Storm at Marshbay (6 page)

“Oh, dear,” I said, “I’ve upset her.”

“No.” Ian said. He stood and quickly pulled me to my feet.

“I need to be honest with you. You’ve no doubt heard that was where the accident with Marguerite happened?”

I suddenly saw the bolted door in a new light. “I knew what happened was in her studio but I didn’t really know where that was. If it will bother you or your family, of course I’ll change the location.” 

He shook his head. “I know how much you love the courtyard.” 

“I do, but…” The truth was that the beautiful courtyard reminded me of him. Of our conversation the day I told him I would marry him. It was the place where I first realized my feelings for him. But I had no idea the place must hold terrible, gruesome memories for him and his family.

“Isabella, I think I know you well enough now to know that you are not a girl who asks for much. I don’t want to deny you anything. If I know Mother, by the time of the wedding, no one will know there was a door there.”

“You’re sure it won’t bother you?”

“It won’t. I’ll be too busy looking at my beautiful bride.”

I carried those words in my heart and they comforted me as I counted the days until my wedding day.

On the appointed day, the carriage delivered me to Marshbay about an hour before the wedding. My dress would be waiting for me in a room near the courtyard.

As I stepped from the coach Ian, who had obviously been waiting, hurried from the doorway to help me down. I glanced up at the skies, happy I hadn’t insisted on an ocean-side wedding. The weather had been beautiful— warm spring days with the breeze from the ocean gentle and fragrant— until today. Though I’d hoped the gray skies might clear, as the day went on the clouds had grown thicker and more ominous.

“Don’t worry,” he said, squeezing my hand. “Whatever the weather decides to do I’m sure Mother has prepared for it.”

I had to smile. Mrs. Fitzgerald could drive you crazy with her perfection and her organization. But I confess I don’t know what I would have done without her help.

Ian escorted me into the house. I had succeeded in pushing away all thoughts of that door and Marguerite. My wedding might be different. But I meant to do my best to make it as beautiful and memorable as I could.

He stopped at the foot of the stairs.

“Go put on your dress. I need to change and then I will be waiting for you in the courtyard.” His eyes were tender as he looked into mine. “Everything will be all right. We will make the best of this, you and I.”

“Thank you,” I managed. I don’t know why his words moved me so much. They weren’t the most romantic in the world. I didn’t expect romance, but his words reassured me he was not the cold man my father had been. 

The dress I chose was simple, a soft, silk white crepe, with a lace bodice and long lace sleeves, buttoned at the wrist. The long train was trimmed in lace, as was the veil I wore. I knew it flattered me more than a conventional gown would.

Once dressed, I entered the courtyard to the music of Beethoven’s Ode to Joy. White orchids and pink roses adorned the temporary altar. Pink and white crepe swags, intertwined with the same flowers, were draped along the chairs at the end of the row so it made an aisle of sorts for me.

Ian was the first person I saw when I walked down the stairs and into the courtyard. At first he looked a bit bored, but when he turned and saw me, his entire face changed. His gaze told me I was beautiful, and for a moment I felt as if we were the only two people in the world. We had formed a kind of pact when he said he and I would make the best of it. Not just the wedding, but our lives together. I hadn’t thought it possible to actually feel happy at this wedding until the soft twinge in my heart told me I was.

Edna was my matron of honor. She looked sweet and demure in a gown of pink, styled simply like my wedding dress. I had not invited anyone from my past to the wedding. Not that I had many friends. My father had seen to that.     

Besides, if this was to be my destiny, I meant to make the most of it and I couldn’t think of a better way to do that than by starting my life anew.

James stood beside his brother. He was quiet and always gave the appearance of a gentle, easygoing person. So different than Ian. I thought how suited he and Edna were to each other.

When I reached Ian, I put my hand into the crook of his arm. He felt solid and steady and I leaned against him. His arm tightened as if he knew exactly how I felt.

I hardly remember the ceremony— just the smell of the orchids and roses and the feel of Ian, strong and masculine by my side. When Father Robertson pronounced us man and wife, Ian and I turned to one another. He bent his head to kiss me and I moved against him, wanting his kiss, wanting his arms around me.  My heart was pounding when I stepped back and looked into his surprised eyes.  The air between us was charged with tension. I remember Mrs. Fitzgerald beaming at us when we turned to walk back toward the house. She looked absolutely giddy. Her enthusiasm couldn’t be that she was thrilled by Ian’s choice of a bride since she hardly knew me. And yet she seemed pleased.

Just as we reached the steps leading up to the foyer, a bright streak of lightning ripped through the air above us, followed immediately by a loud crack of thunder. Ian hurried me up the steps while the others behind us screamed and ran to the shelter of the house. The glass doors to the courtyard were immediately closed as rain began to pour down.

I glanced toward two maids standing near the stairs, waiting to point the way to the wedding luncheon to the guests. They had their heads together in an animated conversation. When they turned they looked straight at me, their eyes wide with speculation.

A sudden chill raced down my back and for the first time I felt the odd reality of being at Marshbay for the rest of my life— a place not so warm and welcoming as I once thought. It was almost a sense of foreboding.

“Are you all right?” Ian asked, looking down at me.

“Yes, I’m fine.”

“Lies…lies. Don’t believe the lies.”

A woman’s voice, whispered and menacing, seemed to come from everywhere. From the storm, from behind us in the courtyard, even from within myself.

Edna was behind me and I turned to her.

“Did you say something?” I asked. “Or did you hear anything?”

“Hear what?” she asked, smiling. “One can hardly hear anything for the storm.”

“I don’t know…I thought someone said something.”

“Let’s go in,” she said.

No one else seemed alarmed or indeed acted as if they’d heard anything. I convinced myself it was only nerves and my imagination.

