Page 27 of Whispers of Shadowbrook House

Oliver wandered around the house for half an hour hoping to cross paths with Pearl and Maxwell. He moved carefully, not opening any closed doors. Accidentally coming face-to-face with his uncle’s latest visitor wasn’t an appealing idea.

When he didn’t hear any sounds of laughter and playing, he moved upstairs toward the bedrooms. The room across the hall from his own had its door flung wide open, a stack of brightly colored cases on the floor.

This must be where the guest was staying, and at such close quarters, it would be difficult for Oliver to avoid her.

He’d done harder things. He could keep his distance.

He knocked at Pearl’s bedroom door, but there was no answer.

He moved to Maxwell’s room, and at his knock, he heard Pearl’s voice softly invite him inside.

Upon opening the door, he noticed once again the sharp stink of the room, barely masked by the gently burning fire and the mound of pine boughs on the mantel.

Max slept in his bed, his hands tucked beneath his cheek. Pearl sat at the small table with a notebook open in front of her.

“Oh, there you are,” she said. “Give me a moment to finish these notes.”

Oliver warmed at the thought she’d been expecting him. He walked into the room and put his back to the fire. Its pleasant warmth was only part of the appeal of this situation. From here, he could stare at Pearl’s long, slender neck as she worked.

After a few minutes, Oliver asked, “What are you writing?”

Without looking up from the paper, she answered him. “I always take notes about Maxwell’s episodes to give to his doctor when he next comes to Shadowbrook. It helps him to know the details.”

“Such as?”

“I suppose all the usual information. The duration of the attack, its specific symptoms and how long they remain in evidence, when comfortable breathing is restored, and what Maxwell was doing before the onset.”

“I can help you with some of that, since I was there.” An idea landed in Oliver’s mind. “In fact, I could take you to the rooms we explored. It might do you good to get out of here.”

He couldn’t mention the strange smell to Pearl—what if the sharp odor was an effect of Maxwell’s illness? But he could take her away from it.

He reached for her hand to help her from her chair, and the moment their fingers touched, he felt the same sparking thrill run through him as when they’d kissed. Now there was twice the reason to leave the sleeping boy’s room.

He kept her fingers held in his, and she made no move to pull her hand away. They walked along the bedroom wing and toward the stairs. Pearl looked over her shoulder a few times, but when she didn’t see anyone or anything to alarm her, she walked with Oliver up the stairs.

The squawking of the wooden steps beneath their feet didn’t seem as loud as Oliver’s footsteps felt when he climbed the stairs alone in the dark.

“Max and I decided to explore the left side of the upper floor’s wing. He said the two of you haven’t gone into many of those rooms.”

Pearl hummed in assent. “Once we looked into a room that had a broken window. The floor was covered with several beautiful old carpets, one on top of another, and so much water had come in through the broken window that the floor squished beneath our feet. It was unsettling.”

Oliver chuckled. “That’s one word for it. Another word is disgusting .”

“Exactly.”

Oliver thought he might get away with a comment about finalizing a purchase contract and walking away from the mess, but he didn’t want to risk souring Pearl’s mood.

It was probably best to keep the conversation away from disposal of the property or Maxwell’s health. He didn’t want to argue with her.

He wanted to kiss her.

Not that he’d make any assumptions about her willingness. Just because she’d kissed him once didn’t mean she wanted to do it again. But he dearly hoped she wanted to do it again.

They reached the landing on the upper floor. Hallways led off in several directions. They bore to the left into one of the halls. He opened a door and led Pearl into a passageway with doors placed irregularly along both sides.

“Most of these were locked when we came here together, but Maxwell has a couple of old, ornate keys. He told me he’s had them for years. He tried both keys in each door, but none of the locks budged for him. Then we got to this door.”

Oliver turned the knob. The room was small, but its walls were covered with mirrors of all sizes, some framed in ornate gilt moldings, some circular, and some small squares of glass set side by side.

Pearl gasped.

Oliver, still holding her hand, pulled her to the center of the room. “It’s lovely, isn’t it?”

Pearl looked around the room, turning slowly and keeping Oliver at her side as she took it all in.

“Look.” She pointed to a large mirror in a thick wooden frame.

Its surface sent back not only the two of them but also their reflection from the mirror on the opposite wall.

Their images doubled and tripled on and on, the slight curvature of the glass causing the reflection to bend toward the right edge of the mirror, giving the impression that the image was being reproduced in perpetuity.

“There’s something magical about the illusion that anyone could go on forever.” Her whisper sent a ripple across his skin.

Oliver guided Pearl closer to the huge, framed glass. She held his gaze in their reflection. He felt a pulsing of pleasure at the ease with which they stared at each other while standing side by side and both looking straight ahead.

She reached out a finger and touched the reflection of Oliver’s shoulder. He imagined he could feel the pressure.

“Have you ever considered that the closest you’ve come to seeing what you look like is a flat reflection in an imperfect looking glass?”

“Never,” he admitted. “But it seems you have, and I’d love to hear you speak about it.”

What he didn’t say is that he’d love to keep hold of her hand as he watched the reflection of her lips moving.

“If someone were to paint our likeness right now, we’d have a record of the moment, but it would be no more us than this reflection is. Just an image, and one that shows only a single expression. I’ve seen reflections of myself, but I don’t suppose I really know what I look like.”

“Allow me to tell you.” Oliver’s words slipped out before he thought about them. When she didn’t stop him, more words fell from his lips as easily as the thoughts gathered in his mind.

