by Jeff Wheeler
“I wonder what’s happening,” Anna said with dread.
Cettie saw Fitzroy striding toward Sir Jordan. His mouth was moving, and she desperately wished to hear what he was saying. Again, as if responding to her wishes, she heard his words as if she were standing right next to him.
“You must send the guests home immediately, Jordan,” Fitzroy said. “It will take time to summon their ships. We need to get off the estate right now.”
“I don’t know what’s happened, Fitzroy,” Jordan said with a worried voice. “My keeper said the keys aren’t working.”
“It’s clear they are not. If things fail, we could all die. Make an announcement. We need to get away at once.”
Cettie heard another voice enter the conversation. It wasn’t familiar to her, yet when Fitzroy turned to face the newcomer, she moved with him. It was the admiral.
“May I be of assistance?” he said calmly. Lady Corrine stood next to him, their arms interlocked.
Sir Jordan was flummoxed. “The estate is sinking,” he said in a half whisper.
“That much is obvious,” the admiral said.
“We must evacuate the guests,” Fitzroy said sternly.
The admiral held up his hand, just slightly, urging caution. “Let’s not cause a panic, Brant. I’ll be concise. The reason Lady Corinne and I came tonight is because I learned the Skempworth investment failed. It will be announced in the morning to the public. I believe, Sir Jordan, that you had a sizable stake in the investment. Is that true?”
Sir Jordan produced a handkerchief and mopped the sweat from his balding head. “It failed?” he gasped in shock. His jaw must have trembled, because Cettie could hear a distinct quaver in his voice. She remembered that he had come to Fog Willows seeking Fitzroy’s advice about the investment. Fitzroy had warned him against it, but it would appear he’d moved forward anyway.
“Utterly and completely,” Admiral Lawton said dispassionately. “It was a risky venture from the start.”
Sir Jordan looked at him in horror. “I’ve lost everything.”
“Indeed, sir, you have,” the admiral said. “I came here tonight to be of assistance, if you will let me. You’ve broken the covenant that holds Gimmerton Sough in the sky. That is why the keys have stopped responding. Without intervention, the estate will fall within the hour. You never should have held a ball when you were under such financial distress.”
Lady Shanron had joined them. “I didn’t think it could happen so fast,” she said in a small, shaking voice. Cettie felt her body start to tremble. The weariness she’d experienced earlier was compounding, but she struggled to maintain her focus, to listen to the words being spoken across the hall.
“The law is merciless, Lady Harding. It brooks no excuses. You risked the lives of every person you invited here this evening. I sense and can tell that you did this unwittingly.”
“Of course,” Fitzroy said, putting his hand on Harding’s shoulder. “What can be done, Admiral?”
“Unless someone assumes the debt burden of Gimmerton Sough, it will be lost. Are you prepared to do so, Brant?”
Cettie heard the brief intake of breath. “No, Admiral. Not at present.”
The room felt like it was tilting, and a spasm of fear rocked her. Was the manor falling again?
“I thought not. You manage your own resources in a capable manner. I respect that. Sir Harding, I propose that the ball continue. I will cover the debt burden and will lease out the manor in the hopes of recouping my loss. It may take some time to cover this . . . embarrassment. You are not the only man ruined this evening, sir. If that is a consolation to you.”
Sir Jordan looked grieved beyond words. “Where will we go?”
The admiral shrugged. “That is up to you to decide. If we have an understanding, then I will have my advocate speak with yours to work out the arrangement. Conclude the ball as planned.”
“Admiral, I cannot say how grateful I am that you—”
Admiral Lawton cut him off. “My only condition, Sir Harding, is that you do not mention my involvement in your public disclosures. I seek no recognition and would prefer this were handled with discretion. Do I have your word, as a gentleman?”
“You do indeed, sir,” replied Sir Harding.
“This was an unfortunate matter,” Admiral Lawton said. He had displayed no emotion during his speech. Cettie wondered how he had kept his composure. Her vision had narrowed to a small, tight circle now. She was part of this moment, part of this manor. She could feel the emotions of the fortress as if it were a living thing. It grieved losing its master. Sorrow wrenched her heart, larger and vaster than anything she had experienced in her life. The emotions flooded her, overwhelming her—drowning her.
