The Lady in Yellow: A Victorian Gothic Romance (3 page)

"Yes. It's at the top of the
old
house. Of course, the tower is older and much higher."

"My gracious. I thought Saint Mary's was large. We lived in every inch of it, you know. All the nuns and girls."

"Yes. Well, we are much reduced here and can only pray that the parts of the house we don't use any more are still standing."

Veronica came away from the railing. At the end of the gallery was a large, full-length mirror, then a stairway going up to the third floor. She supposed she'd been taken around the parts of house that were open to her, and could only wonder at the rest.

Mrs. Twig dangled her keys. “Its time to take you to your suite. I’ve set you up close to the twins’ rooms.”

Veronica's heart quickened. She'd never had her own
suite
before.

They stopped before a door near the top of the stairs that led down to the vestibule.  As Mrs. Twig sorted through her keys, Veronica was relieved that she wasn’t being sequestered among the empty old chambers above, but would be allowed to remain among the living.

“I hope you like it. Your quarters are part of a larger apartment that has never been fully renovated. For you, there's a bedchamber with a sitting area, a dressing room, and a balcony. You even have your own hipbath.”

“Oh, that is quite a luxury.”

"These were Lady Sovay's rooms. A kind of personal apartment. Her mother stayed here when she came to visit."

Veronica smiled. That sounded interesting.

“Just ignore the area under the archway. It’s meant to be the proper sitting room, but we've been using it to store the family treasures.” Mrs. Twig gave Veronica a strange, guarded look. “There are no other rooms in the house that would be suitable for you, Miss Everly. Your predecessor, Miss Blaylock's, suite is quite out of the question.”

Veronica was about to ask
why
when Mrs. Twig swung the door open into the most fabulous room she’d ever seen.

"You should be quite comfortable here."

Spacious and rather grand, the décor was red and soft white, with touches of gold and dark green and blue. A four-poster bed with pillars of carved rosewood and hangings of warm red damask, jutted out from the under a carved wooden canopy. At what seemed to Veronica to be yards away, a set of French doors opened out onto a marble balcony that clearly overlooked the full sweep of the lawn and the birch grove. 

The fireplace was framed and hooded in white marble ornately festooned with acanthus leaves and disembodied faces that were also carved at the back of the chimney flue. The firedogs were remarkable for their being set between the hea
ds of two snarling wolves. Before the hearth was a long creamy divan, and a thickly cushioned easy chair with a tasseled Ottoman that gave the impression of a great throne. The carpet was Persian, mostly red, and the great built-in wardrobes, the dressing table and chairs gleamed with the soft hue of rosewood. The walls were stenciled with foliate patterns reminiscent of the real flowers in the conservatory below.

Veronica could never have dreamed such a magnificent bedchamber existed, let alone that she should stay in one. Being chosen as governess to Belden House seemed like a blessing now. Perhaps this was God’s reward for her endurance through so many trials and tribulations.

Mrs. Twig nodded toward the other side of the suite. "There are our treasures, Miss Everly. It is an indication of my instinctive trust in you that I allow you such proximity to them. I hope I'm right that you will leave them be."

"Of course. Thank you," Veronica said in a breath.

The space beyond the archway was quite dark for having only one tall window, and that closed under heavy draperies. Only the gleam of an ornate Georgian mirror on the far wall brightened it.

Veronica liked the idea of guarding the family heirlooms, secret histories hidden in trunks and curio cabinets, private things that should never be disturbed. She would make certain never to violate the housekeeper's trust.

“I love these rooms, Mrs. Twig. Thank you so much.”

"My pleasure." Mrs. Twig bustled toward the door. “Come, Miss Everly. One more thing.”

They crossed the landing, then turned left down a narrow hallway with two doors facing.

“Only these two rooms share this corridor. It ends down there, at that little round tower room."

Sunlight streamed in through a pair of leaded windows flanking a door at the eastern end of the hallway. From where she was standing, Veronica could see, through one of the windows, the little tower room bowing out.

"It was originally a lookout where they used to watch for enemies. Now it just looks out over a garden.”

Veronica smiled. "It would be wonderful to fill it with flowers and plants."

"It would, but Jack would never take care of them and they would die."

Mrs. Twig turned back to the two doors that faced each other across the hallway and opened one.

