by S K Rizzolo
The girl entered one of the rooms, closing the door behind her. Penelope reached the door and put her hand to the knob, wishing she knew more about the geography of this house. She recalled that the picture gallery, dining room, morning room, and drawing rooms were all at this level. This was not the main drawing room, where they had assembled before dinner; she knew that much. She opened the door and paused on the threshold. The curtains at the long windows opening onto the terrace were not drawn so that a stream of moonlight washed the room in a serene glow. This glow illuminated a desk, bookshelves, and two easy chairs that looked like beasts crouched in front of the hearth. A masculine room: an office or study.
Marina stood in the center of the hearthrug near an ornate marble chimneypiece, her back to Penelope. The girl stood quietly, as if she listened to a melody played only for her, and when Penelope reached her side, Marina turned an empty gaze upon her. Penelope hesitated, uncertain what to do. Hadn’t she read somewhere it was unwise to awaken a sleepwalker? She must guide Marina back to bed.
She took the girl’s arm, but Marina shook her off and moved to the French doors. A instant later she was outside, running in her bare feet down the terrace, her hair streaming behind her, her nightdress hiking up so that her bare limbs were visible. Penelope kicked off her own slippers, not wanting to risk tripping over her feet on the rain-slick stone. She negotiated some shallow stairs to stand on an expanse of lawn, which formed a smooth carpet under her feet. Flowerbeds sprouted from this carpet, and a path stretched off into a shrubbery. The flowers were uniform gray ghosts, some in indistinguishable masses, some bending on their stalks and stirring in the breeze. What did Marina intend?
Penelope had her answer when the girl ran past a large tub on wheels and halted at an ornamental vase to caress a large bloom. Penelope froze, caught in the beauty of the moment. She knew she must persuade Marina to return to the house before she injured herself, but she couldn’t help but stare in fascination at the girl in the shadowed garden that seemed to welcome her as if she belonged here under the cold light of moon and stars, among the sweet night scents. Marina lingered over the bloom with a butterfly’s touch; then her hand plunged down in a sudden motion that made Penelope rear back in shock. Marina had the flower in her grip, and earth was spilling down the front of her nightdress. Her hand descended to rip up another bloom.
“Marina, no,” said Penelope. There was something indescribably horrible in this destruction.
Before Penelope could react, Marina ran to stand over a bed of roses. She ran her fingers over the petals, the sleeve of her nightdress snagging on some thorns. Without warning, she made one of those wrenching motions and yanked out a fistful of tendrils and flowers, the petals fluttering down around her. Now there was blood on her nightdress and hands as a dozen thorns tore her flesh.
***
Chase snatched a few hours of rest, expecting to be called to the dying man’s bedside. He had discarded his boots but not his wrinkled shirt and pantaloons. Propping a pillow under his knee, he’d started to read a silly novel borrowed from the library as his eyes drifted closed. But three hours later they flew open.
He wasn’t sure what had awakened him, for the quiet of the house surged around him like a living thing. He could hear no signs of the activity in Garrod’s bedchamber on the floor below. He sat up and pulled on his boots. After dashing some water on his face, he relit his chamberstick with a spill thrust into the lamp he’d left burning on the dressing table. He crossed the room and glanced out the window, observing that the rain had stopped. Beyond the flowerbeds directly beneath him, he could see, outlined in the moonlight, a stretch of greensward broken up by clumps of trees and, farther off, a small bridge that spanned a stream. He was about to turn away when a spark of light appeared, blinked out as it was swallowed up by the trees, and appeared again. His eye traced its sinuous progress. He grabbed his coat, stowed his pistols in his pocket, and left the room.
