Descent Into Dust (6 page)
“Was he not invited?”
“I do not know the particulars, but he seems to have corresponded with Roger, after some mutual acquaintance provided a letter of introduction. Roger had no choice but to ask him to join us. Which was quite decent of him, but you know how absurdly polite my brother can be.”
Mr. Fox half-turned, and I caught his profile. In that first glimpse of patrician nose and intelligent brow over which spilled a spike of dark hair, I don’t believe I breathed. Mr. Fox chanced to glance over one square shoulder, and caught me watching
him. He merely returned my perusal, his dark, hooded eyes unwavering without being rude.
His face was interesting rather than handsome, composed of angles and planes; pointed cheekbones and a square jaw were balanced by the smooth, swarthy skin of his cheek. There were elongated hollows on either side of a sensuously curved mouth, lending an aspect to his face that was too sharp for conventional good looks. And yet it was arresting. I caught myself staring with what had to appear startling rudeness.
“Come on, let us get you introduced,” Sebastian whispered, and I instinctively drew back. But my resistance was easily overcome when he pulled insistently at my elbow and marched me toward the group.
“Mr. Fox,” he said, his face alight with excitement, “may I be allowed to present you to Mrs. Emma Andrews.”
Mr. Fox’s dark head inclined and his gloved hand extended with smart correctness. “Your servant,” he said.
His voice was like silk drawn over a rough surface, smooth with a slight rasp. His eyes were nearly obsidian, glittering cleverly as he took my measure.
“Emma, this is Mr. Valerian Fox,” Sebastian continued, drawing on the name again, saying it with relish. “Emma lives in Devon,” he explained, sidling a touch closer to the man as if imparting something of import. “We are so happy to have her here at Dulwich. Since she lost her husband after last Christmas, we would like to keep her with us as long as possible.”
Ah. The mention of my status as a widow meant Sebastian had appointed himself my matchmaker. I would have liked to have struck him with a blunt instrument at that moment.
“I am sure it is desirable to keep such a charming person as Mrs. Andrews as close as one can,” Mr. Fox said to Sebastian,
then addressed himself pointedly to me. “I understand you have been under the weather recently, Mrs. Andrews.”
“A low place indeed, given the wretched state of it,” I replied.
His eyes flickered over me, brushing a light touch down my neck and to the gentle swell of my bosom, encased in steel-blue lace, then back up to my face. His gaze seemed to narrow in on me. “There is sickness in the town, I understand. You must have a care.”
“Thank you,” I replied, “but you have been misinformed. I am not unwell.”
He seemed to appreciate that fact, something he made apparent with an almost improperly bold look. “What a relief.”
For some reason, I found myself slightly breathless. His regard of me was intense, and I cannot say it did not affect me, making me a trifle nervous.
I excused myself and turned toward the others, catching my cousin’s eye watching me. Mary was wearing an expression of animated interest, and approval. I nearly groaned, for she had seen my exchange with Mr. Fox, and I feared it was giving her ideas. My dread was realized when moments later she announced lunch, and in arranging the procession into the dining room, made certain I was partnered with Mr. Fox.
The promenade was a rather foolish custom, I had always thought. I made a self-conscious overture to conversation. “There are Latin inscriptions all around the house. Have you seen them?”
His movements were economical, even the slight nod he gave me now. “Oh, indeed I have.”
“There it is,” I said, pointing to an archway as we passed.
“Semper paratus.”
His heavy eyelids lowered to half-mast, and he translated in
a voice deeply resonant. “‘Always ready.’ Good advice, do you not agree, Mrs. Andrews?”
“Indeed, but the question begs to be asked, sir: ready for what?”
“Why, for anything.” He faced forward, his sphinx-like features as immutable as stone. “Anything at all.”
B
y the time the soup course was concluded, I decided I did not like Valerian Fox. It was his stillness, as if every nerve were on alert, watching everything. Especially me; even when his eyes were directed elsewhere, I felt his awareness of me. He unnerved me. I dropped my fork twice, making a racket against the Wedgewood plate. My sister scowled at me, and I tried harder to steady my hand lest I overtax our new détente.
Sebastian asked me, “You visited our Henri this morning?”