Anna cried out in concern as Cettie slumped from the chair, the chalice dropping from her hand and shattering on the floor.
Her body felt as if she had climbed a hundred thousand stairs. Every joint and muscle ached. When Cettie regained consciousness, she could not at first open her eyes. She wanted to see, but it was impossible. Her eyelids felt too heavy. She was lying on a soft bed with blankets pulled up to her chin. A damp rag bathed her face. Was she back at Fog Willows?
Her chin itched, but she couldn’t lift her hand. Even though her eyes were closed, she sensed the light, and the pale peach skin of her eyelids glowed. She felt lips brush her forehead.
“Come, dearest. Wake up. Please wake up.”
It was Lady Maren’s voice, so pleading and gentle—and worried.
“I’m awake now,” Cettie whispered.
She felt more kisses, kisses of gratitude. “I’m so grateful. I haven’t left your side since we carried you here.”
“Are we back home?” The sheets smelled different. So did the pillow. It was a strange place.
“We’re at Gimmerton Sough,” Lady Maren said, stroking her nose.
Memories from the ball came rushing in. “Is it safe?”
“Yes, you’re safe. The castle is almost empty now. Everyone has gone.” Lady Maren pulled some of the blankets away and took her hand. Cettie tried to squeeze it, but her fingers were too weak. “Dearest, something happened last night. Something very rare. It happened right as you fainted. The Hardings have fallen on hard times. They have lost their estate to a wealthy man here in the north. If the admiral had not come last night, we might have all perished.”
Cettie had listened to the conversation. She wasn’t sure if the admiral’s arrival had been a mercy or a ploy for personal gain. She kept that thought to herself.
“Where are the others?” Cettie asked.
“They’re on the tempest, waiting. It’s barely dawn. I was so worried about you,” she said, kissing Cettie’s brow again. “A long time ago, I was very sick. I almost died.” Her voice trembled. “My older sister waited up all night for me. Afraid for me.”
“I remember that night,” Fitzroy said softly, tenderly.
Cettie hadn’t heard the door open, but she was relieved to hear his voice. A smile quivered on her mouth.
“How are you feeling, Cettie Saeed? I think we should go, if you feel you are able. Raj Sarin will be worried about you, too.” The two of them were nearby, Lady Maren on a settee and Fitzroy beside her, his hand on her shoulder. Cettie liked seeing them together. Whatever Harding’s mother believed, she thought them perfect together.
Cettie tried to sit up, and they helped her. She was still exhausted, but her strength was slowly returning, bit by bit. Her gown was wrinkled and her knees wobbly, but with each of them supporting one of her arms, she was able to walk.
As they left the room, the quiet of the manor astonished her. It was a feeling of utter desolation. The light she had experienced beamed in from the window in the room. None of the hall lights were shining, but all the doors had been opened so that the curtains could chase away the shadows. All the energy and vibrancy of the ball were gone. Cettie felt a shudder go down her spine as she sensed unseen ghosts lingering in the dark. The prot
ections and wards had failed. Fear made her start to tremble. If there were similar wards at Fog Willows, then her theory was correct: Mrs. Pullman was indeed letting the ghosts in deliberately. Even if Cettie did attract the tall one, she wasn’t the one bringing all the ghosts into the manor.
“You’re safe, Cettie,” Fitzroy said to her. She looked up at him and saw his confident smile beaming down at her. She would be safe with him. But she could feel the ghosts pressing in around her, yearning to touch her. Unfortunately, she wasn’t safe without him, not even at Fog Willows.
They walked slowly down the long hall, the cavernous space quiet beyond the noise of their shoes. Cettie bit her lip, looking at the huge sheets obscuring the artwork. Then they passed a closed door. Cettie stopped walking. It reminded her of the locked door at home—the one only Mrs. Pullman accessed. She could sense it just by staring at it. Beyond the door was the feeling of a mother weeping over a dead child. The heartsick suffering was so oppressive, so vast, that Cettie shrank and stepped away from it.
