Page 7

L ater that day, she, Emmaline and her father boarded the train to Driftbell. Emmaline had a dreamy look about her as she, no doubt, continued to think about Lord Vincent. There would be time later to query her about how things went when they visited the food stalls together. Her curiosity was definitely piqued.

Her father shuffled through papers, a pinched expression of worry on his face. He had mentioned nothing that happened at the ship, but he was unsettled that something dreadful happened to one of the crew. She was too cowardly to ask. She clutched the book, holding it in her lap, fearful of opening the pages and perusing them once again. And so, they rode in silence.

By late evening, they arrived at the train station. Bella was relieved to see Gerald had sent along the horse and carriage with a driver and footman. Another bumpy ride later and they would arrive to the place she hadn’t seen in years.

The carriage wheels crunched over gravel, the lanterns flickering as they bumped along the winding country road casting halos of light dancing across hedgerows. Road dust smudged the glass planes, but the warm glow offered a small circle of brightness in the puddle of darkness.

They slowed as the iron gates creaked open, welcoming them into the yawning abyss of night. Beyond the trees, Hawthorne Hall rose from the mist like a memory half-remembered—larger than she recalled, and lonelier, too. Moonlight caught on the old wood facade, casting long shadows across ivy-covered walls and shuttered windows that stared back like melancholy eyes.

Her father gathered his papers as the driver slowed the carriage to a halt and moments later, the door opened. Her father was out first, tucking his leather folio under his arm. When he was on the ground, he turned back and offered her his hand.

Grasping it, she stepped out of the carriage and tilted her head back, trying to reconcile the childhood image in her mind with the darkened silhouette before her. The front doors loomed tall and weathered, their iron fixtures dulled with rust. Somewhere within, the house creaked—settling or perhaps remembering her.

She swallowed hard. Next to her, Emmaline peered up at the imposing structure with wide eyes. A flagstone path lead to the front of the old house. They had bought it years ago when it was shiny and new but now it appeared time and age and neglect had taken its toll. The shutters were faded, the paint peeling. The wood exterior needed new paint to brighten it from the dreary gray.

The air smelled of damp earth and wild roses, overgrown and untamed. The once-proud hedgerows had grown thick with brambles, and the old fountain at the center of the circular drive stood silent, its basin choked with leaves.

The driver detached one of the lanterns, the flicking flame dancing within the glass and led the way to the front door. As they approached, it opened casting Gerald in a slash of light as he waited for them to make their way inside. It was a comfort to see the old butler there.

“Mind your step, ladies. I daresay the place is wildly overgrown. I can see I need a groundskeeper straightaway.” Her father paused in front of the butler. “Thank you, Gerald. Is the house in good order?”

But this was no mere house. This was a manor. And much larger than she remembered.

“Of course, my lord.”

The butler stood aside from the heavy oak door allowing them entry. Her father entered first, moving deeper into the foyer. Bella paused inside the doorway to take in all the sights of the house.

Before her, the staircase led to the upper floors where the bedrooms were. On the left, the parlor. The right, the dining room and beyond that the kitchen. Another room behind the stairs, she recalled, was her father’s office and library.

The furniture was uncovered, ready to welcome them once again to Hawthorne Hall. Through the open parlor door, she saw the loveseat the color of mint and two chairs, a low table between them. She remembered with some clarity her mother sitting on that sofa combing her hair and telling her stories of the high seas when she traveled with her father to distant lands to buy satin and lace.

“Well,” her father said, his voice loud in the silence. “Good to see things are as we left it.”

“Several packages arrived for the ladies, my lord,” Gerald announced from his place by the front door. “I had them put in your room, miss.”

Surprise flickered through her. “They did?”

“A courier delivered them late this afternoon on behalf of Lord Vincent,” Gerald said.

“Very kind of him,” her father said. “Once we’re settled, we should invite him for dinner to thank him properly.”

Behind her, Emmaline sucked in a breath. Bella nodded.

“Yes, of course, Father. Thank you, Gerald, for seeing to our things.”

He gave a nod of acknowledgment.

When Bella remained rooted in place, still clutching the book, her father walked to her. His face was creased with concern.

“Go on up and rest,” he said. “I want to have a look about to make sure all is well.”

Gerald handed her a candle to light her way.

“All right. Goodnight, Father.”

Truthfully, she was exhausted and ready to fall into a soft bed. She was glad Emmaline was with there to help her.

