Raquel Byrnes (16 page)

“Can you tell me what happened out there, Rosetta?”

“I don’t know what I saw. It was dark and the fog was so thick, Simon. I know it sounds crazy, but it was…ghostly.”

“Ghostly?” He sat back on his heels, a doubtful look on his face.

“Didn’t you see it? You must have heard the wailing. I heard you fire your gun.”

“That wasn’t me. That was a rifle, not a handgun,” he said and shook his head. “And I heard it, yes, but, nothing else.”

“So someone else was shooting out there?”

“Not near us in the woods. It was farther…” He shrugged. “I couldn’t tell where.”

“But I thought you saw it. That you were firing at it.”

“I wouldn’t fire into the dark like that. Not if you might get hit, even if I
did
see something out there.” When he spoke again, it was softly. As if calming a frightened child. “Rosetta, I didn’t see what you did.”

“How could that be? Where were you?” Frustrated, I pulled my hands from his and stood. Moving past, I hugged myself, looking down at him. “You walked away, and then I saw the glow in the distance…” I searched for words. For a way to explain. “I didn’t want it to get away.”

“Our woods have owls. With the fog and the moonlight…it would have been hard to see. You were frightened. I’m sure you thought you saw something, but—”

“It wasn’t just me who saw something. Lavender saw it, too. Besides, owls don’t glow, Simon,” I snapped. “I know what owls look like. They don’t float over the ground, they don’t do what that thing did, and they don’t sound like…like—”

“Like what?”

“Like an anguished cry.”

“Have you heard an owl’s screech, Rosetta?” He lifted a brow. “And Lavender sleepwalks, has night terrors. Maybe the suggestion alone made you—”

“Don’t treat me like a hysterical woman,” I said and felt warmth flood my face. “I’m not fighting off the vapors or swooning. I saw what I saw, Simon.”

“The vapors?” Amusement flitted across Simon’s face. “I’m not accusing you of hysteria.”

“Well, you’re accusing me of not knowing an owl from a pale, floating…figure.” I shook my head, frustrated. “I don’t believe in ghosts, Simon. I’m a logical person. A botanist. But I saw something out there. I’m not mistaken.”

“I believe you.” He stood and brushed his lips across my knuckles, a whisper of a kiss that sent a flutter through me. “In the morning we’ll find the place where you saw the apparition, and we’ll investigate.”

“Thank you.” The knot of anxiety in my stomach loosened with his assurances. “For finding me out there. I got so turned around I would’ve been lost.”

“I have no intention of losing you, Rosetta,” Simon murmured. His pale eyes caressed my face, my mouth. He leaned towards me, but he stopped at the last moment. His jaw clenching, he released my hands, stepping back. “I’ll see you in the morning, then?”

“Uh, yes, the morning.” I nodded, my hand going to my chest as I struggled to steady my pulse.

Simon drew in a long breath, looked at me for a second longer, and was gone.

I closed the door, thoughts racing as I realized that this time, I would not have stopped him from kissing me.

Sleep would not come. The scene in the forest kept playing in my mind. I didn’t know what I’d seen. I opened my Bible to Psalms and ran fingers down the onionskin page, brooding. The anguished cries of a hunted man—David’s words—spoke to me. I felt surrounded by danger, confused. There had to be an explanation for what I saw. There had to be.

Whatever happens, Lord, I can’t let Lavender endure this alone. And Simon, he’s lost so much already. Help me to be strong. Help me to stop all of this before someone gets hurt.

19

Golden light filtered through the lace curtains, dancing shadows across my closed lids. I turned on my side, burrowed deeper into the down comforter, and watched the flurries of dust captured in the shards of sunlight. How could this place be so beautiful and so frightening at the same time? My thoughts went to Simon. He’d promised to go and look at the spot where I’d seen the…where I fell last night. I swallowed hard, thinking.

So much was going on that I didn’t know what to worry about first—my concern for Lavender and her nightmares, the strange mouthless pictures in the library, the noises in the night, and now this specter in the woods. They all pointed to something that was not right here at Shadow Bay Hall.

I wanted to ask Simon about Lucien now that I realized he was Lavender’s twin. I didn’t know much about child psychology, but playing with an imaginary version of your dead brother didn’t seem entirely healthy. Last night I was flustered, but this morning I was determined.

