For more than a century now, Lady Beatrice Rockford (1811–1850) has been known as “that wicked American” and her husband, the fifth Duke of Wickersham, the victim forced to send her to the gallows. But these roles are ludicrously reversed. The real ugly stain in my family history is my ancestor, the duke who murdered his wife simply because she was capable of something he had never seen. He feared what he didn’t understand, and let his fear drive him to evil.
Is there anything inherently wrong in having a paranormal talent? More than likely, Lady Beatrice didn’t wish for her gift, and with the exception of the burned garden, which she instantly restored, there are no accounts of her ever using her skill to cause any harm.
If we misconstrue that which we don’t understand as frightening or criminal, then we are lost. But if we recognize differences in others as something beautiful or miraculous—even, or especially, differences as astounding as Lady Beatrice’s—then we all win in the end.
By the time I finish my father’s article, my cheeks are soaked with tears. He knew. That’s the reason his pages ended up in my file. He wanted me to find them.
For the first time in seven years, I can feel my father’s presence in the room with me; I can almost hear his voice. I shake my head in wonder at the realization that almost a decade before I was born, Dad wrote the very words he would have said if he were standing before me now—that I don’t need to be afraid. My differences are what make me special. And there is no shame in being linked to Lady Beatrice.
The way Dad spoke to me so cryptically in front of the Maze, the look he and Mum exchanged in the church, the words he said to her in hushed conversation … I realize now what those long-ago moments meant. He suspected all along that I was different. Just like Beatrice.
I stand up, a smile spreading across my face. I wonder what I can do with this gift if I’m no longer afraid of it. If I am an Elemental, like Sebastian said, then that means I can control the four elements. So …
I unlatch the window, my heart racing in anticipation. Keeping my eyes trained on the green leaves of the tree opposite me, I raise my arms in their direction. One of the leaves abruptly falls from its branch and, instead of blowing to the ground, drifts across the sky toward me. I gasp as a second leaf follows, and then a third, until a flurry of green is flying through my window, encircling me.
I drop my arms, and the leaves fall to my feet. Exhilaration floods through me. That was … amazing.
I bend down to pick up the leaves, and my flashlight’s glow dances across another box. I freeze as I take in its label: LADY LUCIA ROCKFORD.
Do I dare to open it? I know I shouldn’t—she would consider it trespassing. But I have no other way of knowing the person my cousin grew up to be. Her belongings are all I have left.
With trembling fingers, I open the box. I find a similar amalgam of class photos and report cards as in mine, and I feel myself deflate at the realization that her archive isn’t updated either. Grandfather, or whoever was in charge of it, must not have had the heart to continue with the archives after the fire. The only difference I can find between her box and mine is that hers includes a stack of billing notices, with 2007 bills at the top.
PORT REGIS PREPARATORY SCHOOL
CHELTENHAM CHILDREN’S EQUESTRIAN CLUB
DR. ARCHIBALD HERON, CLINICAL BEHAVIORAL
PSYCHIATRIST, CHILDREN & ADOLESCENTS
“Psychiatrist?” I read aloud in surprise.
I hold the bill directly under my flashlight. Maybe I read it wrong—after all, it’s so dark up here. But no, there it is in bold print. The bill is dated one month before the fire, June of 2007. Scrawled in blue ink are the words
Still struggling with delusions and violent temper. Patient should see me on a more frequent basis.
I drop the paper in my shock. I remember Lucia’s occasional temper tantrums, but delusions? If this is all true, how did she manage to keep her struggles so well hidden?
I suddenly feel dirty, like I’ve gone too far. I know well enough from my own therapy sessions that they’re supposed to remain confidential—and here I am, delving into my cousin’s records. I return the bill to her box and hastily close it.
“Ghosts never really leave, though, do they?”
I jump as Maisie’s words echo in my ear. If there’s any chance that she’s right, and Lucia really is watching us … then she just saw me violate her privacy. With a shudder, I grab my dad’s article and hightail it out of the tower. But as I descend the long staircase to the first floor, my mind spins with questions.