***
When Chase stepped onto the terrace, his candle blew out in a gust of wind. Navigating by moonlight, he walked past a summerhouse and turned down an offshoot of the main route. For a long way he managed to keep the bobbing light in view. Then, as the path ascended a small rise, he saw a dark form revealed against the gray-black sky. It could have been male or female, young or old, innocent or not, and before he could make up his mind on any of these points, it was gone. He supposed it might be one of the groundskeepers, though he couldn’t imagine what his business might be at this hour. Cursing, Chase willed his knee to cooperate and increased his pace, his greatcoat flapping about his legs. His leg ached like the devil because of the dampness, but he ignored it. Finally, the path entered an arbor clothed in heavy vines. Lewis Durant was sitting on the low fence that separated the pleasure garden from the surrounding meadows.
“What are you doing here, Lewis?”
“Just at this moment I was waiting for you.”
“Helping Miss Garrod play tricks with ghostly lights?”
“The opposite. I want to help her catch the person who does this.”
Chase felt a foreboding. “Where is she? She’s not the one with the lantern?”
“No, I tell you. I told her I’d stay awake and follow the light if it appeared. I heard you coming behind me. I knew it was you from the sound of your walk—and the cursing, of course.” He grinned.
Annoyed that he hadn’t been aware of Lewis’ presence, Chase said, “I’m glad Miss Garrod is asleep in her bed, which is where you should be.”
“Did you see the light?” said Lewis eagerly. “It’s proof Marina isn’t imagining things.”
“I saw it. In the time we’ve wasted talking here, it’s gone.”
“Maybe not. Let’s go find out.” Lewis jumped down from the fence, ducked to avoid a low-hanging tree branch, and bounded up to Chase with all the energy of youth. They emerged from the arbor on the other side, but now the path in front of them was empty, silvered by moonlight.
Chase cursed again. “As I told you. Do you suppose this walk returns to the house? I’ve had enough of this May game for one night. I need to make sure Miss Garrod is safe.”
“You are walking rather stiffly, sir. You’re injured?”
“It’s nothing,” said Chase, his tone ungracious.
This was accepted without comment. They continued in silence, as the path, bordered by concealing hedges that formed the boundary to the grounds, looped past the hothouse and a series of sheds until the walkway did indeed return to its starting point.
They rounded a bend, and Lewis pointed at the terrace of the villa, where two figures grappled in the shadow of the enormous Chinese vases that lined the edge. “Someone’s there. What are they doing? Dash it, is that Penelope and Marina?”
It was. Locked in an embrace with Marina Garrod, Penelope gave a cry of pain as two hands came up to shove her. The two women were of much the same height, though Marina’s build was slighter. Still, the force of the shove made Penelope stumble back a few paces. She righted her balance, glanced up, and saw them approaching.
“Help me get Miss Garrod into the house,” she called.
The girl took a few steps toward the lawn as though she meant to flee. Chase and Lewis broke into a run, Lewis gaining the terrace first. His arms went out to enfold Marina, and he lifted her off her feet, just in time to stop her from falling to the flags. Pressing the girl against his shoulder, he traced his finger over a smear of blood on her cheek. Marina stirred, but Lewis’ grip was too strong. She subsided into his embrace.
“She’s hurt,” he said, sounding angry.
“What’s happened, Penelope?” said Chase.
Penelope looked from him to Lewis, hesitating. “Never mind now. She is chilled to the bone.”
Chase thought that Penelope, pale and exhausted, wasn’t in much better condition than Marina. Her feet were bare, and she shivered. “You’re
right. Questions can wait,” he said.
Lewis spoke over the girl’s bent head. “Marina was asleep. That’s why she struck out at you, Penelope. She’ll be confused and frightened.”
A moan escaped the girl’s lips. She opened her eyes. Looking into them, Chase caught the moment when awareness flickered to life.
Lewis pulled her closer. “You’re safe,” he whispered. He touched her hair.
“I beg your forgiveness for disturbing you,” Marina said in a soft monotone. They all stared at her. It was unclear to whom this remark had been addressed.
“It’s quite all right,” said Penelope, trying to smile.
“How did I get here?” she whispered.
