Sepia and Silver (Tragic Silence Book 3)

by E. C. Hibbs

  I finished my book and wandered to the shelves to replace it. Then I turned my attention to its neighbours, working my way around the room in search of another which may catch my interest.

  I soon arrived at the fireplace, and paused, looking up at the painting nailed to the chimney breast. In a tiny plaque at the bottom of the frame had been engraved: 20th September 1854; ‘Upon the Heights of Alma’. The noble uniforms of the soldiers stood out boldly against a drab yellowy background, heads raised high in victory.

  I vaguely wondered if one of them could have been my grandfather himself. As though acting independently of me, my eyes turned from the frame, and settled on the gun-book.

  I jumped as the doorbell sounded. Realising the post was due; I hurried downstairs and unlocked the latch.

  “Are there any parcels today?” I asked, having heard Christine sometimes use such an inquiry.

  “No, Miss Calvin; just a couple o’ letters,” replied the boy, handing over a small stack of envelopes. “Good morning to you, Miss.”

  “Thank you,” I said, watching him start back onto the pavement. I shut the door and took the mail into the parlour, sorting through it was I walked. Most of it was for Margaret, but the largest one was addressed to me.

  I frowned when I saw it. There were Hungarian stamps on it, though I didn’t recognise the handwriting at all. To add to the mystery, it was extraordinarily heavy.

  I set Margaret’s letters on a side table; then sat in my usual chair, turning the envelope over in my hand. I began thinking it might have been sent by József. Perhaps it was his note to tell me about Zíta, somehow delayed on its journey.

  I unsheathed a paper knife and slid it along the seam, pulling the contents of the envelope into my lap. The heavy object within was flat and rectangular, concealed from view by yet more paper that had been tied around it as padding. Bound to it by a length of twine was a folded square. I worked that free and unravelled it, preparing myself to hear of my cousin for the second time.

  But almost immediately, I realised it wasn’t from József, and my heart skipped a beat.

  21st June, 1895

  My sweet Éva,

  Please do not be alarmed by receiving this letter. It has undoubtedly been mentioned to you that I passed away long ago, when you were a child, and too young to remember anything of me. But I must now inform you that this is false, and I am, in fact, very much alive.

  The rumours you have heard, of my being attacked twenty years ago, are indeed true. I was struck down close to Izabella Street, by a strange man who sought to steal my wallet. I suffered so greatly as a result that I fell into a deep and dreamless sleep. Upon awakening, so much time had fleeted by that I was presumed dead, and I found care in the form of a sisterhood of nuns. I searched for my family, only to find that your dear mother had taken both of you to stay with relatives in the east.

  It was shortly after this that I learned of her tragic death. I could barely live with myself – her passing was enough to dash me to pieces, like a ship against cruel rocks in a storm. To face you after such horror, my darling, was too much for me to bear. I believed that keeping myself from your life was for the greater good. Overcome by my own fear of facing you, I stayed clear, which I now regret with every fibre of my being. I have missed you terribly, dear Éva. And now I finally find it within me to come to your home, to see that you too are gone. This news strikes me with anguish, for I fear I will never set eyes upon you again.

  You are the only one left of my family, my sweet girl. I hope you will return to your homeland one day, where I shall anxiously wait to meet you again. Till that time, keep the spirit of your bloodline alive in your heart. Fall not into nightmares, and remember me in your prayers.

  With deepest affections,

  Your father, János Kálvin.

  I sat in silence, completely dumbstruck, staring open-mouthed at the letter. My fingers trembled beneath it.

  My father was alive? After all this time of believing him dead, it was all false?

  My thoughts instantly turned to the package. Not bothering with the knife, I snatched it up and tore through to the object beneath. Scraps of paper flew about me like leaves, until a wooden frame lay clutched in my hand. I turned it over, and drew in a gasp of surprise.

