Darker Still (8 page)

He’d touched upon the same troubling notion I’d had when I’d first read the newspaper article about him. An inexplicable familiarity. We stared at each other. “What do you last remember?”

“Him. The demon. Unwittingly, I invited something terrible into my home. After my parents died, it all became a blur,” Denbury murmured ruefully.

Of course he still grieved. He took to pacing. His movement didn’t help my nerves, but it seemed to keep his energy more focused.

“The demon commanded me with terrible power.” Denbury rubbed his head, disheveling a lock of that lustrous black hair, as if by touching his skull he might gain a clearer sense of his own predicament. “And I hardly can remember the face of the one who overtook me. But Crenfall I remember. He was the one who took me to—” Denbury halted, his face suddenly red, shamed. “Well, I…woke bound. There was some sort of terrible ritual. Then this prison.”

He wasn’t, obviously, being entirely forthcoming. But I didn’t press him. He placed a hand on his chest as if testing his own solidity, saying, “I feel my body here. And yet…”

“And yet I saw you out in the world,” I blurted. “Did the…demon, as you say, have strange eyes, dark eyes, almost like—”

“An animal’s,” Denbury finished. “Reflecting strangely, like a dog’s.”

I nodded. “Then that’s what I saw.
Who
I saw. He’s taken on your face as his own.”

Denbury pounded his fist on his desk in fury. “The bloody bastard!” He turned away, clenching his fists as if looking to strike something. He sighed. “My apologies for such language in the presence of a lady, Miss Stewart,” he said as he came back to himself and turned to stare out at the world beyond.

“That’s all right. I imagine I’d curse anyone who put me in such straits.”

The frame of the painting looked like a doorway as I turned to follow Denbury’s gaze. I vaguely recognized the area beyond the frame as Mrs. Northe’s landing, but as if it were seen through a faraway lens, a pool of water between these two distinct places, shimmering and obscured.

And that was when I saw myself.

As if through a darkened glass, I stood with fingertips outstretched, my face blank. My goodness, I was in two. Part of me was here; part of me was there. “Oh my…” I breathed.

I was still so taken by being in Denbury’s presence, by how it felt to be clutched in his arms, by the sound of his voice, and still reeling from the overwhelming shock of hearing my own voice that I couldn’t be troubled that there were two of me. But it was yet another blow atop the many I’d already received. I’d never been so assaulted.

“Yes.” Denbury gestured to my body outside. “Just as you see yourself, I also seem to be two, mind split from body. I shudder to think what the devil’s making of me. Where am I, then? I’ve seen a tall woman. There’s a light about her—”

“Surely that’s Mrs. Evelyn Northe, Lord Denbury. You’re in her home. She’s a magnificent woman and an excellent hostess. She owns your portrait but plans to move it to the Metropolitan. Your canvas is truly an unparalleled work of art, but as it stands—”

“Oh, there’s nothing else like it, I’m quite sure,” Denbury muttered.

“And she knows it,” I assured eagerly. “She’s kept it out of evil hands. You have a friend in Mrs. Northe. She knew there was something about you from the very first. I wish you were truly
with
us
in New York to appreciate her hospitality under better circumstances.”

“I like New Yorkers,” he offered.

“I like the English,” I blurted. Then blushed. That was a stupid thing to say. Surely Maggie would have said something more clever. Or perhaps she’d have simply gaped at him. I couldn’t be sure. I had to give myself credit for forming words at all, considering that speaking was
entirely
foreign.

But Denbury smiled and my blush persisted.

I debated whether to tell him of the robbery attempt, but if his curtain had been closed, he’d likely have no idea. For his sake, I hoped he was ignorant of what was happening around him. Being trapped while a fate befalls you that you cannot control would be most maddening. But the question remained, was I trapped here too? I looked through the glassy, waterlike barrier to where the rest of me stood.

“I’m sorry, Miss Stewart,” he murmured, “to have quite truly dragged you into all this. Such things as I’ve been through should not be spoken to a lady, yet I’m so grateful to see you—I…” He turned away, clenching his fists. If he had further fears, he did not share them.