“She beat me four times out of five at Peggity,” I said, carefully spearing a slice of ham. “And do you know what else? The little minx challenged me to chess.”
Roger barked. “Chess? Did you teach her, Sebastian?”
“You know me better than that,” Sebastian replied to his brother, his tone dripping in disgust. “Chess is not a game for a child. Chess is a game of master strategy. Now, I admit to showing her the important things for a child her age to know, such as how to ferret out the best gossip and the proper way to drape a cape off one shoulder. But chess?”
I coughed delicately to cover my mirth. It amazed me that no one else thought him hilarious. “She informed me it was Marius who taught her,” I told them.
Roger chewed for a moment. “Who on earth is Marius?”
Sebastian shrugged. “Her new imaginary friend. Didn’t you get an introduction? He seems to be rather a formidable character. Victoria is quite put out at being displaced.” He pulled a face. “I never liked that doll. Too haughty.”
I did laugh then before I could catch myself.
“Darling,” Mary said to Roger, pointedly ignoring her brother-in-law, “do you have an ancestor named Marius? Perhaps she saw a painting in the gallery.”
“I’m afraid I do not know offhand,” Roger said. “But that still does not answer where she learned chess.”
I caught the look on Mr. Fox’s face just then. It seemed to me to be chillingly absent of any discernible emotion, and yet his eyes, glittering black as they swept the company around the table, were sharp with interest.
Immediately after the meal was concluded, I returned to the third floor, where I found Henrietta seated by the window with a book on her lap. The puddle of sunlight angling through the leaded panes gilded her curls, setting them agleam like an angel’s, but her eyes were steady and somber as I greeted her.
“She’s feeling a bit poorly,” Miss Harris informed me. “A quiet afternoon is in order, I should say.”
“Every afternoon is quiet,” Henrietta said, turning back to her book. “And very long.”
Hunkering down in front of the child, I took her hand in mine. “You aren’t very happy about being shut up inside, I see. Maybe that is what has you in the doldrums.”
She lifted a slender shoulder in a pretense of diffidence, but I knew I’d struck on her problem.
Miss Harris’s voice took on an uncharacteristic stridency. “Her father doesn’t wish her to go outside because of the illness.”
“Yes, but maybe if we stay away from the village it will be all right. And we do not have to be out very long, just a nice brisk walk to put some color back in your cheeks. I’m sure your papa wouldn’t mind.” I considered the dappled light outside, then smiled down at Henrietta. “The day is getting milder, so it would seem the weather is inviting us. What do you say?” Henrietta smiled and nodded.
The nursemaid tried to protest but I cut her off. “It is settled, then. We will not be long. Hen, go fetch your boots and grab Victoria.”
Henrietta shook her head. “She’s left me.”
Miss Harris clucked. “I’m afraid we’ve misplaced Victoria.”
“We shall look for her when we get back,” I promised, and went to fetch my shawl. I would take her toward Overton. That path cut nowhere near any crofter’s cottage or farm and, as I’d been there before, there could be no question of our losing our way.
We would, however, pass near The Sanctuary. In the broad
light of day, the thought of seeing it again made me feel strangely excited. I suppose I was eager to prove there was nothing to be afraid of, that whatever fancy had gripped me temporarily was quite done with.
We had a happy walk, for Henrietta came alive like a wilted flower reviving in the sunlight. The air held that certain crispness that comes after long rains, and it had a renewing effect on me as well. I inhaled deeply of the sweet breeze and my head felt clear. The sound of Henrietta’s laughter floated around me as she skipped and leapt at my side.
When Marius’s tree came into view, my heart gave a great surge, and I could not prevent myself from scanning the tall grasses around it to see if the birds were anywhere in sight. Nothing disturbed the meadow, or the wild holly bushes at its edge, not even a breeze. The long, lazy branches of a weeping willow barely made a stir. The grass was thick and deep here, and it was not easy going as we thrashed our way through.
There was no detectable change in Henrietta as we approached, then passed, the strangely shaped hawthorn. Relief swelled in me. It had all been a bit of nonsense.
A patch of early wildflowers occupied us for a while. I showed Henrietta how to string them together to form a daisy chain. She grew bored and wandered off to fetch more flowers. I got rather lost in figuring out the knack of tying the little blossoms. It had been some time since I’d undertaken such a winsome activity.
