The Lady in Yellow: A Victorian Gothic Romance (9 page)

Veronica was astonished that Rafe was listening so intently to her. Relieved to finally be able to tell her story, she barreled on. "Then father went on the road with one play or operetta after another. I kept thinking he would come back and get me. Then he died. Drowned in the Irish Sea on the way to a performance in Dublin.”

“So, he never made it for opening night.”

“No.”

“Don’t you have any brothers or sisters?”

“No. My mother was quite a fragile thing, you see. I don’t think she could have had another child. She had consumption. Auntie said it was the laudanum that killed her. But I didn’t understand. All I knew was that she slowly faded away until she wasn’t there any more.”

“And how did you end up at Saint Mary’s?”

“My aunt, for all her faults, was extremely pious. A priest at our parish was very kind to me. I felt he
saw
me, or felt sorry for me, so at Confession, I told him how it was. Next thing I knew I was being loaded into a carriage for Saint Mary’s while my aunt stumbled around on the pavement, sobbing as if she were losing her most beloved child.”

“Well, good for that priest. So you made a place for yourself there, as a teacher. Very sensible of you. You’re a survivor, Miss Everly.”

“Yes, I am. Thank you, sir. Thank you for seeing it that way.”

“What other way is there to see it? Here you stand on my tower roof, looking up at the stars like an astrologer of old. What do you divine there, oh sibyl? What shall become of us?”

“I don’t know, sir. The twins have so many interests and talents. They could do anything." Veronica looked at his face, studied his eyes. "If you don't mind my saying so, you seem a restless spirit. Much like my father. That’s why I know it. Something drives you, sir, that won’t let you rest.”

“Very astute, Miss Everly. May you never find out what it is."

He stood up, took her hand, and guided her to walk in front of him back to the house. His hand on her waist sent a thrill up her spine. She looked back to see if he knew what he'd done, and caught his eyes.

A terrible vulnerability spilled fo
rth, sadness, and sparks of anger.

When she turned away from him again to see her way down the stairs, she had to stifle the
urge to run.

Fifteen

O
n Sunday evening, a celebratory dinner was to be held in the Grand Hall in honor of Rafe’s homecoming. Mrs. Twig planned such an extravagant menu that she had to hire an extra cook for the occasion along with an extra serving girl to help Janet.

This was the first time since Lady Sovay's death that Grand Hall was to be opened. Excitement rippled through the house. Burning to see the room restored to its former glory, Veronica lingered in the hallway only to be shooed away by Janet and her helper. The pair fairly bristled with mops and brooms and dusters like a pair of demonic chars, running back and forth with buckets and mops and polishing cloths, swags to hang, long candles, and a load of firewood for the enormous hearth. The hired cook trundled in with a trolley of her own pots and pans along with wooden crates of food, spices and other strange ingredients tied up in linen sacks emblazoned with colorful foreign trade marks.

Barred from helping, Veronica felt useless. She was too restless to stay in her room all day. Something about Rafe’s presence seemed to fill the house, upsetting her ability to maintain the gentle, reflective mood she'd mastered at Saint Mary’s. Even alone in her room, she found it impossible to shut the distractions out.

Sunday had come so quickly, she hadn’t had time to find a Catholic church to attend. It seemed unlikely that Catholics would flourish out here in the wilds of Yorkshire where every form of Protestantism had taken root. Though she was glad to be away from the orphanage,
she missed the exalted, divine atmosphere of Saint Mary’s Cathedral, the inspiration of the soaring vault, the stained glass windows, the incense-soaked air, the singing of the nuns, the bells, the sense of sanctuary where she could disentangle her thoughts and commune with God. There had to be someplace nearby for her to worship. Perhaps a small, private chapel would open its doors to her.

She was pinning up her hair when the twins burst into her room with news of a church not far away where their Mamma used to go every Sunday for Mass.

“You seem to have read my mind,” Veronica said to them.

“It's not difficult, Miss Everly,” said Jacques. “You’re very obvious.”

