“Because it tells us how to break curses.”
“What of your mother? Did you see her last night?”
“Her? No. Of course not. We must never let her in, Miss Everly. If we ever let her in, it would be very bad.” The child gazed at Veronica with a look of terror and slid off her lap.
“Why?”
“She’s dead. Can I go now?’
She was at the door, and out of it before Veronica could speak.
Veronica was about to follow Jacqueline into her bedroom, when she heard a dog barking in the garden. She went out onto the balcony and saw the white Alsatian crossing the lawn towards one of the walled gardens. A little while later, Jacques ran out after him. Veronica sighed with relief at the sight of him, and went back inside.
There was a knock on the open door. It was Mrs. Twig.
“Mr. Rafe would like you to meet with him in the Rock Garden after lessons, Miss. Luncheon is ready now, in the dining room.”
The housekeeper avoided looking at Veronica, rather she looked at the carpet as if she’d spotted a stain.
“I’ll take it in here, if you don’t mind, Mrs. Twig.”
Veronica still couldn’t face the woman after the scene in the kitchen that dreadful night. Mrs. Twig obviously felt their estrangement. She just bowed her head.
“I’ll send a tray up. Just make sure you meet with Mr. Rafe. He says it’s urgent.”
When she left, Veronica sped across the hallway to look in on Jacqueline. She opened the door slowly. The bed was as disheveled and strewn with white fur as if the dog had been sleeping in it. A small black dress was lying on the floor; the one Jacqueline had been wearing. Where was the maid? Veronica hurried quickly to the other twin’s room. The bed was smooth and un-rumpled as if it had not been slept in at all.
Perhaps Janet was called away before she finished cleaning the rooms, Veronica thought.
She flung on her cloak and hurried down the stairs. Flashing past Mrs. Twig in the hallway, she hurried across the drawing room and went out into the back garden. In her leaf brown cloak, she became one with the woods. Goaded by some dire intuition, she was compelled towards the tomb.
It was there, carved of white marble, its scrollwork softened by the elements. The angels on the four corners of the roof raised their eyes to Heaven with looks of utter astonishment, as if they'd never seen death before. The iron door was closed. Veronica pushed on it. As the door opened inward, dead leaves rustled and blew across the floor. Beyond the iron grille, candles guttered low. Veronica pulled the grille aside and stepped in.
The two original marble sarcophagi had been removed and set inside another chamber just visible beyond the fluttering dark of an archway. Raised on the plinths in their places were the two silver coffins. On their lids were raised crosses entwined with rose briars and the scrolled command: Peace. Swallowing hard, Veronica went first to the smaller coffin and raised the lid.
Inside was a young girl who looked quite alive, but sleeping. Her white blonde hair was very long, her skin smooth, her lips and cheeks rosy with life. She wore a fine gown of embroidered batiste ornamented with an encrustation of tiny gold sequins over the bodice. The only hint of decay was in the dress; the were sequins tarnished, the fabric yellow with age. Over the girl’s heart, in her crossed hands, was a sheaf of fresh, white lilies.
Veronica moved away. “Sylvie!’ she whispered. She quickly shut the lid.
After reading in the Bestiary about the need for silver bullets, the logic of the silver coffin was plain. Silver was the only element on earth that could stop the werewolves, or perhaps, failing that, contain them.
Veronica had to see if Sovay was likewise imprisoned. She found herself sinking almost to the ground as she approached that Pandora’s box. Slowly, from below as if she sought to hide from its occupant, Veronica lifted the lid and slowly rose with it until she was able to see inside. It was empty.
Her stomach rising like a basket of butterflies, she let the lid fall and ran out of the tomb. The daylight streaming through the trees was too bright for her eyes. She heard branches breaking and whirled around, all thought erased by the sound of her own blood thudding in her ears. Crashing through bracken, crisping over the dead leaves, Veronica raced towards the house until, through a screen of trees, she saw the tower looming up dark against the hazy silver sky.
Veronica stopped and looked around. Who was watching her? She snuck out of the woods at the side, and came out onto the wide lawn. The old bell tower at the top of the rise, above ruined chapel silently called to her. What was in there? She slunk back into the fringe of the woods and hastened along a path up to the ruin.