She started for the stairs, the wood floor creaking under her steps. Up and up and they ascended, the lone candle lighting her way casting long, ominous shadows along the wall with its damask wallpaper in muted colors her mother surely picked.

Her room was off the top of the stairs. She pushed open the door to see it was as she left it all those years ago. With her candle, she lit the others in the room, illuminating it in a warm golden glow.

The white four-poster bed still hosted the satin and lace coverlet. Perched against the pillows at the head of the bed was her well-worn, well-loved teddy bear. She forgot she left him behind hoping he would guard the place while she was gone. The bed was piled high with packages from their shopping excursion earlier that day, which now seemed to be more than a few hours ago.

Emmaline started sorting and unwrapping packages as she placed the single candelabra on the bedside table, still clutching the book in her other hand, and reached for the bear. His eyes were made with two black buttons sewn into the brown material. He was all she had left of her childhood in the country, and she was unable to resist hugging him to her chest.

Emmaline opened the wardrobe. “Miss, you have some gowns here.”

“They’re all from my childhood. I suppose they will need to be packed away.”

The girl reached for one of the dresses, but Bella moved to stop her.

“Let’s not worry about that tonight, Em. We can sort that out tomorrow. I’m tired.”

“Yes, miss.”

She moved the rest of her unopened packages to the nearby chair under the window while Emmaline turned back the bed. At least the room was clean and had fresh linens. She was grateful for that.

After helping her out of her gown and taking down her hair, she decided to sleep in her shift rather than unpack everything. Emmaline picked up her packages but paused at the door, a look of confusion on her face.

“Where do I sleep, my lady?”

“Oh, how thoughtless of me. I’ll show you.” Bella shoved back the blankets and rose.

“It’s all right. You can tell me where the servants’ rooms are. I can find my own way.” She gave her a smile.

“On the third floor right above me.”

She dipped a curtsy. “Good night.”

Emmaline juggled the packages and closed the door behind her, sealing Bella inside. She slipped back under the blankets, curling around the pillow. It wasn’t long before she was fast asleep.

Morning light filtered in through the lace curtains at the window. Normally, she would be awake before dawn. But this morning, after their long night, she slept in. With a yawn and a stretch, she rose, pushing back the blankets. Her stomach growled. She hoped there was breakfast. She rang for Emmaline to help her dress and as she released the bellpull, she heard the low whispering coming from behind her.

It was coming from the book.

Her heart rammed hard against her chest as she stepped to her dressing table and peered down at it. The whispering stopped. She opened the cover, the aged leather cracking. Then she flipped several pages, staring at the arcane language her translator brain refused to decipher.

A sharp, sudden chill slid down her spine. The air around her shifted—heavier, darker—as if the book exhaled something foul. Something wrong . It seeped from the pages, pressing against her chest like invisible hands. Her breath caught.

She slammed the book shut and stumbled back, heart pounding.

That wasn’t ink and parchment.

It was alive. Watching. Waiting.

Wicked.

She didn’t want to touch it again.

A sharp knock on her door startled her. Her hand flew to her throat as she emitted a strangled gasp and spun toward the door, her eyes wide and her mouth suddenly dry.

“My lady?” Emmaline’s muffled voice filtered through the wood.

She blew out a sputtering breath. “Yes, come in.”

Emmaline headed inside and then started opening all the packages, chatting on about the house and how she liked her third-floor bedroom. But Bella didn’t hear much of it as she was too distracted by the oily feeling the book left crawling over her skin. Her hand was still at her throat as she stared at the offending tome, thinking of the dark whisper and the strange shadow she saw in the port.

What was she going to do with the book?

As she recalled, there was a bookshop in town. Perhaps she should take the book there and talk with the owner to see if he had ever seen anything like it before. In this small village, though, he may not have seen anything so unusual. Still, she wanted to give it a try.

Or, even better, offload the book if he was willing to buy it.

“Miss? Did you hear me?” Emmaline asked.

She shook herself out of her thoughts and focused on the girl in front of her. She held two gowns. One a pale yellow, the other a pale green.

“Which one?”

“Oh…” She glanced between the two of them, still preoccupied with thoughts of whispers and ghostly apparitions. “Either is fine with me. Em…would you care to go into town with me today?”

“Town?”

“Yes, I’d like to visit the bookshop.”

Her youthful face broke into a wide grin. “I’d like that very much.”

Then it was settled. She would take the offending book into the shop and be rid of it.