Lucia needing psychiatric help after the fire would make perfect sense, but Dr. Heron’s notes were from before—when she had everything going for her. She was privileged and adored at home, popular at school, cool and confident in all settings, and she’d even managed to skip over any type of awkward stage. What was going on beneath my cousin’s surface that caused Dr. Heron to write such things? How had I missed the signs that she needed help? And considering how close we were back then … why had she kept her struggles a secret from me?
I feel a pang of guilt as I ruminate about what I never knew, never guessed. It’s becoming all too clear that our childhood friendship was never as honest as I’d thought. And I’m beginning to wonder if I truly knew Lucia at all.
I’m dying to share my father’s article with Sebastian, but first I have a full day of duchess duties. Oscar, Mrs. Mulgrave, and I have a long meeting after breakfast to plan the annual Rockford Fireworks Concert, and I’m beyond relieved to have Oscar in the meeting. The idea of spending all that time alone with Mrs. Mulgrave makes me shudder. The two of them clearly have the affair down pat, so the purpose of the meeting is mainly to fill me in.
I squeeze in a Skype chat with the Marinos before another appointment with Gemma, and as always, seeing them is like breathing in fresh air. I’m relieved to find Carole and Keith looking a little less sad and pale, and Zoey her usual bubbly self. They want to hear everything, and as I give them a highly edited rundown of the polo match, dinner at the Stanhopes’, and the happenings around Rockford, I realize just how much I’m forced to leave out.
After reviewing my “Summer Calendar of Events” with Gemma, and another etiquette lesson with Basil Crawford, I’m free at last. Sebastian gave me his cell number the other day, and I feel a wave of nervousness as I type in his number. I deliberate over the text draft, finally sending a simple:
Hey there. Are you still up for the Maze?—Imogen
I now understand the expression “waiting on pins and needles” as I watch my phone, wondering when it will chime with a reply. I try picking up a book, then attempt to play a mindless game on my iPad, but nothing can draw my eyes away from the all-too-quiet phone. Just when I’m about to give up on a reply, I hear the ping.
Sorry, I was at polo practice. Should I come by now?
My breath catches in my throat as I type the word yes.
I stand at the entrance to the Maze, a massive labyrinth of green hedges rising at least ten feet high. The last time I stood in this same position was with my father all those years ago, and for a moment, I am frozen in time. Nothing looks any different. I could be ten years old again, and any minute now my dad will appear, slipping through the hedges.
“Imogen.”
I turn with a gasp. Have I gone back? Is it him? But then I glimpse Sebastian walking toward me, and I experience the most confounding sensation of my heart both breaking and lifting at the same time. He isn’t who I hoped to see in this moment—that person is never coming back. But the sight of Sebastian brings a smile to my lips, a flutter to my stomach … and I realize that my feelings for him are one of the only constants in my life since childhood. Even if it is a crush I shouldn’t have, even if it is unrequited, how can it be wrong when it connects me to who I was before?
“Are you all right?” Sebastian asks, coming closer.
“I was just thinking about my parents,” I admit. “The last time I was near the Maze was … that
day. With my dad.”
Sebastian’s eyes soften.
“That’s really rough. I’m so sorry.” He pauses. “Do you remember them well?”
“Yeah, but unfortunately most of what I remember is that last day—because I’ve dreamed of it so often,” I confide.
Sebastian places a comforting hand on my shoulder, and something about his touch makes me want to tell him more.
“The nightmare comes every few weeks. It starts innocently enough, tricking me into a state of happiness. And even though the dream takes a dark turn and I wake up in a panic, I never want to stop dreaming. Because that’s how I know my last conversation with my dad by heart. That’s how I can remember my parents’ faces and smiles. The nightmare keeps me from forgetting them.”
“Ginny.”