It was indeed no more than a shell, but very spacious inside. Walls hung with ivy and wisteria, a flurry of white azaleas, blue brunnera, and lavender wafted around a circular fish pond that shone still as a mirror and full of clouds. Lying beside the pool, as if she’d fallen down in a faint, was Sovay. Up close, the birch bark hat was translucent and oddly fixed to her head, the long blonde hair freely strewn in the brunnera glistened, and in pale, glowing hands, clutched over her breast, was a white china doll that smelled of the wild flowers of France.
“She’s not dead. She can’t be dead and look so fresh and young. There has to be a logical explanation for all of this.” Veronica glanced about breathlessly. Nothing stirred in the utter silence.
An exposed stair went up inside the bell tower to the very top, where the bell hung like a dark and heavy heart. Strange symbols were incised around the rim, but from where she stood, Veronica could not decipher them. Perhaps taking the clapper out of the bell would stop the transformations, she thought. Or better yet, removing the doll might disarm Sovay.
Veronica reached down, grasped the doll’s Parian head, and tugged. Sovay’s eyes flew open. Veronica shrieked and fell back.
How dare you try to take from me my native soil….
The mouth did not move, rather the voice came like wind in the trees. The eyes were the color of blue and green mixed together. They fixed on Veronica and burned.
Slowly the body dissolved and was gone.
Dizzy and nauseous, Veronica fled. She was halfway down the slope when she saw Rafe de Grimston coming towards her carrying two pistols in his hands.
“There you are,” he shouted. “We’ll be going into the Rock Garden. It’s just over there. It’s time for your shooting lessons.’
“What? Oh, is that what this meeting is for?” Veronica breathlessly replied.
“Didn’t Mrs. Twig tell you we had a meeting today?”
“Yes, she did. She just didn’t say what it was for.”
“Come on then.”
Rafe beckoned her by waving a pistol in the direction of a walled garden she’d not seen yet. The door opened into a primeval landscape. Cypress trees tapered up like dark flames around a circle of tall, narrow rocks as mysterious and portentous as an ancient megalith. Inside the circle, facing out, was a life-sized painting of a white wolf.
“Those standing stones are why we call this the Rock Garden. It’s most likely another folly of some kind, though some say it was here ages before the house was built,” Rafe said. “And that’s our target. I hope it frightens you because if it doesn’t, you might not shoot fast enough when the real thing comes at you. A large living beast like that can tear your throat out in seconds.”
Veronica exhaled sharply. Her hand went, involuntarily, to her throat. There was a bench near the wall that looked extremely inviting. “May I sit down for a moment, Sir? I feel a bit faint.”
“Of course. What’s the matter? Did you skip luncheon or something?”
Veronica sat on the bench and Rafe sat beside her. He set both guns on the ground, and then turned towards her.
“I hope you’re not ill,” he said, reaching for her hand.
“I don’t think so.…”
Veronica wanted to tell him about Sovay being in the ruin but she couldn’t find the words. She was overwhelmed. It was all too
uncanny. She just wanted to go to sleep and forget. The ring of rocks was as bright as the moon. It shimmered and seemed to open, to turn, to dance. Veronica felt confused all of a sudden.
“That bell….” It was clanging in her head.
“What bell? What is it, Veronica?” Rafe’s eyes burned towards her. His mouth was set, yet his face was soft, opening like a flower.
“I’m sorry. Can we do this another day? Tomorrow? I just need to lie down. I feel a trifle light-headed. I was so worried about the twins, I forgot to eat. The air is so fresh this time of year.” Her voice sounded strangely hollow, as if it came from outside of herself.
“You’re so delicate, so slim and graceful, such large, doe eyes. You’re like a deer you know. Has anyone ever told you that?”
“Yes, actually. The twins.”
“Well, they would notice something like that. You’re timid like a deer as well.”
Veronica straightened up.
“Only under certain circumstances. When I’m meeting people for the first time, maybe, or utterly mystified by something. Otherwise, I am quite competent. As a teacher….”
