by Lani Lenore
“May I go see about her?” Celia blurted suddenly. Irving appeared surprised, but he was unquestioning.
“Yes, of course,” he said as if he had no opinion in the world about it. “Margot probably took her to the west parlor. It’s not far down the hall.”
“Thank you. Excuse me.”
She rose from her chair, the whole situation disturbing her. She didn’t want to sit at a table with a man who hardly cared about the wellbeing of his pregnant wife. Adam gazed after her, but he did not protest, and she did not regard him. She left the room.
If a man does not love his wife and child, how can he claim to be a man?
Celia considered this spitefully as she moved away from the dining room. She had thought Irving was a charming man, but not after this. This was near unforgivable. She had to wonder if she’d ever seen such gall in her life, and yet prayed that she never would again.
“Sit here, ma’am.” Margot’s flat voice drifted out into the hall, leading Celia to find the parlor easily. She didn’t know what she would say when she went in to see Anjessica; she just felt inside herself that someone needed to show the woman some concern. She thought it was terrible that Irving had acted in such a way toward his wife. He had practically dismissed her because she had embarrassed him? The woman could not be blamed.
Celia crept toward the open door, peeking in to see Margot arranging pillows behind the seated Anjessica.
“I will see if I can find master Baltus, ma’am,” Margot informed her mistress, and afterward departed out a side door.
Hearing those words, Celia froze in the doorway, on the verge of indecision. She’d had every intention of going into the room, but now that she heard Baltus was coming to it, she wavered. She thought she was about to have a day free of that man and his stare, and that would have been pleasant, for every time she thought of him, she couldn’t help but think that he was the one in her room last night, touching her even though his eyes couldn’t see her. She shuddered. She didn’t want to think about it.
Perhaps I can just look in on Anjessica. If she seems a bit better, I’ll be done with it.
With that resolve, Celia looked into the room once again. Anjessica was sitting on a sofa, facing forward but directed slightly away from the doorway. She didn’t seem to notice Celia as she rested back against the cushions and tried to breathe easily through her nausea, but she did not look to be on the verge of vomiting again. Some of her color was coming back.
Good, Celia thought, relieved. She’ll be fine until Margot gets back, at least.
She began to turn herself away, but was pulled back to attention when the woman groaned suddenly, gripping her stomach. Celia nearly ran to her, but a moment later, the woman’s discomfort subsided, yet an expression of pain lingered on her face.
I should see if she’s alright, Celia thought. Then: No, I should go. She remained frozen with indecision at the door.
Before she could coax herself into turning away, she saw Anjessica wince and dig her fingers into the material of her dress. The woman clenched her teeth. Her fingers disappeared into the cloth as she clenched it, pulling it up over her large stomach to inspect the bare flesh, as if the skin itself was what pained her. Her skirt inched over her pale legs, her hips ripe with purple veins. Celia nearly screamed for what she saw then, but managed to swallow it, though it came short of choking her. The full girth of the woman’s stomach was the color of black rot, as if a terrible bruise had spread all throughout her womb. Vein-like tendrils dulled in color as they crept around her waist, and Anjessica ran her hand across it, trying to soothe it.
“It’s alright,” she said in a hissing whisper through her grinding teeth, and Celia did not know if she was talking to her child or to herself—but she had seen enough. Celia fled with the horrible vision imprinted upon her mind.
Having nowhere else to go, she retreated to her room instead of back to dinner. Any remaining appetite was her last concern.
Time passed, making the night deeper. Celia had not returned to the table, and so it was somewhat grudgingly that Adam agreed to be shown to his room by one of the twin servants. While he knew it was possible that Celia had chosen to remain with Anjessica, possibilities were not something Adam was interested in just now. On the third floor, Adam pressed ahead of the maid that was escorting him, intent to go his own way.
“Where are you going, sir?” the maid following him drawled without emotion, but she did not try to stop him.
Adam moved along purposefully until he came to a door just before his own that was open and aglow with firelight. Looking into the space, the first thing he saw was the second maid, who was crouched on the floor, poking the fire. Turning toward the bed, his eyes fell on Celia.
Good, he thought. She’s here at least.
The blue-eyed girl seemed to notice him at the same moment, rising up quickly from where she was seated on the bed. She looked pleased to see him, but there was something about her face that made her appear uneasy. He moved toward her then, and the maid at the fireplace was alerted by his movement.
“Sir, I must protest to your intrusion,” she said flatly, coming to her feet. “It is inappropriate.”
He ignored her.
“You didn’t come back to dinner,” he pointed out to the girl he had fixed his gaze upon. “Is everything alright?”
Celia hesitated, looking toward his face. Adam gripped her arms gently, and even through her sleeves, he could test the softness and warmth of her flesh. A brief wave of heat washed over him, and for an instant he forgot what exactly he was concerned about. Celia was within his grasp. So easily, she could have been in his arms. He didn’t want to let her go.
To my dearest Adam…
“Sir, this is inappropriate,” the maid at the fire said again. “Luci, please escort the gentleman from the lady’s room.”