Something sinister was wreaking havoc on this family, and I intended to find out what it was.

A knock at my door and Mrs. Tuttle poked her head in. “Are you decent?”

“That’s probably a matter of opinion,” I answered. She stared at me blankly. I shook my head and smiled. “Yes. Come in.”

“This was delivered for you from the village.” She put a cardboard box on the foot of the bed. The size of a toaster, I held the package in my hands. No markings, not even postage.

“What is it?”

“I don’t rifle through other people’s personal items, Ms. Ryan,” she said and folded her arms.

So that’s why she brought the package to me instead of leaving it on the table or in the foyer. She knew about the pictures, or maybe it was my trip to the storage room. Did Simon tell her? She tapped her foot expectantly, her jaw jutted out defiantly.

“Well thank you so much, Mrs. Tuttle.” I fixed her with a brilliant smile. “How kind of you to bring it all the way up here.”

She blinked a few times before answering. “Indeed.”

“I’ll say.” She wasn’t pulling me into an argument. If she wanted to comment on my snooping, she’d have to come out with it on her own. “Is that coffee I smell?”

“O’Shay tells me you ran out in the storm last night. Says you dragged Simon out there, and the two of you wandered about getting drenched for no reason. Did you really go out there on the word of a hysterical child?”

“Absolutely,” I said with a smile and pulled on the tape sealing the box. “I believe that she is afraid of something, and I wanted to help her.”

“Well, it seems all you did was get her father involved and encourage her fantastical ideas, Ms. Ryan.”

“Well, at least I did
something
.” I stood and held her gaze. “I called for you last night. You know, when she nearly fell two stories from her terrace.”

Her hand went to her mouth. “I—I had no idea,” Mrs. Tuttle whispered. “I didn’t hear you.”

“I can understand that,” I said. “By the same token, I expect you to understand that I won’t sit idle while a child is terrorized. By fantasies or otherwise. I will find out what is going on here, Mrs. Tuttle.”

She took a step back, straightened her apron, and cleared her throat. When she looked up at me, her face was controlled, blank. “Well, then,” she said with forced politeness. “Now that you’ve said your piece, are you coming down for breakfast?”

“No, thank you.” I smiled sweetly. “I’ll grab something on my way out.”

“Out?” Mrs. Tuttle’s hands went to her hips. “And your real charge? What about Mr. Hale?”

“I’m checking in on him as soon as I am dressed.”

“But you’re leaving the grounds?” She eyed me as if I was planning to make off with the silver.

“Why do you ask? Do you need me to get something for you while I’m out?” I pulled my robe on. “In the village, maybe?”

I was determined not to let her wheedle out of me that I intended to “drag Simon” further into things. Starting with a conversation about Lucien.

“The phones are up. Dr. Fliven said he will be by tomorrow to check on Mr. Hale’s health.”

“I look forward to meeting him, then.” I walked to the door, held it open for her. “Mrs. Tuttle.”

“Ms. Ryan,” she said and walked past.

I watched her leave. When she got to the stairs, she looked up and her expression surprised me. She didn’t look angry or even put off by my attitude. Mrs. Tuttle looked worried.

****

Carrying the package, I checked in on Lavender and found her still sleeping under the fluffy pink canopy. Closing her door quietly, I bit my lip with worry. Simon was right about her getting worse. The problem was, it wasn’t all in her head. I stood with my forehead to her door.

When I told my mother of my intention to testify, she had cringed from me as if staring at a strange and disgusting creature. She didn’t understand why I couldn’t let them railroad an innocent man. Why I wouldn’t choose family over what was right. All those Sundays in church and we came away with completely different ideas about truth. About belief. Grief welled again. I quelled it.

Striding down the hall to Davenport’s room, I cracked the door open.

He looked up from his breakfast and waved me away.

“Go on, Ms. Ryan,” he said. “You have a day off for two reasons. Your sanity and
mine
.”

“I see you’re in better spirits, Mr. Hale.” I wiggled the door handle. “You locked this last night. Gave me a scare.”

“Nonsense, girl. I wouldn’t do that.”

“Oh?” It was very much locked last night. “Did you get to bed from the library all right?”

He raised a brow and spread his arms out indicating that he was in bed after all.

I sighed.

He was in another mood. At least he was eating.