When I’d finished the first chain, I looked up and saw, to my surprise, that the field was empty. I scrambled to my feet. “Henrietta!” I called, and, at once, my fine sense of well-being evaporated.
The object of my labor fell from my hand. I searched franti
cally along the top of the grass for a cap of golden curls. “Henrietta?” I called.
Lifting my skirts clear to my knees, I broke into a run. The height of the grass was an impediment, and I was not graceful as I loped through. I had a thought she might have made for the hedgerow and set off in that direction.
Then something touched me, a presence, burning lightly into the flesh of my back. My steps slowed. I stopped. The air grew electric, and the sense of pressure, the terrible stabbing pain inside my head, sprang to life.
I swung about to look behind me. I was standing by Marius’s tree. A terrible feeling saturated my flesh, aching a dull pain in my bones—it was coming from there. The feeling was coming from that direction.
The sound of Henrietta’s voice drifted over to me. “No,” she said in a tone calm and measured, “I do not think it is so.”
I felt relief, for I had found her, but it was quickly cut off, replaced by a creeping finger of dread that ran up the vertebrae in the small of my back. She was talking to someone.
I spotted her, sitting cross-legged on the ground among the high grass. Her face was upturned as if there were someone standing just an arm’s length in front of her.
She went still, as if she were listening. Whoever spoke to her did so in such a low tone I could not hear it. Then she laughed. “I should like that very much!”
I approached quickly. What trick was this? Was someone hiding behind the tree? I could not see properly, so I cut a wide berth behind the child to trap him. Circling, I stopped short.
The meadow was empty.
Henrietta was even now smiling and nodding, as if in response to words I could not hear. But there was nothing there.
Fear cut into me, a deep, razor-edged terror. When she’d played pretend with Victoria, I understood that she knew it was a game. This looked so real. As if something or someone really were there, speaking only to her…
I cried out as a sudden burst of pain descended upon me like a hammer’s blow. I went down on my knees with a gasp, clutching my hands to my hair. I felt like I was being wrenched open, as though something inside me were tearing, and then, as I curled forward, mouth open in a silent cry, a sharp final snap burst upon me, as if a twig were rended in two.
And then I felt no pain, just breathless relief. I lay there, unmoving, for only a moment before I remembered Henrietta and made myself rise. Unfurling myself, I found her motionless before Marius’s tree, enraptured. She still had no idea I was present.
But now I saw it, as if a veil had been finally ripped aside. A shadow, the suggestion of a male figure, enshrouded in mists, stood in the shelter of the wild tangle of branches of the ancient hawthorn tree.
I stood on shaking legs. “Henrietta!” I cried.
She whipped her head around. The shadow dissolved and Henrietta jumped to her feet, her little body going rigid. I reached her, snatching her by the shoulders and pulling her toward me.
Her head twisted to turn back to the tree. “You made him go away. He was being nice to me.”
“Who? Is that Marius?” I grasped her shoulders and shook her, perhaps a bit more roughly than was necessary, but my blood was pumping furiously in my veins. “Is this Marius, Henrietta? Please tell me.”
Something dawned on her and she looked upon me with a new amazement. “You saw him.”
I was about to reply and stopped. What had I seen? “It was just a shadow, but like a man. Tall, and very dark. Is…is that what you see, darling?”
She shook her head. “No. He’s very handsome. He talks to me.” She smiled, a chilling, ghostly smile. “He tells me things sometimes. I like it when he’s nice.” Her face went cold. “I’m afraid of him.”
My heart plunged into ice. “Isn’t Marius your friend?”
She bobbed her head, but her little forehead puckered and she whispered, “But I don’t like it when he wants to talk to me at night. He’s different then. He gets angry.”
He taps on the glass at night,
I recalled. “Who is Marius?” I whispered.
A moment pulsed as I gazed into Henrietta’s face. In the pureness of her eyes, I could see the agony of indecision, of divided loyalties.
I pulled her away from the tree. “We must never come here again. Your father was right, it is dangerous. I wonder if he knows just how much so. Come, hurry.” I left unsaid the remainder of my thought:
Before he comes back.