“You know perfectly well the silky blackness of your hair, but did you know it shines almost blue in the candlelight? The way a raven’s wing catches sunlight and sends it back as a hint of a deep ocean.

And your eyes are so expressive, I can see what you’re thinking about before you speak.

When your lips speak words, each carefully formed syllable changes the shape of your mouth.

It’s a mesmerizing transformation I could watch for hours. ”

She put a finger to her mouth, her lips parted and perfect.

“I’m afraid if I begin to describe the curve of your throat you’ll think I’m trying to write poetry, which I would never attempt.

I know my limits. But the line from your chin to your collar is in perfect proportion.

I speak as someone who has studied drawing.

And, to be fair, as someone who has studied the line of your neck. ”

Oliver sensed he was speaking nonsense, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. “Your hands, at least, you can see as well as I can. Those elegant fingers, so capable of creating beauty or soothing a wound or stirring the blood inside me.”

He didn’t miss the catch in her breathing when she released his hand, and he felt his own gasp as she faced him, placing both her hands around his neck. “You do know how to say pretty things, Mr. Waverley.”

“Only things I know to be true.” He ducked his chin, bringing his face a sigh away from her own, his lips almost touching her cheek.

She shifted, and her hands settled on his shoulders, fingers digging into the fabric of his coat. “Only things you think are true. You’re not always right, you know.”

“Miss Ellicott, do you really want to argue with me right now?”

She tilted her head, and her nose drew near the space beneath his ear. He felt the whisper of her breath. “Did you have a better idea?”

“I’m so glad you asked. In fact, yes. Quite a few good ones.”

“I’ve heard enough of your ideas to know you should let me evaluate them. See if they’re sound.” Her words were a soft murmur he felt as much as heard.

“Something tells me I ought to place my hands at your waist.” His palms barely grazed the fabric of her dress.

“Scandalous.” He immediately released her, but she put her hands over his and pressed them to her sides. She took a step closer, a thing he would have considered impossible only a moment before. She resettled herself so she could look at his face. He didn’t mind the shift.

“Mmm,” she hummed. “Any other ideas?”

“You should put your hand on my face the way you did before.”

“Like this?” she asked, her fingers trailing lightly through the hair above his ears.

“You see? Another excellent idea, and perfectly executed.”

She smiled at him while shaking her head. “You really can’t take all the credit, you know. It’s a combined effort.”

“Speaking of combined efforts,” he began, his smile growing with each word.

She blinked her eyes with exaggerated slowness. “Yes?”

“I believe I’d quite like to kiss you now.”

She gestured to the mirror-covered walls. “Here? In front of all these people?”

He dragged his eyes from her face to glance into the reflections. “They all look fairly busy. I don’t think they’d take any notice at all.”

As it happened, he was right.

Oliver held Pearl close, and they began to sway. After a moment, he pulled back and cocked his head, listening. “Do you hear that?”

“Is it the sound of your better judgment telling you this isn’t the moment for asking questions?”

He loved the way she leaned close to him and whispered the words, but beneath the sound of her voice, he heard the music again.

“Sounds like a violin.”

She shook her head. “Sometimes I hear that. It’s the wind.”

“The wind doesn’t play melodies.”

“Of course it does,” she argued, and she took a step away from him. “It sings everywhere: through creaking branches of trees and reeds on the riverbank and between the bricks of this house. When it sounds particularly tuneful, it’s the memory of music you’ve heard before.”

Oliver knew that wasn’t true. He was sure he heard the strains of ghostly songs, the same way he’d heard them when he’d lived here as a child.

He didn’t want to argue with Pearl, especially when he knew they could be spending their time together in much more pleasant ways. But would she continue to deny what her senses told her?

“Are we hearing the same thing?” He pointed to the wall to his left and hummed along, a fraction of a second behind each note. “You’re telling me that music is the wind?”

“Of course it is. It’s certainly not a ghost, which is what the staff would like to make me believe,” she said.

“And those are the only two explanations we can consider?”

Her expression now void of all playfulness, she met his eye. “The sounds we’re hearing are another way this house is crying out to stay, and for us to stay with it. You can’t destroy a place with such miraculous abilities.”

Oliver felt the surprise play over his face at the same moment he saw her reaction. She must have seen how her answer startled him.

She went on. “I don’t mean actual miracles. I mean, this house is damaged and suffering, but it’s also beautiful and full of marvels.” She made a slow turn, taking in the mirrored walls. “Much like each of us. You can’t destroy it.”

Oliver tried not to sigh in frustration. “I don’t want to destroy anything. I just want to put the past aside and move forward.”

She started shaking her head before he finished speaking. “Some of us need the past.”

“Better things are ahead for all of us.”

“You can’t know that is true, and you must stop saying it’s so. Many of us in this house have already lived the best days we will ever see.”

His breath of incredulity came out almost like a laugh. “I refuse to believe that.”

“Which is why you’ll never understand us.”

Oliver stepped close to Pearl, reaching his hand to stroke her arm.

“I want to understand you.”

Maybe she thought he meant everyone in the house, but in his heart, he cared most about her. About knowing her mind and her soul. About learning to read her mood, about seeing her feelings in her eyes.

“I think you mean it, and that’s why you’re so infuriating. I’m trying to explain, but you’re simply not hearing. Your uncle needs this house. Max needs this house, and so I need it too. You want to take it away from us all.”

Oliver shook his head. “That’s not true. I simply know there’s so much better out there.”

Pearl sighed and turned away. “There is no promise of anything better. For any of us.”

Oliver watched her walk out of the mirrored room, and the music floating through the walls turned melancholy.