Page 8 of Unlikable

It is still storming.

The wind is blowing so hard around the house that sleeping is impossible. To my mind, I have been tossing and turning in bed for hours. Sleeping in another room, another house and another environment is difficult for me. Especially when a storm is raging outside and I keep thinking back to the intimidating conversation with Felix, and the person in the garden.

That last one in particular still gives me the creeps.

I am almost starting to doubt myself whether I really saw it right.

After a few more turns, sighs and groans, I give up and get up. The covers I theatrically knock off me. I slip into my slippers, wrap a cloak around myself and walk cautiously to the door. The moonlight still shines into the room, but the room is too unfamiliar territory to move around in without worry.

When I am almost at the door, I change my mind and walk back into the room, towards the wardrobe. Cecile must have put my menstrual rags somewhere. I open the wardrobe doors and start searching. In the process, I knock a few of the garments that Cecile had so carefully folded off the shelves. I will put it all back neatly tomorrow morning.

It takes me a while to find the rags. I pull the top one from the pile and tuck it under my cloak, then leave the room.

In the corridor, I gently pull the door shut behind me until I hear the soft click . On tiptoe, I make my way through the long, dark room. The oil lamps on the wall are extinguished. I try to remember where the bathroom is. Cecile took me there just this evening, but I was so panicked at the time that I don’t remember the whole way there.

So I wander on. The wind is clearly audible even in the corridors. The house creaks. Unfamiliar sounds, unfamiliar corridors. I feel my heart begin to beat faster.

Should I have woken up Cecile? She could have walked with me.

But you can also do things on your own. You are no longer a child.

No. Not anymore. Not for a long time. And oh, how I sometimes long for that carefree childhood. A time when the world still seemed so innocent. Where every place felt magical because I still believed in fairy tales and all’s well that ends well.

I straighten my shoulders, walk a bit more briskly and try to convince myself that I have nothing to be afraid of. I’m lucky it only storms and no longer thunders. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have managed it in a million years.

Miraculously, I stumble upon the bathroom not much later, but it is not the bathroom Cecile had taken me to earlier. This one is bigger. I wonder if this is a shared washroom, as there are several sinks and several jars of bath foam on the shelves hanging on the wall.

Perhaps this is the servants’ washroom.

It was also quite a long walk.

For now, it doesn’t matter. Cecile will point me to the right one tomorrow.

I lock the door. There are two candles burning on two tables set against the wall. These provide just enough light to see what I am doing. As quickly as I can—it is very cold in the room—I change myself. I roll up the used rag into a wad and cover it with a small towel. I wash my hands in the bucket of water—ice water—next to the door, and when I am back in the corridor, I look around dubiously to remember which way I came from.

I am at a T-junction.

The corridor opposite me is the most inviting, but I don’t remember coming from there. There are rows of bookcases against the walls and a thick carpet in the middle of the corridor.

The corridor to my left is decorated with plants, which form eerie shadows in the dark. The right corridor is the darkest. That’s where I must have come from.

I am still not tired. I guess that’s because of the adrenaline coursing through my body. For a moment I hesitate, wondering what to do: find my room again or explore the house because I can’t sleep anyway. I don’t dare do the latter and finding my room again might as well take all night. So I don’t really have a choice.

Just as I take a step to the right, I hear footsteps. Far away at first, but they come closer and closer.

Why I hide, I don’t know. Call it instinct. I turn a quarter turn and run towards the corridor with the bookcases. I crawl between two cabinets and press myself with my back against the wall. My breathing turns ragged; my heart seems to be in my throat.

The footsteps come closer. They’re approaching from the corridor with the plants.

I stick my head forward to stare fleetingly past the cupboard. A shape appears. I can only see the outline in the dark, but fear immediately strikes.

It is the woman from the garden, the one I thought was my mother. The woman has the same long hair, the same shape hat and the same dress. Details I cannot see, but I know it is her.

And I am also now one hundred per cent sure that this is not my mother because my mother is dead and this person is alive and kicking. The dead do not rise from the grave, and I have seen my mother’s body with my own eyes. Seen how her coffin was covered under the sand.

The woman comes to a halt, looking around as if unsure which way to go. When her face turns towards me, I press my back against the wall again and hold my breath.

I am waiting.

And then I hear how she starts moving again. The dress she is wearing drags along the ground behind her.

I wait a little longer, and then—God knows what has got into my head—I walk after her. It may seem brave, or it may seem like an illogical, inexplicable decision of mine, but curiosity is a fascinating thing. Greater than fear.