“Come, Miss Everly. This is Jacques’s room."

They entered a room of shining brocade pallor. The only windows were a set of casements in the end wall that corresponded with the tower room. Gazing into the open doorway across the hall, Veronica found Jacqueline's room so like her brother's that she had the brief sensation that she was looking into a mirror in which her reflection did not appear.

“I’ve had your bags brought up," Mrs. Twig said, with a weary shake of her keys. Apparently this adventure had tired her out. "Why don’t you settle in while I oversee dinner?”

“I shall love to, Mrs. Twig."

"I do hope you'll be happy here, Miss Everly. We all hope the best for you and the twins. I sense it shall be a good match.”

Veronica swallowed the last of her tension down. “Thank you, Mrs. Twig. Thank you very much. But, if I may ask, will I meet Mr. de Grimston tonight?”

Mrs. Twig looked away.

“He isn’t here. He’s often away on business. We never know when to expect him back. A place is always laid for him at table. He may burst in at any time. But not tonight. Certainly not tonight. Is there anything else?”

“No. I’m fine. I shall unpack my bags and… settle in.”

With a jaunty nod, Mrs. Twig went down the stairs, leaving Veronica alone between the twins’ rooms and their uncanny doorways.

*
Five

Mr
s. Twig sipped her soup while reading a newspaper. She seemed preoccupied. The twins, apparently practicing their disappearing act, were not there.

Veronica appreciated the quiet. It gave her time to reflect, to digest the beauty
as well as her, admittedly, unexpected impressions of her first day at Belden House.

The dining room windows looked out on the orchard. The late summer twilight gave the trees a golden cast. Veronica fancied entering that twilight to gather up the apples and pears and nuts and whatever grew on brambles and trellises or fell into the long grass.  She imagined putting on her brown cloak and going out into the gloaming to look for the twins, calling out,
Jacques! Jacqueline! Where are you?
her voice echoing back in the stillness… breezes whirling around her, lifting the hem of her cloak… a flock of birds circling overhead. She imagined unlatching the wicket gate, entering the orchard, calling out:
Jacques?
Jacqueline?
Where are you? Where are you…?
Floating down a path strewn with fallen red apples, out to the moor to wander under the light of a full, yellow moon.

She was jarred out of this daydream by the hard scrape of Mrs. Twig pushing her chair back.

“Miss Everly, take tomorrow off. I must bring the children out to the village. It will give you a chance to get acquainted with the house without us ordering you around. Pull your room together, relax, whatever. Classes can begin on Wednesday.”

“Why, thank you, Mrs. Twig!” Veronica lit up. She wasn't used to having her needs considered.

Mrs. Twig tucked her paper under her arm as if to hide the headline from view.

“Good evening,” she said.

“Good evening, Mrs. Twig." Veronica caught Mrs. Twig's glance.  "The twins have missed dinner.”

“They disappear sometimes. There is no reason to be alarmed. They will turn up. I always save plates for them.”

eee

On her way to her room, Veronica looked in on the twins. She found them on the floor of Jacqueline's room, a ring of china dolls laid out around them like spokes in a wheel. Candles in deep blue glass flickered among the dolls, creating a funereal atmosphere. One of the twins was writing in a black book with a quill, and the other seemed to be examining a doll and murmuring to the writer.

In their white dressing gowns, it was impossible to tell them apart.

Veronica sauntered in. “Do you want a bed time story?”

They looked up, startled, and leaped to their feet.

“Yes
, Miss Everly,” they both shouted.

“Come on, then. Blow the candles out. There’s a fire in my room.”

Candles snuffed, dolls lying in the dark, the twins followed Veronica to her room.

She had them sit on the divan by the hearth while she took her place in the throne-like chair. A large, blue book of fairy tales lay on the table beside her.

“Sometimes, we swap rooms,” said Jacques.  He was wearing a long white nightshirt under his dressing gown.

“Just like we swap clothes,” said Jacqueline in her long white nightgown.

“Then how can anyone tell you apart?” Veronica asked.

“They can’t!” They both fell over with laughter.

“Well, as long as you’re
both
here. There are
two
of you. Of
that
I am sure.”

