The Lady in Yellow: A Victorian Gothic Romance (13 page)

Twenty-One

V
eronica slept deeply, as if she'd been drugged. She fought her stupor a few times, swimming to the surface with a terrible need for breath, wheezing awake to eye-watering daylight staring through the gap between her partially closed bed curtains. When she could breathe, the air was thick with the medicinal smell of camphor. She drifted between sleep and waking, aware of distant sounds: shouting, quarreling, doors slamming. It seemed a lot of people were running around upstairs, feet pounding on her ceiling. She wished they'd be quiet and let her sleep.

On a night that seemed a continuation of all other nights, the stars of Orion shone in through the windows, waking her to delirium. The bed was so hot that her pillows were soaked with sweat. She wanted to get up, to go out into the coolness of the balcony, but she couldn't move. A bell was tolling, the sound muffled as if its bronze hollow were choked with mist. And that hum in her head... It just went on and on and on. Night winds blew low over the moors, lulling her into dreams of tombs and ruins
, ghostly visitants and wolves.

Though vivid, none of these noises were loud enough to free her from the leaden heaviness of sleep. The voices of the twins rose up from the well, singing, but she could not move, could not go to them. She dreamed of white china dolls rising out of the water with lilies in their hands.

Wondering about them, Veronica seemed to have found her way out to the balcony. Down below, the lilies around the hollow of the well rustled. A lady dressed in an ancient yellow gown, a crown of birch twigs on her head, drifted out to the lawn. Like a spirit, she seemed to be lit from within, to waver like a flame…to shine…to shimmer…to grow white. Sorrow bruised the lady's eyes. But when those eyes found Veronica's they turned red. Her mouth twisted open, showing long, sharp fangs.

Veronica's heart slammed against her ribs.

Mingled with the low moaning of the wind, a voice murmured:
Go away...go away...go away...

"I'll not! I'll not!" Veronica felt herself say, but, dreaming, she could not be sure.

The lady in yellow vanished. In her place was a white wolf, its long, hollow cry rising through the night like an oath.



Veronica lay in the violet darkness of her curtained bed in the throes of fever, her mind swimming, unsure if the things she heard and saw were real or just fever-induced hallucinations.



The crackle of flames woke her in panic. Through the gap in the curtains at the foot of her bed, Veronica beheld streams of reflected firelight flashing over the walls. The red curtains around her bed seemed to be blazing, bright as blood.

Fire!

Too weak to scream, she clawed madly at the bed curtains until she was free. Seized by dizziness, she collapsed onto the floor.

The last thing Veronica saw before she fainted was Rafe and the twins sitting on her divan in the glow of a high, dancing fire, a large book splayed open across their laps.

“Miss Everly! Miss Everly!”

The twins were instantly at her side, petting her, waiting for their father to squeeze in between them. Leaning over, Rafe looked into her face with such tenderness, she burst into tears.

“Come on. You’ve been asleep for days. You're as weak as a kitten.”

His strong hands slid under her shoulders and knees, easily lifting her from the floor. In a moment he placed her back into bed, smoothing the coverlet up over her shoulders.

"I thought the bed was burning," she mumbled, her voice scratchy with dehydration.

"As you can see, it hasn't burned at all," Rafe said, tucking her in. "The red curtains must have caught the glare from the fireplace causing you to imagine that they were in flames."

"Of course."

"You've been ill and delirious for days. Jack and I were dreadfully worried, so decided to hold a vigil."

"Vigil?" Had she been so close to death, then?

"I think you've turned a corner, though. Now you must rest."

Veronica's chest still felt tight and painful, her breathing wheezy. Despite the heat of the fire, she was freezing. Her hair felt all snarled up like Tala's had been when she arrived at Saint Mary’s. Oh, what a fright she must look!

Rafe turned to the twins who hovered a few feet away. “Jack, go downstairs and tell Mrs. Twig to bring some hot broth up here for Miss Everly.”