For some reason, those words led Adam to turn back toward the doorway, where Luci was standing calmly with her hands folded at her waist, looking at him. Margot seemed upset about him being here—though it was only her words and not her tone that revealed it—but her sister didn’t seem to mind at all.
“It’s alright,” he heard Celia say, and Adam turned back to see her giving him a firm look. “We’ll talk later.”
He wondered if that was good enough for him, but decided not to cause unnecessary trouble. With a nod, he withdrew his hands from her and turned away quickly, to ensure himself that he would. Luci stepped out of his way accurately, and he could hear her following him toward his own room. The door was not far away. He was concerned about Celia, but once he was in his room, he would be able to look in on her. His focus shifted to the maid behind him. The slow echoing of her footsteps was remarkably eerie, one after another. There was an element about her that he needed to concern himself with: she could not be allowed to lock him in.
Casually, he sauntered to the windows after entering the room that had been designated for him, watching the streams of water that ran down the glass, as behind him, Luci began to build up a fire in the hearth.
“Do these windows open?” he asked, unable to see very far beyond the fog. “I wouldn’t mind some fresh air.”
“It’s raining, sir.”
He turned toward the cold voice, seeing that the maid looked at him with impassive eyes from the fire. He could hardly believe her nerve.
“I don’t believe that’s what I asked,” he aimed back at her.
Luci gazed at him another moment, blinked twice and offered him a helpful smile.
“Then no, sir. They don’t open.” She turned back to poke the fire, and the flame grew, spitting a shower of sparks.
What is she thinking? Adam thought over it a moment, but dismissed it with the decision that it wasn’t worth his contemplation. He looked back toward the foggy window, but only managed to see his face reflected in the glass. It surprised him every time he saw it, for he was not yet used to it being his own face. It was well-shaped, but his dark eyes were stern, and his
mouth never seemed happy. Standing there, staring, he looked himself squarely in the eye.
Who are you? Are you a man or a child? Are you rich? Are you poor? Are you honest? Did you ever know who you were?
Adam saw beyond his own reflection then, noticing that the maid was standing upright behind him, staring at his back. It struck him as odd, and he turned slowly to face her with his brow furrowed.
“Is there anything else I can do for you, sir?” the maid asked, looking at him with expectant eyes.
Adam had looked over this maid as well as the other, and he couldn’t help but notice how little personality there was between them. They were as flat and as stiff as boards, but there was something about this one—this Luci—that was a bit different from her sister. Perhaps it was something in her eyes like he saw just now. The other maid was impassive toward everything and insistent upon rules, but this one seemed to have—for lack of a better word—expectations.
“That will be all,” he said to her when he was done with his private thoughts. Her shining eyes stayed on him. “But you can leave the door open when you go, if you don’t mind.”
He was surprised when a curving smile lifted the maid’s face. Her mouth changed, but her eyes stayed the same, and only one thought was going through his mind.
She knows that my request is significant. She knows I don’t want to be locked in and it amuses her. Why?
“Very good, sir,” she said, holding her smile, and with a short bow of her head, she left through the open door.
Celia knew that Margot had been surprised to find her in her room, but the maid went on with her duties nonetheless, turning down the bed and building a small fire. She’d seemed rather perturbed when Adam had made his appearance, but the maid had reverted to normal behavior just afterward, as if it had not happened at all.
Celia sat back on the bed after he’d gone, resting quietly even as a murmur of voices drifted through the hole from the next room. The girl had thought she was growing comfortable here, but she was gradually losing her good faith. She had scolded Adam for his immediate desire to flee the house, but now she was beginning to agree with him. If the weather was fine for them to travel down the mountain tomorrow, she would not complain about leaving.
“This is yours, miss,” she heard Margot say, startling her out of her contemplations. The words were accompanied by a heavy thump and a jolt to the bed behind her, and when Celia looked up, a buckled suitcase had been hefted onto her bed. She had not noticed it earlier, but of course she had not been looking for it. This was hers? To use for the journey out of here, or—
“Is that some of my luggage?” Celia asked. “From the wreck?”
The maid straightened, but did not say anything toward it.
“Shall I unpack it for you, miss?” Margot asked in her toneless way, but Celia was too amazed to regard it.
“No,” she said quickly. “I’ll see to it. Thank you. Was this recovered from the accident? The road?”
“I do not know,” Margot said shortly. “Is there anything else, miss?”
The maid seemed to want nothing more to do with this, and that was alright with Celia, but she needed to address what she and Adam had discussed.
“Yes, um, could you leave the door unlocked, please?”
Margot didn’t seem to know how to respond for a moment, standing frozen solid, but finally she gave a small nod.
“Of course, miss.”
Margot left her alone, closing the door, but Celia did not hear the turn of the key in the lock. She felt relief to know that she could get out, but promptly rose up to push a short bureau in front of the entrance. It took some effort, but she managed it, feeling satisfied that if anyone wanted to get in, they would at least force the furniture enough that it would alert her.