  Within an oval-shaped mount behind the glass was a sepia portrait of a man and woman, standing close to each other. Both of them were young; perhaps the same age as I was now. The woman wearing a dark dress with a high lacy collar, a tiny infant cradled in her arms. She had shining blonde hair styled into tight ringlets that tumbled about her face like spun gold; her eyes were warm with sweetness and serenity. The man at her side was also clothed finely: in a shirt and tie beneath a pressed jacket. His hair was black as night, eyes large and piercing. They were also a much lighter colour than hers; I got the impression that behind the tint of the picture, they were a shade of grey or blue.

  My mouth went dry. I had only vague childish recollections of her, but I instantly knew the woman was my mother. Her fair hair was all the evidence I needed. And there was no doubt in my mind that the baby was me. But then I moved my attention completely to the man, regarding his image for the first time in my life.

  So this was my father. I drank in every detail of him, desperate to commit this mysterious figure to memory. My first thought was that Zíta hadn’t been lying when she mentioned how attractive both my parents had looked. If it was possible for a man to be beautiful, then he truly was. There was not a single blemish or fault to his face at all.

  This photograph had obviously been taken before my Anya’s family became destitute. No wonder I’d never seen it. He’d held it on his person since that day, for twenty years?

  My blood suddenly boiled with untamed rage. My father had been keeping himself concealed from me ever since my earliest days, and had never thought to approach me before now.

  Why? If he had survived the attack which I’d always been led to believe had killed him, then what could have possibly stopped him from trying to reunite with us in Hattyúpatak? Just because we were no longer at home in the city, did that conclude we were lost to him? Had Anya and I meant so little?

  My conviction was stronger than steel. If he truly loved me, he would have come for me sooner. Nothing should have kept him from his daughter. And I had survived well enough without him thus far.

  My fingers tightened around the letter, crumpling it within a firm fist. The familiar tingle began behind my eyes and the entire room turned red. Growling to myself, I screwed the paper into a ball and tossed it into the grate. The low flames caught it immediately and it blazed orange, curling away on itself until there was nothing left but a pile of thin ashes.

  I had a mind to take the portrait and burn that too. But when I looked at it again, it seemed to tug some little string in my heart. Here were my parents, side by side as they should have been; my only solid image of both Anya and Apa. And the more I gazed at their faces, the more my anger receded, until I couldn’t bring myself to deface it in any way.

  I actually felt a stab of regret over the letter and glanced at its remains, wishing that I hadn’t acted so rashly. There was nothing I could do about that now; the entire thing was gone from me. So I instead walked to my bedchamber, the frame tucked under my arm, and placed it atop my nightstand.

  A single tear fell down my cheek. I doubted I would ever reunite with him, but I needed to get back to Hungary. I wasn’t even completely certain the soil was working, though even if it was, I knew I couldn’t prolong my transformation indefinitely. If I came of age as a full demon and stayed here, then I was bound to die.

  Especially now I was aware of Henry. Once I was his daughter-in-law, there would be no escape.

  *

  That evening, I stared out of the dining room window at a twilit sky. The sun hadn’t set until late, so the curtains were still open, and I could see the black branches of an apple tree in the garden silhouetted against deep blue clouds.

  I
heaved a sigh and turned back to my dinner, prodding at the carved beef half-heartedly with my fork. It was medium-rare; still slightly pink in the middle. That was the only part of it that I had eaten.

  “Eva, is something the matter with your food?” Margaret asked coldly from opposite me.

  “No.”

  “Then why are you not eating it? Do you want to offend Mrs Dean? For goodness sakes’ child, there are a great many people in this city who would give their left arm for a dinner such as yours.”

  I glanced at her. She’d never cared for the destitute, but I supposed that even the lowliest thieving urchin would be higher placed than me in her eyes. I knew better than to say this however, instead responding with, “I am simply not very hungry tonight.”

  “Don’t worry yourself about growing fat for your wedding dress,” Margaret sniffed. “That new corset that we ordered with it will do the job nicely.”

  My fingers constricted around the handle of my knife. “I will not be wearing that dress.”