“Shhh. No need to defend yourself. Let me accompany you back to the house. Come on. We’ll do this tomorrow. Shooting takes strength so you must promise me never to skip meals.”
“Oh, thank you. Of course I promise.”
When Rafe took Veronica's hand, an electric shock went through her. Its power brought her to the edge of tears. She glanced up and saw Rafe’s eyes drinking her in, as if he too felt more alive in her presence. As if his heart, too, had flown open.
CHAPTER 9
*
Veronica played the scene over and over in her mind as she stood on her balcony looking out at the green garden where she’d fallen in love with Rafe de Grimston. She was terribly embarrassed by her lack of self control, the blushing, the hot sweat of her hand, the meeting of their eyes that revealed everything. Of course he would know what it meant.
She went back inside, sat down, and stared at the fire. Why hadn’t she been able to tell him about Sovay sleeping in the ruin? About her possession of the doll?
Strangely alarmed, she stood up and swept into the twins’ rooms. Both beds were made. Everything was tidy. But no one was there. A low growl erupted at her back. Veronica spun around. It was only the white dog. It rose from its bed in the corner, wagged its tail and went to her, nuzzling her skirts. She patted the dog, which sent its tail wagging harder, then ordered it back to its corner. When the dog refused, she let it follow her out, and shut the door.
She needed to be alone that evening to collect her thoughts, to rest, but the dog sank down before her fire and gazed at her like an old flame. How had she forgotten to ask the twins what its name was? Perhaps she just wasn't used to pets.
Her dinner was in a covered dish on the side table. She'd had it sent up for, as much as she wanted to see Rafe, she couldn’t face him. Looking at it, she realized she couldn't eat. Her stomach was too turbulent. She tried to read her prayer book but the words just swarmed around on the page. Next she went back to her novel, but had forgotten where she’d left off. It seemed so long ago since she'd read it last. The Bestiary was there, under Jacqueline’s picture book, next to the journal of the former governess, Miss Blaylock.
Veronica opened a page of the journal.
I found a strange book in the library the other day called Dracula. It was marked with a red ribbon and bit scuffed on the cover. Clearly it had been read and carried about. It was a horrible, sensational story about a vampire and the poor girls he preyed upon. I thought the atmosphere was strangely like this house. Aspects of Count Dracula’s character were based on actual superstition, such as the need of the vampire to sleep in boxes of his native soil. And the fact that he cannot get into a house unless he is invited. That he may change into a bat or a wolf.
****
Veronica could not sleep. She sat up watching the candles gutter down, the flames growing long and bending sideways in the drafts, the wax spilling noisily down the candle branches. The sky in the windows went from lucent blue to black. Frogs croaked from the well, a cricket chirruped, the fire crackled in the hearth. The Bestiary on her lap was opened to the page of the wolf and the lady in yellow.
At one point, Veronica must have nodded off because she was startled by a knocking sound at the balcony windows. She looked up and saw a haze of brilliant white light. Sovay was looking in. The birch bark hat was so transparent that moonlight shone through it like fire through a lampshade. Also lamp-like, her white face glowed in the dark; her dress, her hands on the window pane, were white flames. Her eyes were black hollows that beamed straight into Veronica’s eyes, and held her.
A soft voice, barely audible, spoke as if from her own mind.
Do not tell my husband you saw me. He thinks he can hold me in that silver box, but he has to get me into it first. If you tell him you saw me, I will take the other child.
Veronica leapt to her feet. “You won’t. You won’t.”
Grabbing her shawl, she ran downstairs and out of the house. The last quarter moon cast long, rustling shadows over the grass. She ran around to the back garden, and looked up at her balcony. There was no one there, yet a slight whiff of lilies hung in the air.
She hurried up the lawn towards the bell tower. Stopping at the archway of the chapel, she looked in at the shadows of the leaves playing over a dim, moonlit wall.
“Sovay….Sovay….,” she whispered.
She stepped inside. No Sovay.
Why was she doing this? Hadn’t Miss Blaylock warned that one should not invite the vampire in? Veronica rubbed the furrow out of her brow. She was trying to prove, to herself at least, that she was sane. Not just seeing things. And not timid. Not a coward.