Suddenly Sebastian is hugging me, his muscular arms warm and firm around my body. I lean my head against his chest, basking in his closeness. I know it’s the comforting hug of a friend, nothing more. But in this moment, it’s everything I need.
Out of nowhere, Lucia’s face comes into sharp focus in my mind. I pull away from Sebastian, ashamed.
“I’m so sorry. I should be the one comforting you right now. This is where—the place where she …” I stammer, cutting myself off before I can say the last word. Died. “This must be so much harder for you.”
Sebastian looks away in discomfort.
“I—I don’t want to talk about it. Like I said before, I can handle being here. You don’t have to worry about me.”
I bite my lip as I study him.
“Okay. If you’re sure … I have something to show you.”
I pull my father’s article from the pocket of my sweater and hand it to him. “I don’t know if it was ever published, but I found the draft in the family archives.”
Sebastian’s expression changes as he reads it, and when he looks back at me, I can tell he is moved.
“Your dad was my hero ever since he taught me polo. After reading this, I think even more highly of him.”
My eyes prick with tears, but I smile through them.
“That means the world to me.”
Sebastian grins back, and then looks ahead to the Maze entrance.
“Are you ready?”
I nod. He leads the way, and I hear myself gasp as I enter for the very first time as the green hedges close in around us. The Maze is like a world unto itself—as soon as we’re inside, it’s impossible to see beyond its boundaries. All that exists now is an endless, narrow path bordered by tall evergreen walls, a twisting and turning labyrinth.
“It’s obvious Max hasn’t been here in years,” I say to Sebastian, after nearly tripping over a fallen branch. “This place looks totally overgrown and neglected.”
Without thinking, I reach down to toss the branch aside. As my hand brushes the dirt, the fallen branches and dead plants disappear into thin air. Sebastian lets out a sharp breath.
“Sorry.” I laugh nervously. “I didn’t mean to do that.”
I feel a light pressure on my hand, and I realize with a shock that he’s taken hold of it.
“Don’t be sorry. It’s amazing.”
I gaze at him gratefully. He can’t know what a relief it is to see him witness the most secret part of me, and then look at me in awe rather than fear.
“Thanks.” I smile. “I have to admit, I’m starting to become a little more intrigued by what I can do.”
“You should be! By the way, I don’t think I’ve ever seen Rockford Manor’s gardens look so … alive.”
“Yeah, apparently my talents have seeped into the grounds since I’ve arrived,” I reply. “Max said the same thing to me last week. I think he suspects something.”
Sebastian’s eyes lock with mine.
“Can you trust him?”
“I think so,” I say slowly. “I mean, I’m not going to volunteer any information. But I think he’s okay.”
“Good.” Sebastian nods, and I feel strangely giddy about his protective stance.
We walk forward together, our shoes rustling against the overgrown weeds that litter our path. Every few minutes I reach down to touch the earth, and the obstacles in front of us disappear.
“What does it feel like when you do that?” Sebastian asks, watching me curiously.
“You can see for yourself if you want.” I take his hand as casually as I can manage and place it over mine. Together, we reach for one of the hedge walls. I hear his breathing grow heavier; I feel my own breath stop as our fingers interlace against the evergreen. And then the electric sensation sizzles through my fingertips, through my whole body, stronger than I’ve ever felt it. I hear Sebastian whoop in amazement, and I whirl around. The hedge walls have transformed from green to a vibrant violet. It is the most beautiful color I’ve ever seen.
Sebastian and I turn to face each other at the same time, and nearly collide in our swift movement. His hand reaches for my hip to steady me. Heat fills my cheeks. His touch awakens something in me, something even stronger than my Elemental power. I glance up at him and find his eyes locked on mine. We inch closer, and it feels like anything can happen—
A clap of thunder bursts overhead. We spring apart. The spell is broken.
“We’d better get out of here before the downpour starts,” Sebastian says, looking up at the sky. I nod, feeling slightly deflated.