“I cannot fault your manners, Lord Denbury, as the situation is far from normal—”

“I’d just begun to live!” He pounded his fist against the desk again, the small room boxing his energy. He was a beautiful animal confined in a most unusual cage. “I had a calling. I was about to do great things. I would’ve been someone whom my parents could have been proud of, if we had all just been given the chance.” He stared darkly out at that murky beyond, the true world, and said through clenched teeth, “Perhaps the Devil knows when a man could do great things and stops him from them. Wreaking havoc in his path instead.”

“Perhaps.”

He looked around him, pacing the perimeter he’d no doubt paced thousands of times before. “So now I’ve only this room and no sense of time. Surely you didn’t hear me calling for you—”

“No, but I dreamed of it,” I replied and immediately turned away, blushing, a hand flying to my mouth. No matter what the circumstances, a girl does not admit to a boy she has just met that she dreamed of him. “Pardon me,” I said, my back to him. “Spending a lifetime
thinking
things rather than
saying
them has not prepared me for an actual, proper conversation with a gentleman.”

Denbury laughed. A wonderful sound. He took a step toward me and put a hand on my shoulder, turning me back to face him. “The lovely Miss Stewart dreamed of me? I’m honored.”

He thought me lovely? I was going to swoon, particularly if he kept that hand on my shoulder. Maggie would kill me out of jealousy. I didn’t know what to say, but I was fairly sure I wore my heart on my sleeve. How could anything escape his piercing gaze? Surely he could read my soul and see that I was utterly compelled by him. And the more delicious fact was that the knowledge didn’t seem to deter him in the least.

“But gaining your voice, Miss Stewart, it heartens me. You see, I hope to establish my own physician’s practice, in order to help people. A friend and I started a volunteer clinic in London, but I want to do more, so much more. If this harrowing chamber made a mute girl find her voice…” Another delicious smile played upon his lips. “Such a gift makes it worth the prison.”

Touched by his sentiment as I was, I couldn’t help but wonder aloud: “Thank you for saying so, Lord Denbury—you are kind. But am I imprisoned here now too?”

Horror crossed his face. “Oh! I hadn’t thought—I didn’t think you could join me. I just wanted you to know someone was inside. You…I had to reach out to you—”

“Why me?” I pressed.

“Because of your colors.”

I blinked at him.

He tried to explain. “When I first saw you out there—” He gestured out past the frame’s edge to the world as I knew it. “Blurry as you were, you were still surrounded by green and violet—a halo, if you will. I’ve noticed light around only a few. You, Mrs. Northe, and another girl.”

“That’s Maggie. She’s your friend too,” I blurted.

I looked down at myself and saw no such green and violet halo.

“Yours was the strongest light of all,” he murmured in a quiet, concerned tone as he took a step closer to me. “The devil who imprisoned me performed a terrible rite. As he cast me backward into this prison—like being pushed into deep water—colors crackled around him like a sorcerer’s spell, all red and gold, the veritable fires of Hell with a hint of sulfur scent. His halo was in colors exactly opposite yours. When I saw you, your light made me…forget everything else.”

Denbury raked his hand through his hair, gauging my reaction. Evidently it wasn’t what he hoped, for he sighed in sorrowful exasperation. “It’s madness. I had to try to tell you something
lived
beneath the illusion. I couldn’t have known you’d come in. It isn’t you the demon requires, it’s me. You must trust me that I’d never intend you harm.”

I nodded, believing his intentions, but still my mind reeled and I could not trust my sense or sensibility. There was potent magic about him, yes, but not all of it was good. Not what had brought him here. Colors, curses, halos…I fumbled for something practical. Like how to get, for God’s sake,
out
.

“What happens when you try to escape?” I asked. He held up the back of his left hand. It was scarred and red. Burned. I winced. “I wonder if that holds true for me.”

“Careful,” he blurted.