When the carpet stops, I take off my slippers to make as little noise as possible. I put the slippers on the towel I still have pressed against me like a shield. As if that could protect me from a sudden attack.

Right now, I’m glad it’s dark. That way she can’t easily see me if she happens to turn around. Something she doesn’t do. Sometimes she stands still, and I make myself as small as possible. Then she looks around as if she doesn’t know where she is or where to go. This pattern repeats itself a few times until she turns down a corridor that does look very familiar to me.

The corridor adjoining Everett’s room.

I wait around the corner, watching as the woman walks to my brother’s room and remains at the door, her back to me.

The place where I am standing is shrouded in darkness. The moonlight shining through the large window at the end of the corridor does not extend beyond Everett’s door. This does make the woman more visible. The silver glow gives her a ghostly appearance.

For a moment, the thought shoots through my mind that maybe I should stop this woman. That I should shout so that Everett might wake up. That I should warn my brother that a stranger is at his door.

But before I can even make up my mind, the woman turns towards the door, allowing me to see the side of her stature.

It can’t be. She is the spitting image of…

The woman takes off her hat and her wig.

Wig?

Blond, medium-length hair, tied in a low ponytail, emerges.

My fear gives way to utter bewilderment.

Everett?

· · ·

In the morning, I am woken by a soft knock on the door. When I open my eyes, I see that it is light in the room. Apparently, in all the confusion, I had forgotten to close the blackout curtains when I returned to the room last night.

The storm is over. A beautiful autumn sun has made its appearance.

“Milady?” sounds Cecile’s voice somewhat uncertainly on the other side of the door. “Can I come in?”

I utter a sound that should pass for approval. Cecile opens the door and steps into the room, then quickly closes the door behind her again. I have to blink my eyes a few times to get used to the bright light of the sun to see her face clearly.

“Good morning,” I exclaim.

“I haven’t brought today’s paper yet,” she immediately begins apologetically. “Mr Clifton was reading it. I’ll keep an eye on when he—”

“Don’t worry, Cecile,” I interrupt her with a yawn and sit up straight in bed. “It’s not a priority.”

And to be honest, this is one of the first days since I secretly started reading the newspaper that I have no desire to read. Not after yesterday, not after this disturbing night.

Cecile looks at me as if I have gone mad, as if she cannot understand what I have just said. Usually my first words when I see her in the morning are “Have you managed to get me the paper yet?”

“It’s this new environment,” I try to explain. It’s not quite the truth, but not a lie either.

She nods in understanding and then walks to my wardrobe, which is still open from my search last night. Looking into the wardrobe, she makes a face. “I had everything so nice…Don’t worry, I’ll fix it again.” She turns to me and smiles, but the smile quickly leaves her face again. Then she looks at me inquiringly. I can tell she wants to ask me something, but the question does not come.

I just feel the question has everything to do with what happened last night.

“Was there anyone in the room with you yesterday?” she asks anyway.

I knew it.

Panic courses through my body. It’s not that I don’t trust Cecile, but to admit that I had a male visitor, even if purely platonic, is hard. She might look at me differently.

“Why do you think that?”

“Because…” She shakes her head. “Forgive me, milady. It is none of my business. I thought I heard voices, but maybe it’s this place, this house.” She remains silent for a moment, searching the wardrobe with her hands for the right garments. “I don’t have a good feeling about this place.”

“How come?”

“I don’t know. But please, don’t be frightened by my impulsive statements.”

“Of course not.”

Then the morning goes basically as every morning, only in a different house. Cecile helps me into my clothes, does my hair and makes my bed while I do my business on the lavatory—which is in the bathroom I was looking for last night. A bathroom just a corridor away from mine. I could hit myself when I realise I didn’t have to go to such trouble at all.

But otherwise I would never have seen that either…

Everett.

Why was my brother…

I had still wanted to speak to him. When he walked into his room, I had already taken a few steps in his direction, but I was put off by the sound of new footsteps, after which I had quickly turned around and miraculously found my room at once.

When my head hit the pillow, I had fallen into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Today, I am going to confront him with what I have seen, and I will not leave him alone until I have my answers.

When I come back into the room, Cecile is smoothing out the last creases in my duvet cover. The wardrobe has also been neatly tidied again. I feel guilty that she had to go through all that trouble again.

“Do you want your breakfast in your room today, or would you rather have breakfast downstairs in the dining room? Everyone has already had breakfast except you and your brother.” She bites her lip thoughtfully. “I just hope he feels a bit better already.”