He’s memorized the way back to the entrance, and I follow silently. We reach the opening into the outside world just as rain begins to fall. Sebastian takes off his jacket and places it around my shoulders.
“Thanks,” I tell him. “And thanks for going in there with me. You’re a real friend.”
He smiles briefly. Together we walk past the Maze, keeping our eyes away from the gated Shadow Garden, waiting with all its haunting memories just steps away. When we reach the back entrance of Rockford Manor, I invite him inside for tea and dessert.
“Thanks, but I should get back,” he says. “My car is parked outside the gate, so I’ll head out that way.”
“Okay. I’m sorry you have to walk another mile in the rain.” I shrug off his jacket and hand it back to him. “Why didn’t you just park in front of the house?”
“Oh, I …” He hesitates. “I guess I didn’t feel up to seeing the staff.”
“Of course,” I say hurriedly. “I understand.”
Going into the Maze with me is one thing, but entering the house where Lucia used to live, coming face to face with her maid and housekeeper and butler, explaining what he was doing there … I could see how that would be too painful, and I feel a stab of guilt.
Before we part ways, Sebastian says, “We can go back to the Maze whenever you’re ready. Just let me know.”
XII
Returning to the manor’s front entrance, I notice a pair of second-floor shutters open—shutters that have remained closed ever since I moved in. The cold weight of fear sets in as I look up at the window. Someone is in Lucia’s bedroom.
Filled with trepidation, I make my way up the steps and into the house. I find Oscar in the Marble Hall, and I feel a rush of relief at the sight of him.
“Good evening, Your Grace,” he says with a bow.
“Hi, Oscar. Um, I don’t know how to say this, but …” I pause. “I think I saw someone in Lucia’s room. The window is open.” Oscar grimaces.
“That will be Mrs. Mulgrave, I’m sure. I hope she didn’t give you a fright.”
“Mrs. Mulgrave?” I echo. “Why would she be in there?” “She was awfully fond of Lady Lucia,” Oscar says, awkwardly. “Her mother died so young that Mrs. Mulgrave took on the maternal role, and certainly loved Lucia like her own. It comforts her to make up Lucia’s room every day, as if nothing has changed.”
I feel slightly sick.
“What do you mean? She goes in there and pretends Lucia is still alive?”
Oscar lowers his eyes.
“I—I suppose so. I’ll admit it makes me uncomfortable, but I don’t want to be unki
nd. I believe she suffered the most of all of us when Lucia died.”
“No wonder she doesn’t like me,” I realize with a sinking feeling. “She hates the fact that I’m the one living here, instead of Lucia.”
“Please don’t think that,” Oscar says anxiously. “I’m certain she likes you.”
“It’s okay, you don’t have to pretend,” I tell him. “At least now I understand.”
The following days are a strange blend of dreamy and chilling. Sebastian and I returned to the Maze three more times, and though we still can’t find our way to the center, I have a feeling I’m growing closer—both to the water-stone and to him. But when night falls, I’m plagued by nightmares that become progressively more vivid and threatening. The Lucia who comes to me in my dreams is angry and vengeful, and every time I wake from one of the nightmares, I vow to stay away from Sebastian—but my resolve only holds for the first few minutes upon waking up. We can only be friends, I know that, but I can’t give him up entirely.
As my feelings for Sebastian grow despite my efforts to stifle them, I find myself wondering about him and Lucia more often. What was their relationship like? Did he know about her problems, or did she keep them as well hidden from him as she did from me? Does he think about Lucia every time he looks at me? When those dark silences fall over him, is it because he’s missing Lucia and wishing he were with her instead? But of course, these are questions I’ll never bring myself to ask.
Two days before the Rockford Fireworks Concert, I get up early to make the trek to Windsor Great Park, where Sebastian is playing in a charity polo match and Theo and I are to be his guests. Gemma was practically giddy when I told her over the phone about the invitation. “That’s Prince Philip’s polo club! Don’t forget the royal curtsy Basil taught you.”
Suspicion Page 16