“You’ve had a bad dream, Miss Garrod,” said Lewis. Reluctantly, he allowed Chase to take the girl from his embrace and went to retrieve his sister’s abandoned slippers, presenting them to her. He extended a hand to Penelope. “Let’s go, old girl. It’s going to rain again.”
Chapter Twelve
Beatrice Honeycutt met them in the upstairs corridor. As if already in mourning, she was garbed in lusterless black and carried a prayer book in her hand. Directing one horrified glance at Marina’s bare feet and diaphanous nightgown, she said, “I awakened your maid to see if she knew where’d you gone, but she was no use. We must see your father in a few minutes. Ned is there with Mr. Tallboys.”
Marina said, “Should you and Mr. Tallboys be out of your beds? Are you well, Beatrice? I’ve not seen you since—”
Beatrice swept aside this concern, though in truth she looked harassed, a few strands of lank brown hair plastered against her round cheeks, her small, white teeth worrying her lip. “Where on earth have you been, Marina? Our aunt sent me to find you.”
“I was sleepwalking. Don’t fuss.”
Beatrice sighed. “Get dressed. You’ll want to do your part.” She nodded in Chase’s direction but pointedly ignored Penelope and Lewis. Penelope seemed embarrassed. Lewis stared at Marina’s cousin with open hostility, and Chase was surprised by the intensity of his own dislike. Beatrice Honeycutt had rebuffed the girl’s attempt at conciliation in no uncertain terms.
“My father?” asked Marina after an awkward pause. She was blinking in the stronger light and still looked bewildered. But the reality of Garrod’s plight had steadied her.
“My dear, I’m sorry. The doctor says it won’t be long.”
Marina’s eyes widened. Her mouth trembled, and her grief overflowed in tears.
Chase said, “Will you come into Miss Garrod’s bedchamber with us, Miss Honeycutt? There is more you should know about tonight’s incident.”
Beatrice frowned. “You choose your time well, Mr. Chase.”
“My apologies, ma’am. I understood you to say Mr. Garrod is not ready for you yet.”
She inclined her head with ironic courtesy and accompanied them. When they entered the bedchamber, Marina’s maid, who had been resting in a chair, her head slumping wearily, leaped to her feet. After helping Marina into the chair she had vacated and tucking a shawl around her mistress’ shoulders, the maid said to Beatrice Honeycutt, “Oh, ma’am. I had gone to bed. I never heard a thing this time.”
“This has happened before?” inquired Penelope.
The maid, uneasy, did not respond.
Chase pressed her. “Did your mistress take her medicine tonight? It was too strong. How much did you give her?”
“Just the usual, sir.”
Beatrice Honeycutt intervened. “Go down to the kitchen, Todd, and fetch Miss Marina a hot drink. I don’t want her to catch a chill. We don’t need any more illness in this house.” After the maid had sidled from the room, Beatrice said, “In justice, Mr. Chase, you can’t blame Todd. The draught is intended to keep my cousin quiet. You might say with more truth that it’s not strong enough.”
This was said as though Marina were not present. A flush of anger mounted in the girl’s face, but she controlled herself, merely eyeing her cousin rebelliously. Chase crossed the room to the nightstand and picked up the bottle to sniff its contents. He himself had taken opium over the years to alleviate his pain but had never liked the disorientation it caused. It may be that the family meant well by the girl, though Chase was by no means convinced of that, but in Marina’s anxious state, the laudanum could have excited rather than pacified her. It certainly hadn’t kept her in bed.
Lewis snatched up the towel draped over the washbasin. He wetted it and knelt by Marina to wipe away the streak of blood on her cheek. She allowed him to help her, her gaze warming under his. Beatrice watched this byplay without reaction.
Penelope whispered to Chase, “We must send Lewis to bed. He shouldn’t be here. I’ll tell him.”
“Leave them, Penelope,” he said.
Marina glanced down at her blood-caked fingernails and discreetly slid her hands under her shawl. “You are all very kind to be concerned about me, but I am better.” She turned to Penelope. “Did I hurt you in my frenzy, ma’am? I am truly sorry.”