A snatch of song wafted up no louder than the night breeze.
Green grow the lilies, oh, Bright among the bushes, oh…
Veronica walked woodenly down towards the birches, then stopped. She thought she saw Jacques through the trees, standing in the lilies beside the well, but when she got there, there was only a white china doll hanging by its feet from a birch branch over the water.
****
Veronica was at her desk reading from her Book of Psalms when Jacques came alone to the classroom, dressed in deepest black.
“Good morning, Miss Everly,” he said. “I hope you liked my poem. I wrote it for you.”
“Good morning, Jack. I’m sorry, but haven’t found your poem,” Veronica said.
She swiftly put the journal into a drawer, then shuffled a few papers around on her desk as if a sheet of good writing paper bearing six lines of verse written in a decorative hand was not directly under her nose. A drawing of a deer in the garden reminded her of the last time she’d seen the twins together.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Jacques. I’ve been a bit preoccupied. I shall read it now.”
Despite the exhaustion that circled his eyes and shadowed the corners of his mouth, the child held himself with great dignity.
“That’s all right, Miss Everly. I shall tell it to you.
The Hart
My lady, like a wild hart, flees from me in the garden.
She hides among the white lilies, throwing me off her scent.
How can she love me, a ravening beast, or redeem my
heart-sore burden?
How can she love me in the least, how bear the dark descent
Toward the embrace of one a-cursed, in whose jaws she
might be rent?
How can she love me?”
The poem was awkward, but astonishing for one so young. Veronica was speechless at first. Then she said, “Very impressive, Jacques. It sounds like that fairy tale you like so much. Beauty and the Beast.”
“It is rather like that. But more personal.”
“One would think you had known the pains of unrequited love yourself to have been able to write it.”
“I have.”
“But who?”
/> Jacques looked away, his face flushed pink under its pallor.
“Why, Mama, and Sylvie. And of course, Jacqueline. But she won’t speak to me any more.”
The vulnerability in the child’s voice moved Veronica deeply. He was too young to suffer so much loss, so much sorrow. She answered softly.
“Why won’t Jacqueline speak to you? She told me you were fighting but she never said what it was about. Perhaps you can tell me. That way I can help you.”
“I can’t tell you. Now can we study our lesson for this hour? I say we open our maths book to page 36.”
Veronica knew there was no point in pushing the conversation further. She opened her teaching manual to the Arithmetic section. “All right, Jacques. But this cannot continue. You must both come to class together by the end of the week. Perhaps I can help you to resolve whatever this conflict is. There is a great lesson in that.”
“In what?”
“Forgiveness. As Our Lord instructs us in all relationships. We must learn to forgive, or we sink to the level of brute beasts indeed.” Veronica tried to keep the lecture out of her voice, but knew she'd failed. She went on in a softer tone. “The fact that you are both in mourning attire shows how much grief you are giving yourselves. There is no need. None at all. Now----on page 36, we have our Multiplication Tables.”
****
By the end of the week, the twins were still apart. Veronica decided it was best not to interfere. The trouble had to blow over soon. It saddened her to see them playing apart. They even kept the communicating door between their bedrooms shut.
Shooting with Rafe was a challenge indeed. Not the shooting part, for Veronica discovered that she had a talent for it, her aim was so good, her excitement so great when she hit the wolf target between the eyes time and after time, that she had to check her longing to prove herself in the field. She did not really want to kill anything, but some primitive instinct had awoken, thrilling her into vivid life at the very idea that she could. No, the difficulty was with Rafe. Standing behind her, reaching around her shoulders to grasp her hands and show her how to raise the gun, how to aim, pull the trigger, buffering the impact of the explosion as she rocked back against his body. She’d never felt such warmth from anyone. In all of her orphaned life, no one had ever embraced her, had ever let her be so close. Now here was her handsome employer----she must not lose her head. It could be nothing but an illusion, a girlish fancy blown out of proportion by her inexperience and need. He did not press her. She was glad of that, for it proved him honorable, unlike the gentlemen in novels who forced themselves on their servant girls and sent them away pregnant and ruined forever.
The Lady in Yellow Page 6