“Cettie?” Fitzroy asked with concern.
She wanted to go away. She wanted to run. It was almost as if she could hear wailing coming from the room, even though it was silent.
“Come, dearest,” Lady Maren soothed, tugging at her arm. “Come away.”
She heeded them, but the moment would forever be branded on Cettie’s mind. She would always remember Gimmerton Sough as a place of keening, of suffering, of dashed dreams.
And the memories would haunt her.
CHAPTER TWENTY–EIGHT
HOUSE OF KEYS
The mood at Fog Willows was somber in the wake of the disgrace of the Harding family, even more so after Phinia and Stephen and Adam left for their schooling. Cettie was determined to tell Fitzroy about Mrs. Pullman before he left. The time for waiting had ended—the ghost would be unleashed as soon as he was gone. When she found him in his study, she tried to speak, but her throat constricted, and a terrible power overwhelmed her, rendering her speechless. The feeling did not leave her until she slunk away from his room, unseen. It was then that she realized that she was powerless to tell him. Mrs. Pullman’s influence was stronger than she had dared to believe.
Fitzroy left soon afterward, having promised to set Sir Jordan up with temporary work at the Dolcoath mines. The miners were harvesting quicksilver, while Mr. Savage sent crews in to try to discover new veins.
Cettie tried to speak to Fitzroy again as he bid her good-bye in front of the tempest, but her lips were sealed. A feeling of doom descended upon her as she watched the ship pull away.
Later that day, Anna and Cettie roamed the manor’s corridors disconsolately. Cettie tried to tell her friend about the choking feeling that came over her whenever she tried to speak of Mrs. Pullman’s influence, but the same power made it impossible for her to communicate the problem to Anna. A storm threatened outside, so neither of them wished to risk an outdoor excursion.
Not all topics were forbidden her, though.
“What frightened me so about the other night,” Cettie told Anna, “was how fast Gimmerton Sough fell. It wasn’t very long ago that Sir Jordan asked for advice about the speculation.”
“He should have heeded Papa’s advice,” Anna said somberly. “Now we’ve lost our best friends and neighbors. I will miss them so.”
“As will I,” Cettie said. “It must cost a great deal of money to afford an estate like theirs.”
“And Gimmerton Sough is not even half the size of Fog Willows,” Anna said. “It’s lucky that the Lawtons came when they did.”
Cettie frowned. “I’m not sure it was luck at all. I think they knew it would happen and came to take advantage of the situation.”
“Do you really mean that, Cettie?”
Cettie hesitated, wondering if she was being too forward. But she trusted Anna enough to speak frankly. “I heard them speaking, Anna.”
Anna gave her a surprised look. “What do you mean? You weren’t near the Lawtons at all that night.”
Cettie sighed. “I may not have been standing by them. But I could hear them talking. While I was there, I felt this strange . . . power come over me. I could hear people across the room. As if I were standing right next to them. That’s why I fainted, Anna. It wasn’t the heat from the ball. It was because I felt so drained by the experience.”
“It’s the Mysteries,” Anna said with deep respect.
“What do you mean?” Cettie asked.
Anna stopped in the middle of the hall and squeezed her forearms. “I mean that you can sense the Mysteries, can’t you?”
Cettie felt her insides wriggling. “I think so.”
“Yes, it must be that,” Anna said seriously. “Come with me.” She grabbed Cettie by the hand and started to tug her down the hallway. She spoke in a low, cautious voice. “Mother used to be very strong in the Mysteries. You know how I told you about the ball she attended in the City? The one where she broke a rule? She had fallen in love with a young man who did not have very sterling morals, and she confronted him at a ball. Though there were people watching and listening, she used all her force of will to attempt to persuade him to give up the other girl and her fortune. She . . . she became very sick that night, and it took her a long time to recover her strength. That’s another reason I was so worried about you. You fell sick, just like she did.”
Cettie bit her lip. “Can the Mysteries make someone ill?”
“Yes! It requires great mental energy to harness them. Father says he’s always exhausted after using them.”
