrs. Thornton, dark forces had him in their grip. Well, something was here. It was evident. It didn't exactly marry with the gentle man who kissed her so sweetly, or else she was being a stupid and deluded girl, wishing the handsome prince was just that and not a pretty lie.

  In the light of day, the garden around the house again looked overgrown and unkempt. Black watermarks ran down the white stucco sides of the stairs. Unease clenched her insides. He had to tell her what this was all about.

  The large, wooden doors were firmly shut. No one was around. The fields were empty and the only sound heard were birds. She knocked and waited. No one came to the door. It seemed the whole plantation was empty. Knocking again, she waited. Someone had to be inside—the maid, Tilly, at least.

  After a while, the doors cracked open and a face that looked somewhat familiar appeared. He was L
ord Cresswell's manservant. No greeting, only a harsh stare. "I need to speak to his lordship," she stated.

  "His lordship is not here," the man said, a deep timbre to his voice, almost like a rumble.

  It hadn't occurred to her that he wouldn't be there, but then, he was often absent from what she understood. "Where has he gone?"

  "He does not keep me informed of where he goes. No doubt stuck in some whore's bed."

  Emmeline blinked at the harshness of the statement. Had it been said intentionally to hurt her? Maybe not. She had to stop reading into people’s intentions. Perhaps this man believed Cresswell was enjoying the company of some less-than-reputable woman. Maybe he even was for all she knew.

  With a sniff, she cleared his throat. "I suppose you don't have a time when he is expected back?"

  The man closed the door in her face. A gust of wind flared the tendrils at the side of her face. That was a no, apparently—communicated with utmost rudeness. Was Lord Cresswell aware that his staff were so rude? Not staff, she had to remind herself. The truth was harsher. Mrs. Thornton would have an apoplectic fit if Joseph behaved like that. Cresswell's man had other standards, it seemed, or perhaps he just held her in lower regard, either because she was seen as part of the oppressors, or maybe even because she had designs on his lordship.

  Finding herself alone again, she turned around to the vastness of the empty estate. Coming here had been a mistake. He wasn't here. Why had she expected that he would be? Was this the answer she was looking for? It felt like it.

  Chapter 31

  Emmeline took her supper in her room, claiming a headache. In part, it was true; both her head and her heart ached painfully. It was time to go, time to leave here, but she really did need to plan what she was going to do next. The obvious choice was to return to Boston, but she worried that the specter of failure would follow her. Returning within a few short months of arriving couldn't be seen as a raving success, even with a decent enough reference. Perhaps going to New York was better.