Once that was done, Celia turned to the luggage, nervous and mystified. What secrets did it hold? Secrets that should not have been secrets at all, she suspected, but she was eager to uncover them. She unbuckled the latch swiftly and threw back the lid, leaving the contents exposed.
Skirts and petticoats burst out. Celia had little care for that. She was looking for papers or for anything that might identify her. If she was traveling, surely there was something! She tossed the clothing out without care, and as she dug deeper, she feared that she would find nothing else. Was this what her life had looked like? Did she have nothing of substance?
She had nearly emptied the case completely when she ran her hand along the sides, and there in a small pouch, she found what felt like paper. Removing it carefully, she saw that it was an envelope. Celia looked it over with wonder, her heart applauding her find. The edges appeared worn from repeated handling. It must have been special to her, yet she’d hidden it, unlike the letter she’d found by the bedside, which must have been on her person. With shaking fingers, she lifted the flap and gingerly removed the contents. Nervousness coursed through her veins as she began to read.
Dearest Celia,
There is not a night that passes that I do not think of you. I fear to say that I yearn for you, and I wonder what you will think of me, but I cannot leave it unsaid. I feel that the next time we meet, even to touch your hand, I may lose myself to this desire. I think of your lips, the softness of your mouth. I long to taste more than that, yet again. We’ve been apart for too long, and I can’t describe the feelings of wrongness that I feel, even as I pen these words. In my mind’s eye, I see the shape of your body in the candlelight, and I imagine your warm skin against mine…
She paused, blushing, unable to read more. Her heart was pounding with embarrassment as much as excitement. Needing to know the truth before going on, her eyes moved to the bottom of the letter to see how it was signed.
You remain in my thoughts.
Yours always,
Adam
So, they had been something to each other after all—more than casual—more than an infatuation. There had been passion between them, and if they were not married, they had at least shared one another’s intimate company. Her thoughts were swimming with possibility, of all the things that their past relationship could mean. Were they clandestine lovers? Was their relationship forbidden, much like it was here?
Once again, she began to imagine the night of the accident. The cramped carriage, the bumpy road. Adam was next to her. He touched her hand and she blushed, remembering the night before, when they’d given in to their desire for one another. It had been the first night they’d been together since their engagement. She’d meant to wait until the wedding, but the lust had been too strong. Every time he looked at her, touched her, she felt a fire roaring inside. She felt it now…
“Are you alright?” Adam’s voice startled her when it drifted through the wall, and she cast down the letter as if she should not have been reading it.
“Yes,” she squeaked, hating the way her voice sounded, but she shook it away.
She obligated herself to meet him at the wall, though her legs felt as heavy as her mind, but a soothing wave rolled over her when she was met with his handsome face. A faint glow of firelight flickered over one side of his visage as he peered down at her.
“I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“No, it’s alright,” she assured him, her heart slowing pace.
“What were you looking at?”
She felt her face grow hot. “They found some of my luggage. I was going through it, but there was nothing inside except clothes.”
Adam looked disappointed at that, but it was better than telling him about the letter. She couldn’t talk to him about that—not yet.
“Why did you come back to your room instead of returning to the table?” he asked rather disgustedly, for she knew he thought of this chamber as a cell. “Was Anjessica alright?”
Celia wrapped her arms around herself, feeling a chill beyond the subsiding heat. The wind blew a sheet of rain into the window, pattering loudly.
“I didn’t go in to see her,” she admitted. “I did look in, but
didn’t speak with her. I—I think something is wrong.”
“Why do you say that?” he asked, but didn’t give her time to answer. “Well, I admit I’ve felt that something was off since the beginning, but…”
“Things have been gradually getting worse,” she interrupted, hugging herself a bit tighter. “When I first woke up and came out of my room, I saw one of those maids come out of a room at the end of the hall, and I saw a strange shadow that troubled me.”
“What was it?”
“I haven’t decided yet,” she said, her brow furrowing with confusion as she thought. Finding no answer, she shook it away. “Then I noticed how Baltus LaCroix stared at me at dinner the first night… It made me uncomfortable. Then last night there was someone in my room. Now Anjessica.”
She paused to take an uneasy breath. He waited.
“I saw the woman’s stomach. It was horribly bruised—black!”
Adam tilted his head. “You think someone has been striking her?”
“I don’t know. But it made me feel sick to look at it.”
The image came back into her head, and Celia was not sure what she thought of it. The bruise across Anjessica’s pale skin was like ink poured onto snow. Was it because the woman had been hit? Had she fallen? But the thought kept coming back to Celia that it was neither of those things.
It’s because her womb is rotten, she thought, but at the same time told herself that it was ridiculous.
“Alright,” Adam said, coming to a decision after several moments of silence. “I’ll pressure Irving to let us leave tomorrow. If he won’t allow it, we’ll find our own way.”
Celia nodded, but she had barely heard his words. She kept thinking of the child that might emerge from Anjessica, wondering what would become of it. Would it be dead? Or would it be a monster?
And they’ll take it and lock it in the room with the strange shadows, and the maids will feed it the flesh of oblivious humans found in carriage wrecks along the mountain roads.