“Did anything wake you up last night?” I wondered if anyone had told him about my adventure outside in the fog with Simon. Would he fire me if he knew? With his mercurial temper, I wasn’t sure. I didn’t want to risk it just yet.

“No, Ms. Ryan. I can sleep through any storm.”

“Dr. Fliven is coming,” I said, changing the subject. “Tomorrow, maybe.”

“Yes, well”—he wiped his mouth with his napkin—”You’ll tell him I’m fine.”

“I’m sure he’ll form his own opinion.”

“Is that for me?” He nodded to the box in my arms.

“No, uh, it was delivered for me, but I never ordered anything.”

“Are you going to open it or just carry it around all day?”

I walked in and sat on the edge of his bed. Tugging on the tape, I made a face.

“I was going down to get some scissors.”

“Give it here,” Davenport said, and I handed him the box. He reached into the top drawer of his nightstand and pulled out a large bowie knife, the edge of the blade newly sharpened. He slit the tape with the tip as if gutting a kill.

“That’s quite a knife, Mr. Hale,” I said and pulled the box open. “Expecting a bear attack?”

“Never be far from your weapon, Ms. Ryan,” Davenport said and tapped his head with his index finger. “A rule to live by.”

“Even in your own home?”

“Especially there,” Davenport said.

I flashed on Simon last night, the gun at his waistband, but said nothing. Inside the box, I dug through the tissue paper and found the most beautiful slip-on shoes. Black silk with red embroidery, I tried them on. They were the kind of shoes I’d seen on the shop ladies and other gypsies in the village. The design, I’d seen before on Josif’s vest. I slipped them on and smiled. They complemented the black broomstick skirt that swirled at my ankles. The box jangled and I lifted the paper out. A row of tiny silver bells on a chain sat at the bottom. I held it in my hand, and the tinkling sounded sweet to my ears. It was an anklet like Nalla’s. I read the note suspended by a string.

Not by blood, but by strength of heart. A gypsy, you will find safety in the sea. ~ Yasmine

“Who is it from?” Davenport asked, back to eating his breakfast.

“Uh, a friend?” I slipped the anklet on and held my leg out, making the bells jangle.

“Blending in here on Noble Island, are we?” Davenport lifted a brow as he looked at my ankle.

“I guess so,” I said.

I thought about the note. Josif had mentioned the sea to me, not Yasmine. Had he told her about my torn feet after chasing Lavender? My hand went to my face, to the rush of blood at my cheeks. Did he mention my idiocy with the shears? Considering the close-knit nature of the island’s inhabitant’s they must be related, and yes, she probably knew I’d made a fool of myself in the greenhouse. Threatening Simon’s loyal friend with scissors.

More than a week since I’d been into the village, I peered out of Davenport’s window thinking.

“You mentioned that you needed me to get a book for you from the post. Do you think it’s in yet? I need to get you some more valerian root and maybe something for your fatigue.” I reached for my mahogany box I’d left on the dresser yesterday and held up the empty bottle of the dried root.

Davenport’s gaze went to the door and then to my face.

“Good call, Ms. Ryan,” he said and pushed his knife under his pillow. “Best to check in case it comes early.”

“I’ll go today, then.”

“Report back to me either way, Ms. Ryan.”

Nodding, I left his room. I wasn’t sure if Mr. Hale had a “normal” behavior. I’d never met an eccentric adventurer who lived on a creepy island. Maybe sleeping with one eye open was normal to him. Still, with everything else going on, he had the right idea.

It wasn’t until I stepped onto the porch that I heard the laughter. Hearty and pleasant, I followed the sound around to the side of the house.

Standing with his foot on the river rock fence, a man slapped O’Shay on the back, and the two of them chuckled. He wore jeans and a black polo shirt, and his running shoes were dark, also. Turning, his face lit up.

“You must be the beautiful Rosetta I’ve heard all about,” he said and extended his hand. “I’m Phillip, Simon’s cousin.”

“I, uh…nice to meet you,” I stammered. Dark hair, dark eyes, shadow of scruff on his lantern jaw, he was in every way the opposite of Simon in both coloring and disposition. “When did you get in?”

“Just last night,” he said and kissed my hand. “But I took a room in the village to ride out the storm.”

O’Shay shot him a knowing look and turned, gathering his things and walking away.

“I was just looking for Simon, actually.”