  “It’s too late to pick a new one now,” snapped Margaret, her eyes hard. “We’ve only a week left until the ceremony, remember.”

  “No,” I said steadily, not looking away from her. “I won’t wear any wedding dress. I will not marry.”

  Margaret’s face instantly turned pink. “What? Nonsense!”

  “It is not nonsense,” I said, placing the knife down and hands in my lap. “I have made my decision.”

  “Your decision? It is not yours! You want to call off the entire engagement? It would disgrace all of us; insult the Jones family beyond words! Foolish girl!”

  “I will not marry,” I repeated, keeping my voice calm but firm. “I want to go home. I will buy myself passage back to Fiume with what Grandfather left me.”

  “You would throw away everything he gave you?” Margaret shouted, clearly furious. “He wasted all that time and money to bring you here, only for you to do this? I won’t let it happen.”

  “You can’t stop me.”

  “I most certainly can. And so can Benjamin Jones. It is the will of your husband-to-be that will govern you now, unruly child! You will never leave this island, do you hear me?”

  I narrowed my eyes, patience beginning to wear thin. The air became as tense as a stretched cord; I wouldn’t let her cow me into submission now.

  A part of me did want to stay as I thought of Benjamin; I really had grown attached to him over the course of our engagement. But I could not let on that I did care for him, lest Margaret use that against me. Instead, my head filled with James, and his words of standing strong. I had to find a way out of this hole she had forced me into.

  My tone lowered to a growl. “I am no helpless child, Mrs Calvin. I will not be chained and traded like chattel!”

  “Listen to me,” Margaret said coldly. “You shall marry. And who would have you if you did manage to get back to where you came from? You have nobody left. All your relatives are either dead or have moved on from you.”

  I rose out of my chair with such fervour, Margaret jumped in fright. My muscles burned, aching to send me across the table and to bury my teeth in her wrinkled throat. The wrath contained inside me was like magma, eating at me, begging to be slaked with a river of hot blood.

  But then I quickly pulled myself under control. There was no way I could attack her, especially not after Norman’s death. It would ruin all the effort James and I had taken to remain inconspicuous.

  And where would it leave me? I could feel Éva slipping further away from me with every passing day; every vein I tore open; every corpse I threw into the river. I was losing the fight to keep her. How many more nails could I drive into my own coffin?

  That was the final straw. My boldness instantly shattered, and I felt like a frightened little girl again, still reeling from the darkness of her old simple past. Even though it was everything I didn’t want Margaret to see, I clung to it, observing its connections to a more innocent time. It was a thin link to the person I had been in Hungary, with my cousins at my side, and I felt desperate to keep it close.

  During my fierce internal struggle, Margaret recovered and stood so we were the same height once again. She angled her face so she was looking down her nose at me. I held a hand to my chest. My fingers brushed the locket and I turned my face away in shame, desperate to keep creeping tears hidden.

  “You border on the edge of rationality and madness, Miss Calvin,” Margaret said in a callous voice that beat at me like fists. “It would do you good to keep yourself in check, before you become the ruin of yourself. Now get out of my sight.”

  All too happy to comply, I fled, tearing up the stairs to my room. I flung myself onto my bed, overwhelmed by the tide of disgust and spreading hopelessness, and cried until my entire body ached.

  “Grandfather!” I moaned into the pillow. “God, I’m so sorry! What am I to do? I never meant for any of this, Grandfather! Please, God, help me!”

  CHAPTER XIX

  My sleep was fitful, surrounded by passionate cries and flaming torches. The ghostly lyrics of Himnusz rung in my ears as I clutched my ragdoll close. The chill of the cloudless night was sharp on my skin, and I closed my eyes tightly when the singing became screams.

  When I opened them again, I was back in my bedroom. I was still clothed, but darkness had fallen outside, and the curtains across the window were not yet drawn. Then I looked down at myself, realising that I was hovering a few feet off the sheets.