“I hope so too.” I smile at her, but I feel that smile does not reach my eyes. I can’t feel sorry for Everett until I know what’s going on. I don’t for one moment believe he is actually ill. I open the door and look expectantly at my lady’s maid. “I think I’ll go crazy today and have breakfast downstairs. It would look ungrateful and a bit strange if I retire to my room like this, don’t you think? What would our host think of me then?”

A genuine smile appears on her face, as if she is relieved that I am walking downstairs with her, that I am not letting her go alone. And that worries me. Why do I get the idea that Cecile, who is always cheerful, sees the bright side of everything, feels completely out of place here?

Perhaps because, since we left Canterbury I, too, have felt more things—and not in a positive sense—than I have felt in recent months.

Something is going on, and I have a strong and inexplicable suspicion that Everett is not the only big mystery under this roof.

· · ·

After breakfast—which I consumed all by myself—I walk back upstairs to my brother’s room. Everett, however, refuses to show himself. Jonathan insists that Everett can hardly get up and has asked him to keep everyone at bay.

Since when is Jonathan, someone Everett has known for just one day, so protective of my brother?

“Don’t you have a doctor who can look at him?” I insist, making no effort to hide the annoyance in my voice. I try to step past Jonathan, my hand reaching for the door handle.

But Jonathan steps in front of me, like a guard dog. “Your brother didn’t want a doctor. He says it’s a bad cold. It will pass on its own, but Mr Prime asked me to keep everyone away from him for today.”

“Get well, dearest brother!” I shout in response very loudly in the direction of the door.

Jonathan cringes, and I turn around with a smug smile.

With slow steps, I walk back down the corridor, not knowing what to do next. If Everett doesn’t get out of his room today, he won’t be able to go into London with me to buy those neck guards either, something Father so insisted on yesterday.

The idea that I won’t be able to go outside the estate for the next while because I don’t have a guardian makes me nauseous. Father never lets me go outside without one.

Even if I had such a protector, Father would still not let me go outside. Usually when I want to go outside in Canterbury, Cecile goes with me. After all, it is not appropriate for a young woman to go out alone. Even if Cecile went with me, Father would not allow it now. Two women alone in London, with everything currently going on in the city…with Junior R. No, Father would not allow it.

Only with my brother present would it be allowed.

My brother, who is lying in bed sick .

I am so lost in thought that I don’t pay attention to my surroundings. Before I know it, I am outside the double garden doors of the manor house, at the back of the building. The garden is huge. I think even bigger than ours.

The lovely autumn sun warms my face, and I have to blink a few times to get used to the light so I can admire the garden.

Three fountains are lined up in a row in the middle of the path stretching from the house to the back of the garden. The place is screened by a fence covered in star jasmine, and where the fountains end, at the very back, is a not too large, but no less impressive maze, built from tightly growing shrubs.

The terrace runs in a moon-shaped circle from one side of the house to the other and is paved with large marble tiles. Part of the terrace is covered and supported by white pillars, just like at the front.

There are benches and tables under the canopy, surrounded by statues and plants whose leaves are beginning to shed.

It is beautiful.

“I thought we agreed?” I suddenly hear behind me.

When I turn around, I see Felix standing there. He is leaning with his back against the wall of the house. In one hand, he has a stack of papers and, in his other, a piece of charcoal. His fingers are stained with it.

“A good morning to you too, Mr Clifton,” I say as kindly as I can to hide my discomfort. I feel caught out even though I have done nothing wrong. How could I have guessed he would be here of all places?

Felix looks at me from under his eyelashes, his lips pressed together into a line. He opens his mouth to say something, but then closes it again and concentrates on his work.

I catch myself staring at him, so I straighten my shoulders, stick my chin in the air and make preparations to walk further into the garden.

“Wish your brother well from me,” Felix says without any trace of emotion. I turn to him again, but he does not look up from his work. Instead, he says, “I hope for your sake that the renovations to the estate are finished as soon as possible.”

“Do you actually mean any of what you say?”

Now he does look at me. “Why should I say something I don’t mean?”

I remain silent.

He smiles. It is the most beautiful smile I have ever seen, and that feels wrong in this situation. Something in my body awakens, a restless feeling. A feeling I can’t place. “I mean everything I say.”

“You hope we will be gone soon.”

His smile dies away, and he concentrates on his drawing again. “Enjoy your day, Miss Prime.”