Veronica realized she should not allow Mr. Crowe's suggestion of a
mad child
to influence her perception of the twins. They seemed perfectly normal. They weren't mad, or feral. Mr. Crowe was just being silly. Being twins, they'd created their own special world. Unusual might be, but also funny, gentle, and clearly intelligent.

Civilized.

“What is your favorite fairy tale, Jacqueline?”

“Oh,
Little Red Riding Hood
,” she said.

“Mine as well,” said Jacques. “Though I prefer the true version.”

“And what is that?” asked Veronica.

“The one where Grandma is the wolf.”

“Oh, the very grim version,” Veronica said.

“Yes,” the twins said as one. “Brothers Grimm.”

“Are you are Grimm Twins, then?” Veronica arched an eyebrow with mock humor.

Jacques laughed. “Brothers de
Grim
ston, we are.”             

“And sisters too,” said Jacqueline. “Grim sisters hand in hand. Posters of the sea and land.”

“That’s
Macbeth
,” said Jacques.

"Shhhh!" Jacqueline held a finger to her lips.

“Very good,” Veronica said. “I shall be at a loss as to what to teach you if you keep outpacing the average eight year old like this.”

“We aren’t supposed to say that word,” Jacqueline whispered sharply to Jacques.

“What word?”

“Mac
…
Boo
!”

Veronica yelped as though startled.

The twins laughed uproariously, then fell silent, turning their large, wondering eyes on Veronica.

She acknowledged their rather macabre leanings with another arch of her eyebrow, and began to read them the version of
Little Red Riding Hood
in her blue fairy tale book. They were delighted in the end when Grandma indeed turned out to be the wolf, and the woodcutter had to cut Red Riding Hood out of her stomach.

“Did she jump out with her hood on?” Jacqueline asked.

“Of course,” Veronica said. “Why do you ask?”

Jacqueline shrugged.

“If your mother is a wolf, what does it make you?” asked Jacques.

“A wolf, of course,” Veronica said.

“But Little Red Riding Hood is not a wolf, is she?” said Jacques.

“No she’s not,” Veronica said. “It’s a fairy tale. There’s nothing true about it. It's just a made up story.”

“A lie,” Jacqueline said.

“Not quite,” Veronica said. “Stories, as opposed to lies, often have underlying truths. Like the parables of Our Lord.”

The twins gazed at her, their eyes deep yet shining, like green glass. They were so quiet, so still. Glowing like pale flames in the firelight, they seemed to be sensing her, feeling her out.

Veronica shut the book and sat quietly, listening to the fire crackle in the grate. They certainly were different, but sweet nonethele
ss. They liked to play tricks. But it didn’t matter. The room was filled with warm contentment. Jacques lay down on the carpet to watch the embers glowing in the hearth and quickly fell asleep.  Jacqueline rested her head on the arm of the sofa and stared at Veronica.

So this was what a family life was like. Peace, contentment, home. And she, a complete stranger, already felt included.

The twins seemed ethereal, even fey. Now that they were tired, their bodies appeared slightly insubstantial.

“Time for bed, Jack.”

Veronica stood up and extended her hand to Jacqueline, who nudged Jacques awake with her toe. He wavered to his feet as if he must climb out of a dream, and took Veronica’s other hand. She led Jacques to his bed and tucked him in, then took Jacqueline to hers and did the same. They both fell instantly asleep.

Veronica lingered in Jacqueline's room, gazing down at her pale head against the pillow. White eyelashes just grazed her cheeks; her nose was straight and narrow, her mouth soft and curving.

How identical they were. How perfect.

Smiling, Veronica went to her room. Beyond the large four-poster bed, the French windows were open to the night, inviting her to step out onto the balcony. There was the birch grove, the lawn sloping up to the ruin, a collection of shadows against the wall of trees behind it.
Just below, the marble terrace appeared, extending to her right toward the bowed glass wall of the conservatory. This meant that the French doors to the back yard were somewhere under the balcony.

Stars streamed across the sky. The moon was at the very edge of fullness. She leaned over the railing and inhaled the fragrances of grass, trees, and the late summer roses. Frogs sang from the wishing well.

From somewhere in the distance, a bell began to toll.

Everything was lovely and cozy and just right. She couldn’t imagine what Mr. Crowe had been so worried about.