But I’d already reached toward the pool that was the other side. I had to understand the particulars of this world. The thought of being trapped in one room for the rest of my days, even if it was alongside such stirring company, choked my breath. My incessant nightmares often included being trapped in rooms, knowing my voice couldn’t shout for someone to let me out. My body seized with panic at the thought. My fingertips again touched cool, thick water…

The reverse of my entrance happened, and a great force had me in that same strange, suctioning pull. I felt myself falling forward. I was thankfully in no pain and felt no burning, but I was off balance. I turned to Lord Denbury, who was reaching for me.

He grabbed my arm at the last minute. And even though I pulled as hard as I could, trying to bring him with me, I saw a flash of red and golden fire and heard a hiss of pain and a most ungentlemanly curse. Then his grip was gone, and I was tumbling freely through a dizzying kaleidoscope of colors.

I regained my body, snapping up rigidly against the bones of my corset and fighting nausea, and looked back at the portrait. There was a flash of furious helplessness in his gorgeous eyes. But beyond that, nothing of the moments we had shared was evident. He was still. He was a painting. He was subject to the rules of this outside reality again.

I wanted to reassure him, but when I tried to speak, all that came out were faltering sounds. I, too, was subject to this reality. A place where I could not—did not—speak. Tears welled in my eyes at the injustice of it all, and I kicked at my white gloves lying limp upon the floor at my feet. To so easily gain the effortless, blessed gift of speech and then to have it taken away again? I tried to convey everything I was thinking in a single look.
I
will
come
back
for
you. I will help you.

But am I brave enough to make good on my promise?

June 10

I took my leave from Mrs. Northe’s quickly after those events inside the painting, too overwhelmed to have gone into details with her.

She didn’t press me beyond saying, “You look as though you’ve just seen a ghost.”

I stared at her and nodded. “I met
two
,” I signed.

At that moment, Father came into the foyer and I brightened my expression. “Natalie, darling,” he exclaimed, “we mustn’t wear out our welcome here. Come along.”

“I’ll see you soon, Natalie,” Mrs. Northe murmured as she helped me affix my favorite hat—the one with a small tulle veil and a satin rose—atop my head and sent me out the door. “You’ve a story for me, I can tell.”

And so the next day there I was again in Mrs. Northe’s study. She’d come to fetch me at my home while Father was at the Metropolitan. Bessie was again all too happy to send me on my way, and while I was seriously questioning my sanity, I felt I had no choice but to tell Mrs. Northe about having fallen into another world.

I sat in a sumptuous chair with a cup of tea in hand while Mrs. Northe simply stared at me patiently. Amid the terror of the situation, her calm strength was a most gracious balm. I rejoiced in this motherlike figure who was not stricken in the face of what I feared was madness.

I debated for a moment about inventing some lie or feigning that my corset had been laced too tightly the day before. But she herself had said that fate had brought us together. This sort of thing could not go on without comment—not to a woman like her, invested as she was in this situation. She’d see through a lie. If we two had light and colors that Denbury could see, that made us both players in this strange drama.

The first thing I signed was to plead for Mrs. Northe’s discretion. I wished for Father to hear none of this.

“Go on then,” she said. “I promise not to say a word. To
anyone
. You mustn’t hide what magic has been wrought here.”

I signed to her how the painting had changed, how it lured me and then dragged me under like a tide, how Denbury had caught me against him, how the event had created such a shock that it drove me to speak. I felt my cheeks redden in frustration that the miracle had not held true of my voice upon my return to this world.

Mrs. Northe’s eyes widened, and she stiffened in her chair as I relayed the events. I felt I had a warrior in the room with me, as well as a confidante. She was as amazed as I, and yet, to my great relief, undeterred. I described the incredible and otherworldly aspects: the particulars of that oddly exquisite little room with a hazy window onto the world beyond, the wild desperation of Denbury’s imprisoned soul in contrast to his stoic painted appearance, and the strange sensation of tumbling in and out of another reality.