“Where are we going?” Cettie asked. She knew instinctively where Anna was taking her. Toward the bedrooms. Toward that one locked door. Her heart began to beat faster with worry.
But there was no need for Anna to answer. They soon arrived at the door. Though it shared the appearance of any of the numerous doors within the manor, the feeling it exuded set it apart. Just as before, Cettie sensed something beyond the door, something that beckoned to her. Not with words, but with a keen intelligence. She swallowed, suddenly fearful.
“I’ve only seen Papa and Mrs. Pullman go beyond this door,” Anna whispered to her, squeezing her hand. “Father said he won’t let any of us in until we are ready.”
“What’s in there?” Cettie whispered in response.
Anna shook her head no. But Cettie could sense the presence even more strongly now. Before she had been half-asleep to the feeling. Now, she was fully awake. The feelings she had experienced at Gimmerton Sough had been dreadful and scary and horribly sad. These were different. She sensed honor and integrity. She sensed a strong will and a gentle hand. It reached out to her mind as if welcoming her in. Without realizing it, she reached up her hand and rested her palm against the wooden door.
Her mind instantly exploded into a lightning storm of thoughts. She felt the thrumming power of the manor, the existence of every living thing within it, come rushing into her in a single vortex of blinding, rushing, thriving life. Every corridor at that moment was laid bare to her, every footfall, every muttered word. Her senses expanded beyond her normal reach, sinking deep into the awareness of something inexplicable. It was as if the light from a thousand suns had radiated through her mind all at once, leaving her too dazzled to think and unable to shield herself from their rays. Yet there was a shadow inside the light. A sickness—a taint. Maybe it was coming from Cettie herself.
But, no, in the middle of it all, she sensed Mrs. Pullman. Cettie saw her erect stance, her stern frown, her serious demeanor. She was the keeper of the house, the one entrusted with Fitzroy’s keys. Cettie sensed the older woman was equally aware of her, and, for a brief moment, their minds merged into one. All that was Mrs. Pullman was stripped bare, and Cettie saw that beneath the sternness, beneath the caprice, beneath the brooding soul lay a woman who felt unworthy of her station. Fitzroy’s father had led her to believe Fog Willows was too much for her, that being a good keeper lay beyond her abilities. Fitzroy’s father’s erratic criticism and genera
l air of disdain had shaped her into the woman she’d become. Her greatest fear was being dismissed, so she had made herself indispensable. Every aspect of the manor ran according to her will and regimen. But beneath that strong, confident front, her deepest, darkest fear was that she might be let go anyway. To avoid that fate, she would do anything.
As that realization struck Cettie, she realized that Mrs. Pullman was physically inside the room at that very moment. Worse, she knew her defenses had been breached.
With unmasked fury, Mrs. Pullman wrenched hard on Cettie’s thoughts and pulled her loose, prying the two of them apart. A ripping feeling, visceral and painful, stabbed through Cettie’s mind.
The door swung open, and Mrs. Pullman was standing before her.
Anna gasped in fear and dread.
Cettie could see the fury blazing in Mrs. Pullman’s eyes as she stood there. “And what are you children doing here?” She asked it in her usual haughty way, but her voice was thick with emotion. “The master wouldn’t be pleased to learn I caught you snooping about.”
Anna wasn’t bold enough to speak up to authority. She shrank from Mrs. Pullman’s visible wrath. “I’m very sorry.”
“You should be, child,” Mrs. Pullman said waspishly. “You knew better than to bring her here. Go.”
Anna tried to pull Cettie away, but Mrs. Pullman gripped her by the arm. “I said go, child,” she warned Anna.
Anna shrank back, tears springing to her eyes, and fled down the corridor. Cettie stood there, her arm smarting with pain as Mrs. Pullman squeezed it, digging in with her fingers. An old fear snapped to life. She wondered if Mrs. Pullman was going to drag her away right at that moment and send her back down to the Fells. Or maybe she would simply throw her over the edge of the manor.
She didn’t. She released Cettie’s arm. The wrinkles on her face twisted into grotesque shapes. She was barely mastering herself.