“Yes, Papa,” they said, and raced out of the room.

“I’m sorry to be such a bother." Veronica's head ached and swam. “What happened? I don’t know what happened.”

“You drank too much wine, blacked out and went on a wander. You came nigh unto death with exposure on the moor."

Janet was at the door, wringing her hands.

“I’m so sorry, Miss.”

Veronica turned her head away. It was too much to bear at the moment, having to listen to Janet’s excuses for tricking her.

“Mr. Rafe? Didn’t you explain to her?” Janet asked.

“Not yet, Janet. Why don’t you?”

“Well, it’s all my fault, Miss Everly. I couldn’t find Mrs. Twig and I thought you looked so lovely, and saw what you meant about wanting a jewel at your neck, and Lady Sovay’s pearls were just sitting there in her jewelry box doing nothing. I thought it would do no harm to borrow them for just one night. I couldn’t find Mrs. Twig to ask her, so I took the liberty of borrowing them and lending them to you without asking, thinking nobody would know the difference, but the way you kept tugging on those beads at dinner, I was afraid the tag would pop out, and it did. Then I found out what a mistake I made. Then you went running off and I can only thank the Lord and Mr. Rafe that you made it back alive.”

Veronica's heart softened. She turned toward Janet who was sobbing and wiping her face with her apron. What must the poor girl have been through? She was lucky to have been spared the sack.

“Can you forgive me?” Janet asked through her tears.

Veronica was too exhausted to speak. She nodded her assent, and gave a weak smile.

“It’s all right, Janet,” Rafe said. “She forgives you. It’s all been a dreadful misunderstanding. Go now and help Mrs. Twig with dinner, and bring something up for Miss Everly.”

“I will do, sir. We’ll make broth and a nice bread pudding. That will go down easily.”

“Go on, now.”

Veronica listened to Janet’s feet running down the stairs. She was relieved that things were all right.

Heaving a sigh, Rafe got up from the bedside.

“Shall I get up?” She struggled to sit up against the pillows at her back. “I’ve slept enough.”

“You’re leaning all sideways.” Rafe laughed. “Let me help you.”

Rafe held her against his chest, and with soft, gentle movements, adjusted the pillows against the carved, wooden headboard. Veronica leaned back against them, sinking into the softness.

“Thank you, sir,” she said. “I’m quite comfortable now.”

Rafe stood up. “The twins will arrive in a moment. I hear them on the stairs…. Here they are.”

The twins walked in with stately strides, each carrying a covered dish on a tray. Their manner was such that Veronica briefly dreaded that they were serving her roasted hare. Thankfully, there was no meat, only a bowl of clear broth and bread pudding soaked in hot milk.

“Don’t eat too much in one go, Miss Everly,” Jacqueline said. “Your stomach is too delicate now.”

The milky bread was
soothing; the broth gave her strength. The twins climbed up onto the bed. Rafe left the room, glancing back at Veronica with a wild, troubled look that reminded her of the scene she’d witnessed in the study under the stairs that day. Her heart moved toward him, as if to embrace him, to empathize with his pain.

Would he ever confide in her his torment?



Janet had kindly saved the green velvet gown from wrinkles by hanging it up to air right after she found it on the floor. She must have understood how much the dress meant to Veronica to have taken the trouble in the midst of all that uproar. Veronica
marveled at the power of a minor error in judgment to unleash disaster. The old adage was true:
The road to hell is paved with good intentions.
Janet’s innocent desire to help had been turned to Hell’s purposes, Veronica's own prideful misinterpretation of the maid’s motives leading her to near death on the moor.

But now, a new problem was edging out the memory of the last. Veronica pulled her knees to her chin and wrapped her arms around her legs. The light was waning at the windows, falling gently over the balcony. Gold leaves clung to the tops of the birches, the woods decaying into the melancholy silence of autumn. The way Rafe looked at her, the way he held her, his care and tenderness toward her…  It was as if he felt something for her.

Was it possible?