  A jolt of surprise shot through me, but I didn’t panic, and instead took my own weight in the air so I was completely in command. I held myself there for a few moments, savouring the feeling. After breathing deeply, I let my legs towards the floor, and stepped back into the embrace of gravity without a single sound.

  I wandered to the window, resting my temple despondently against the frame. I knew James wouldn’t come for me tonight; it was too soon after his last visit. And now my initial fury towards Margaret had cooled, so too had my desire to swallow any blood. Just the thought of that notion made me grimace.

  I opened the latch and let the panes open, moving onto the balcony. The fresh air hit me and I drew in a deep breath, drinking it up. It worked wonders after the stuffiness of the house. I marvelled at the landscape of smells in it: sea salt, ship oil, pollen, motor car fumes.

  I needed to get away from here. At least for a while, I knew I had to be free of this empty room; the oppressive patterned wallpaper and heavy drapes. So I focused hard, recalling what James had taught me, letting my body rise off the step.

  I quickly shadowed myself, let go of the railing, checking I had control. When I stayed in the air, I let out a small smile; then pulled the window closed behind me, flying over the road. I spread my arms like wings, allowing myself to become lost in the endless night. Nothing could touch me here. Like a bird released from its cage, I could be whatever I wanted.

  Knowing my own limits, I didn’t go far, and watched the ground below, picking out a place where I could hide for a little time. My eyes focused on the darkened square of Sefton Park, and I spiralled down, landing clumsily beside one of the ponds.

  I glanced around warily before making myself visible again. The place was deserted, the only movement being the soft swaying of the trees in the faint summer wind. Their leaves whispered to each other softly; flowers bobbed their blossoms in my direction, as though acknowledging my presence. A few wispy clouds drifted across the moon, sending shadows chasing each other over the lawns like swallows.

  I brushed some soil from the front of my dress and walked off the path, deep into the shaded areas where nobody went. The branches closed over my head so I was concealed within a huge earthy cave. The grass was longer here; areas fenced off by elegant balustrades and freshly-pruned hedges. I felt it smack against my ankles with every step, tugging on my boots. I had a mind to lift the hem of my dress so it wouldn’t become damp with dew, but then let it go. I didn’t care.

  Eventually, I came to a halt at the edge of t
he trees, and gazed ahead at the imposing facades of the mansions. They were all spaced widely apart from each other, upstairs windows aglow with golden light, elaborate chimney stacks sending small plumes of smoke into the sky.

  Weaver House was the centremost building. I instantly focused it, imagining Benjamin behind its curtains, asleep in his bed. Was he dreaming of me? Was he living out the wedding in his slumber, picturing my arm tucked in his as he led me into yet another new world?

  My eyes welled up with tears again. I didn’t sob, and let them fall naturally, streaking along my cheeks. I didn’t know who I was, or what mattered, anymore. A harsh truth stuck me from Margaret’s words: I had nobody left. Zíta was dead, Erik moved on; and even though the villagers in Hattyúpatak were all fond of me, I doubted any of them would like the responsibility of taking me into their lives. And what if I did get back, and came of age? My old home was the most dangerous place a demon could be. I only had to remember the Final Purge to be certain of that.

  There could be no denying it. No matter how hard I fought; how desperately I tried to cling to myself, I was trapped. I had put a corset of iron around my own waist, and now I could only wait for it to be laced tighter and tighter, until death came for me.

  “Éva?”

  I whirled around so fast, I almost fell over. But my fright slowly drained when I noticed the dark figure of James standing in the shadows a few feet away. He was clothed as he had been when I first met him: in his police uniform, stiff hat concealing most of his hair. His head was angled to the side, as though in mild confusion.

  I pressed my lips together nervously, wiping at my eyes. “Don’t take me out tonight. I beg of you.”

  “Do I honestly look as though I am dressed for such an occasion?” James replied with a hint of sarcasm.

  “Then what are you doing here?” I asked.

  “I’m on my rounds,” he said.

  “You never come this side of the park when you’re on duty.”