“What do you mean? Now I am worried.” Veronica smirked.

“Do you want us to take you, Miss Everly?” Jacqueline asked. “We do miss it so.”

“You do?”

“Yes. Mrs. Twig never tak
es us, and Papa is away so much,” Jacques said.

“Mamma was Catholic like you
are, Miss Everly,” said Jacqueline.

“I think we should go and fin
d the priest. He’ll want to know we’ll be needing him again,” said Jacques.

“What do you mean? Isn’t he there anyway?”
             

“Let’s go!” said Jacques.

“Put on your bonnet, Miss Everly. It’s not far. We can walk.”

“Brilliant!”



They struck out on foot, passin
g through the gates of Belden House to the light-dappled road. Rooted in banks of ivy-covered rock, hedges grew tall and unkempt on either side of the road, creating the effect of a green tunnel. Veronica walked slowly, soaking in the layered scents of falling leaves and windblown grass, the low angle of the light, birdsong. It was a relief to be out of the house and its murky, secret histories. Pure sunlight and fresh morning air purged her worries, swept clean her thoughts.

The twins ran ahead, laughing, dodging each other, turning back to make faces at Veronica. She chased them a short distance before slowing down to admire the rows of ancient lime trees, their branches weaving a golden canopy overhead. The twins’ voices faded around a right turn where large boulders shored up the land and the woods, blocking them from sight. Veronica gave their flight no thought until she rounded the bend and they were gone.

The road sloped down into the hollows of the trees. Veronica paused to contemplate the empty passage. Where were they?

“Jack! Oh, Jack!” she called.

Her voice echoed back as from a great void.

“Jack! Jack! Where are you? Come out, come out wherever you are!”

She was met with silence. She continued down the road, looking from side to side at the rocks and the bushes. Faint laughter briefly skittered behind the hedgerow. She stopped and looked toward the sound.

“Jack? Come on now. We don't want to be late,” she shouted.

There was still no answer. She didn’t know what to do, whether to go on down the road and possibly bypass the twins who were obviously hiding in the woods, go back and look for them, or stay where she was and keep calling. She looked up into the branches of the trees. Gold leaves mingled with patches of azure sky. She lowered her gaze to the densely woven hedges. A flock of birds flew up into the trees. Everything seemed to whoosh around, as if nature conspired with the twins to baffle her.

“Jacques! Jacqueline! Where are you?” she called. “Come out this minute!”

A crow sang out.

“Jack!”

The hoot of an owl answered.

“Jack!”

A flicker of light flashed in the darkness between two standing stones set at the side of the road like t
he entrance to a barrow grave. Standing between them, white as a spirit in his pale clothes, was Jacques. He cast a radiant smile at Veronica, and holding a finger to his lips, beckoned her to follow him.

“Don't ever do that again,” she cried. "I haven't got the nerves for it."

Peals of laughter echoed from the distance behind the boundary stones.  Jacques held out his hand for Veronica to take.

“Is Jacqueline in there?” she asked as she took the child’s hand.

He held his finger to his lips again, and pulled Veronica through the gap onto a smooth, narrow path.

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.”

As they walked along, Jacques kept turning around as if to make sure Veronica was following him. It was a somewhat steep walk, but at the top of the incline, the path opened out to a lush, green clearing. An ancient church shone pale as bone against the soft, dark boundary of the forest. A tall, square steeple
, crowned with tapering, gilded pinnacles, rose above a chapel. Layer upon layer of intricate carvings, and a row of tall stained glass windows, gave the church such an air of delicacy that it seemed a mere breath could crumble it. Above the door, not the wheel of a rose window, but the arcane branches of the Tree of Life wove around panes of richly tinted glass. Headstones encircled the church, leaning toward it as if those buried beneath them yearned for the sanctuary inside.

Veronica's hopes for the customary celebration of joy and the
Life to Come
were dashed. This church was a desolate, dreary, ghost of a place.

Sixteen

“A
re you sure this is a Catholic church?” Veronica asked.