She looked at the door half open on the landing. Would he be back? She wished he would be. She'd never known a man's touch, his gaze, his presence to move her so. Common sense warned her to hold her emotions in check. Her survival as governess depended on her being circumspect. But she'd never felt so une
xpectedly close to anyone, so in tune.

She put her head between her fists. "Stop! Stop! Don't even think about it."

But he was so attractive. He had no right to be so. No right at all.

She owed Rafe a debt of gratitude. Nothing more. It was natural to feel an extra measure of affection for someone who'd saved one's life.

Grabbing her dressing gown from its hook, Veronica wobbled over to feed the fire. Once she had it blazing, she sank into the easy chair and gazed at the flames.

So why did her heart feel like a little bird coming out of its cage? Where could she fly?

Twenty-Two

C
hurch bells were ringing. It must be Sunday again. In her convalescence, Veronica had lost track of the days.

Was there a real church close by, or did those bells ring from Saint Lupine’s?

Veronica’s mind went back to the clearing in the woods, the pale, mossy walls of the little church, its square, sculpture-encrusted steeple and flickering stained glass windows. She envisioned spirits rising from their graves, seeking God's protection, within its walls, from the forest and the wolves, unaware of the deeper wickedness awaiting them inside.

She rose, went to her bedroom door, and peered out into the hallway. The house was dark and quiet.

The long case clock gonged ten times. It was late.

She was ready to get dressed and join the living again. To surprise them when they came in the door. They would know the worst was over, then, and no longer have reason to worry about her.

In her wardrobe was her favorite dress, the one she'd made the summer before she left Saint Mary's out of clear, bright yellow muslin. The voluminous skirts were soft and the bodice perfectly cut to enhance her tiny waist and long neck.

After a luxurious, hot soak in the hipbath, Veronica put on a fresh chemise and knickers and hooked herself into her most tightly laced corset. It was easy; she’d lost so much weight she hardly had to hold her breath. Then came a hoop skirt and her next best petticoat. The yellow dress slipped over her head like a giant flower. Hooks and eyes up the left side were a bit awkward to close on her own, but the effort was worth it. She moved into the mirror’s eye feeling like a swan. It was a simple frock, in no need of jewels to be flattering, though it did demand, and inspire
d, a quiet, graceful walk.

She was putting her hair up when she heard them coming in. The twins wasted no time racing up the stairs to find her.

“Miss Everly! You’re up and looking very splendidly pretty,” Jacques said.

“Very much recovered as well,” said Jacqueline.

"Well, thank you," she said.

Still slightly under the weather, Veronica felt battered by the impact of their high spirits.

“Where were you all this morning?” she asked, mustering a smile.

Before they could answer her question, Rafe’s voice boomed up the stairs.

“Are you up, Miss Everly? Come down. Let me see you.”

Her heart jumping, Veronica glided down the stairs. A long walk in the fresh air had set Rafe’s skin, his hair, his eyes, his entire being, aglow. He fixed on her a look of such deep regard, that when she met his eyes with her own, she was startled that he turned away and seemed at a loss for words.

“I’m much better,” she said, stepping from the bottom step to the floor. “Thank you for helping me when I was so ill.”

“What else was I supposed to do?” Rafe scowled, looking her up and down. “Where did you get that dress?”

Veronica’s heart fluttered like a bird caught in a snare. Confused, she looked down at her soft muslin skirts, checked for stains at the hem, a tear, a frayed edge.

“Is something wrong with it?”

“It’s yellow,” he said.  “Are you sure that color suits you? Why not wear red or blue or something?”

“Well, I…”

“Never mind. Mrs. Twig, make luncheon please. I’ll take mine in the study.”

“Yes, Mr. Rafe.” Mrs. Twig had been watching the whole thing. “Come, Miss Everly. Help me with the twins.”

Veronica was grateful to have something to do. How could she ever have thought that Rafe regarded her as anyone special? She swore she would never wear the yellow dress again.