“Not at all, Miss Garrod.”
The housekeeper Mrs. Yates came into the room. She, too, was fully dressed, and she scurried across the carpet, her keys jingling at her waist. “Did you find her, Beatrice?” she said. Her eye fell on Marina, and she began to deliver a scold, seeming oblivious of her audience.
“Enough, ma’am,” broke in Chase when the spate of words showed no signs of drying up. He explained what had happened, then said to both ladies, “To your knowledge, was anyone from the household out of doors tonight? I saw a light from my window—someone carrying a lantern across the grounds.”
“A light?” echoed Mrs. Yates. “What can it matter? Everyone on the estate knows my brother is on his deathbed. No one sleeps peacefully.”
“It matters because this person may have tried to draw your niece out into the dark. He or she may have known she was in the grip of an opiate, the effects of which can vary. I’ve heard it can cause intoxication and a susceptibility to visions. It would be child’s play to frighten her once she had been roused in this way.”
“For what reason?” demanded the housekeeper.
“I intend to find out.” Chase restored the medicine bottle and approached Marina. Having decided he would not betray her scheme with Lewis, he tried to exude reassurance. And yet he believed that the inveterate secrecy in this household could do the girl no good and was determined to root it out. When he realized he loomed over her, he drew a chair close to hers and sat down. “Did you take your composing draught tonight, Miss Garrod?”
She’d had more time to gather her wits. “I tried to refuse,” she said. “I thought I would be called to my father’s bedside. But Todd said she had orders that I was to take it. I didn’t want to get her in trouble.”
This made sense. She’d been forced to leave the pursuit of any false will-o’-the-wisp to her new ally Lewis Durant. Chase scrutinized the circle of intent faces before he again addressed Marina, who still shivered even under her shawl. “And this potion caused your confusion?”
She lifted her chin. “It’s true I felt unaccountably strange when I left my bed. But I believe that prolonged exposure to the night air has revived me.”
“What awakened you, Miss Garrod?”
He had thought she wouldn’t answer, but she said, “Gravel against my window like the last time.”
“The last time? We’ll pass over that for now. How could this gravel awaken you if you were so soundly asleep?”
She sent Lewis an appeal. “I…I often wander in the night when I am disturbed in my thoughts. Tonight I had vowed to stay awake. I felt there was something I needed to do, but I couldn’t stay awake. I can’t tell you what happened after that.”
Penelope reached into her dressing-gown pocket and extended her hand. “These are yours, Miss Garrod. You dropped them as you ran.”
Before Marina coul
d move, Chase took the red and black beads and held them up in his own palm close to his face so that he could examine them. “Beads from your broken necklace,” he commented.
One of Marina’s hands emerged from under the shawl to take her property. “Yes, I had some left over when I made the bracelet.”
When Penelope looked as though she meant to ask a question, Chase gave a small shake of his head. He could read her thought easily. Penelope was wondering why Marina Garrod carried the beads with her. There was no pocket in her night rail, so that meant she must have clutched them in her hand when she left her bedchamber. But somehow Chase didn’t want that question asked of the girl.
Marina laughed mirthlessly. “How you all stare at me. Oh, don’t worry. I am not the mad creature you must think me.”
“Of course, you aren’t,” burst in Lewis, unable to hold back any longer. “Anyone might have a nightmare. You’ve had a great deal on your mind, Miss Garrod.”
She acknowledged this with a ghost smile but didn’t break the contact with Chase. He said, “Were you dreaming, Miss Garrod?”
She ran her slender fingers over her wrist. “I dreamed about a story I heard in my infancy. A Jamaican bogey, a demon that sucks the blood of children. You see, I’d been thinking about this story before I went to sleep, even though I don’t suppose such spirits can cross the ocean. I heard pursuit behind me on the stairs and thought to distract the demon…compel it to pause long enough to retrieve my beads so that I could get away. All nonsense, but one doesn’t think of that while in the throes of a nightmare.”