In a daze I allowed myself to be led into the dining room. It was beautifully decorated and the food was plentiful and splendidly arranged. Yet for me the scene held a strangely ethereal quality.  There was beauty and celebration in the midst of a terrible storm.

Only a few moments ago I felt hopeful, even romantic. But now I felt a sudden unreasonable terror. Had I really heard a voice? And if so, why hadn’t anyone else heard it? I was married to a wealthy, handsome man, coming to live in a place I’d once admired. I’d actually be with people I once envied. Yet all I felt was a quiet desperation.

I wanted to run, to escape this place and everyone’s speculative gaze at us. I wanted to be in the familiar warmth and safety of my own home. But I’d made a bargain. Ian had promised we’d get through this together. I kept reminding myself of that.

Chapter Six

Somehow I managed to calm myself and greet the guests. There were many toasts as everyone lingered through a dinner with several courses. By the end I grew anxious and began feeling a little ill. My head pounded, probably from the Champagne I was not used to.

“Is something wrong? Shall I take you to your room?” Ian asked.

“I think I’m just tired,” I said, relieved that he’d noticed. “Would it be terribly rude if we leave now?

 “They will only think we’re impatient to be alone.” His eyes twinkled as if he wanted to tease me out of my nervousness.

Before I could answer him he stood up to speak.

“Friends…family,” he said, lifting a crystal flute of pale sparkling Champagne. “On behalf of myself and my beautiful bride,” he paused and glanced at me. “I thank you all for coming and for helping us celebrate this memorable occasion.”

Thunder crashed and we heard the wind whipped rain slashing across the windows. Candles flickered about the room.

“Please,” he continued. “Stay as long as you wish— I hope none of you will try to travel in this weather. We have plenty of room if any of you wish to stay the night. In the meantime I hope you will excuse Isabella and myself.”

There were a few quiet cheers and raised glasses. People laughed and looked at us with curiosity and indulgence. We rose to go and they turned quickly back to their conversations and food.

Mrs. Fitzgerald reached out and touched us as we passed.

“Good night, my darlings,” she said. “Rest well.”

“Thank you,” I murmured.

As we walked down the long hallway I felt dizzy. I lifted my hand to my head, my feet unsteady.

Ian caught me to him, holding me against his side to steady me. “Are you all right?” he asked, looking at me with concern.

“I’m fine,” I said. “Probably too much Champagne.”

“You hardly ate anything at dinner. Would you like something brought to your room? Perhaps now that all the excitement is over you might be able to eat a little.”

“That’s very thoughtful, but I don’t think so. I just need some rest.”

“I’m sorry.  I know this has all been very stressful for you, not to mention you’re still grieving for your mother.”

He stopped and opened a door and stood aside for me to enter.

“This is your room. I hope you like it.”

It was a stunning room. Mrs. Fitzgerald had used two of my favorite colors of blue and yellow. The walls were covered in blue silk, the same blue reflected in the cream and white coverlet on the four-poster bed. Large fluffy pillows of blue, cream and yellow looked cozy and inviting. My dressing table and oval mirror was cream-colored with gold trim and looked to have a French influence. A soft oval cream rug with blue and yellow flowers sank beneath my feet.

“Oh, my,” I said. “I think it’s the most beautiful room I’ve ever seen.”

“I’m glad you like it. Mother will be pleased.”

“I’ll be sure and thank her tomorrow.”

He walked to the left of the room and opened a door. I could see another bedroom, a darker, more masculine room.

“We have separate rooms?”

“We have adjoining rooms,” he said. “I didn’t want to cause you any anxiety about tonight. I want what is between us to progress slowly and naturally. I have my own entrance to the hallway and I promise I won’t intrude upon your privacy. But call me if you need anything. And there’s a bell pull beside your bed for the servants.”

Suddenly neither of us had anything else to say. An awkward silence hung in the air between us.

“Ian,” I said.  “Thank you…for everything.  You’ve been so kind to me and I…I…” My eyes began to fill with tears. No man had ever been so gentle with me and I found I couldn’t continue.

“Isabella,” he whispered.  He stepped to me and took me in his arms letting me cry against his chest. “Sweetheart, don’t cry. Everything is fine. We will become better acquainted and I promise you we will have a good life together.”

I looked up into his eyes, so tender and sweet.

“I want to believe that…” I said wiping the tears from my eyes. “I do.”

“Good,” he said.

He brushed his lips against mine, then with a soft groan he drew me closer, kissing me passionately. When he pulled away I felt his reluctance to do so. I knew he didn’t want to go— one word from me and he would stay. But I knew he was right. We would let it progress slowly and naturally.

“Well,” he said finally, his voice rough with emotion. “I’ll let you rest. I know you have a headache.”

I nodded, not moving farther into the room until he went through the adjoining door and closed it behind him. Then I was alone in my beautiful wedding gown, in a strange house and strange bedroom. There was a man I hardly knew just beyond the doorway. I could still feel the touch of his mouth against mine and I’d wanted him to stay. Despite my terrible headache, I felt almost giddy with hope. 

I desperately needed to lie down and to feel the coolness of the pillows beneath my head, to have complete quiet. I couldn’t even bother to undress, but wrapped the train of the dress around me and lay down on the bed. I thought I’d only lie there for a few moments. Only a few candles were lit and I could hear the wind howling around the windows. The storm had moved on, leaving only the wind and the pattering of rain against the glass panes. It
lulled and soothed me into sleep.

I wasn’t sure what woke me and I had no idea what time it was. The candles had burned out and the room was completely dark.

 I felt frightened waking in a dark unfamiliar, place alone. I could feel something was wrong. Someone was in my room, watching me. Filled with terror, I must have gasped.

Then I heard the sound of breathing, a horrible, frightening sound in the still darkness. Like an animal hidden in the marsh.
Watching…waiting
.