“It’s a very old church,” said Jacques. “Built by the Normans
. Then made more beautiful by our family.”

“Is your father Catholic?” Veronica asked, somewhat surprised. She would have pegged him as Anglican.

“Of course,” he said. “The very first day Mamma came inside, the steeple was struck by lightning.”

Thinking he'd meant it as a joke, Veronica laughed.

Jacques's voice was firm. “Mamma paid for the repairs.”

"Well, I guess that puts it right then," Veronica said. Sometimes she felt in over her head with Jack's interpretation of things.

Voices echoed over the lawn. Jacqueline appeared at the top of the rise, spectral in her white dress, a spray of wild lilies in her hand.

“Jacqueline! There you are,” Veronica called. “Come on!”

Jacqueline ran down the hill toward them, smiling so happily that Veronica couldn’t be upset with her.

“You’re very naughty running off like that. Where have you been?”

“Naughty girl,” Jacques teased.

“There.” Jacqueline pointed back to the wall of trees from whence she came. She held the flowers out to Veronica, “I found these by the little stream that runs through the woods. I plucked them for you.”

What could she say to that? Veronica took the lilies, held them to her nose. They smelled fresh and pure.

“They’re lovely, Jacqueline. Thank you.”

She put the bouquet under the placket of her bodice where they flounced like a white lace neckerchief.

“Do you want to see the church?” Jacques asked. He tugged Veronica’s hand to lead the way.

Veronica resisted. “It looks abandoned." she looked around. "Where is the priest?”

“The priest is in the priest house,” said Jacques. “Where no one can find him.”

“He stays in a priest’s
hole
,” said Jacqueline.

“A priest hole? Surely not in this day and age,” said Veronica. “They don’t persecute Catholics around here, do they?”

“Mamma made him stay there after the lightning,” Jacqueline said. “So he wouldn’t run away.”

“Run away?”

“She made him promise not to tell. She was afraid the villagers would think bad things about her, and try to drive her off.”

"That's what he told us," said Jacques.

Veronica had no trouble imagining the kinds of accusations that would fly around in a small village about a lady who brought lightning down on the church. But surely the lightning strike was a coincidence, and could be explained as such.

“So, what happened?”

“The priest gave Mamma a vow of silence. Then he promised to continue priesting as if nothing had happened. But nobody came here any more. Only Mamma,” Jacqueline said.

“Then, after we were born, we came as well. There never was anyone else,” Jacques said.

“Now nobody comes,” said Jacqueline.

“Perhaps the priest can be invited back to serve Mass for us.” Veronica said.

Jacqueline looked down as Jacques pushed the double doors open. Veronica followed him into the vestibule of the church.

Dark but for the light from the altar candles, it was the strangest church she had ever seen. Though small, every surface was carved or painted with figures steeped in symb
olic meaning. Tree-like pillars went down both sides of the nave toward the altar, branching over the pews as if to protect those who sat there from the strange frescos that ran around the walls.

Who would allow such
horrors in a church? Images of wolves prowled the walls, men with the heads of wolves, and low-bellied, slinking beasts. And who was the lady in the yellow gown who seemed to lead them, like the Pied Piper, around the congregation

"What does
this mean?" Veronica whispered, indicating the murals.

“They show us the wicked spirits of the world stealing all around us, circling us and lying in wait like wolves. Only the church can protect us,” said Jacqueline with a lowering voice, "from the scavengers of souls."

“Only Saint Lupine, who comes out of the forest, can draw the evil spirits away,” Jacques said.

"Saint Lupine?" Veronica stammered.

“After the lightning strike, the pictures appeared on the walls, just like that!” Jacques snapped his fingers.

“What do you mean, they just
appeared
? They can’t just appear. Someone had to paint them.”

“No. No. The lightning
brought
them,” Jacques said. "It was a miracle."

"It can't be." Veronica studied the figure of Saint Lupine in more detail. Young and lovely, with rippling flaxen hair hanging loose to her knees, Saint Lupine's mouth was too sensual, her eyes too sly as she looked back at the wolves; the yellow dress was far too elaborate, the bodice cut too low, for a saint.

"Miracles come from God," Veronica insisted.
Not from the likes of this harlot.

“Come see this!” Jacqueline pulled Veronica down the side aisle to the Lady Chapel.

Candlelight fluttered around a carved wooden statue of a black Madonna. Seated on a high-backed throne composed of bare trees that continued partway around her like a grove, the figure seemed more primitive than divine. Washed in the light of several tall candles, the faces of Mary and the Christ Child flickered between darkness and light, their long noses and slightly up-tilted eyes giving them a feral aspect that reminded Veronica of Tala. The effect was disturbing, but the twins seemed to adore the sculpture.

“May we light our prayer candles?” Jacques whispered, looking up at the shrine with dazzled eyes.

“Yes, Miss Everly, please,” said Jacqueline. “Just two.”

Veronica looked around for the candle box, but didn't see it. She wasn’t keen having the twins light votives in such a place, but what could she say?

On the lower altar was a row of unlit candles, set for the congregation.

“Go on,” she said. “Do you need any coins?”

“No. They’re free to us.”

The twins reached up with lighting tapers, took flames from the Virgin's throne, and added them to two of the lower wicks.

“Don’t you want to light one, Miss Everly? For your mamma and papa?” Jacqueline held the lighting taper up for Veronica to take.

Veronica caught her breath as an old grief pulled at her heart. The sight of the little girl, the flaring taper in her hand poised above the candles on the altar, brought Veronica swiftly back to her own childhood, to the loss of her mother and father, the total devastation of it.

“Of course.” The words wisped out, for it seemed to Veronica that her organs of speech had broken. She took the lighting taper from Jacqueline's hand, and lit two candles.

“There now,” she whispered, and crossed herself.

The children immediately fell to their knees before the statue, and began, silently, to pray.

Veronica moved back to sit on the single bench and wait for them to finish. The Lady Chapel was tiny, but in keeping with the general décor of the church, th
e vault was covered in paintings of stars and the winged heads of angels. Rather than lending brightness, the aura of candlelight around the black Madonna made the atmosphere seem all the more gloomy. Prayer was meant to build a divine atmosphere, a sense of exaltation, not the despondency that was falling over her now.

The twins’ prayers seemed to take ages; their concentration was intense. Unable to pray, Veronica let her gaze wander out to the church, seeking the mural of the lady in yellow leading the pack of white wolves around the walls. Saint Lupine, indeed! Paintings could not just
appear
on the walls. It had to be a tale contrived to give an aura of miraculous power to the place, casting awe on its wealthy patroness, Lady Sovay. The children, being children, had simply taken the story literally. That was all. And it provided a nice opportunity to frighten the governess.

What
kind of lady would decorate a church like this?
Desecrate
seemed the more accurate word.

The governess was falling asleep when the twins finally stood up.

“Miss Everly?”

Facing her with the brightly flaring altar at their backs, the twins looked like angels flown down from Heaven. It seemed a shame to break the illusion, but a bell was ringing the hour.

“We’ve been out for a very long time, Jack. It’s time to go.”

Veronica stood up, straightened her cloak and her bonnet, then guided the twins to walk in front of her back down the aisle. Her gaze kept falling on the crimson carpet under their feet. She didn’t want to see any more of this church, or wonder what kind of religion Lady Sovay practiced. She wanted to go home. Tall shadows rushed along the wall at her left, where Saint Lupine led the pack toward the door. Thinking the priest must have
come inside, Veronica looked back at the communion table. Glowing from banks of white lilies, candlelight illuminated statues of saints, brightened a dull gold Crucifix that seemed to have been hung upside down.

Veronica's heart skipped a beat.

“Who keeps the candles lit?” she whispered.

“We don't know,” said Jacques.

“They stay lit for Mamma," Jacqueline whispered. “An angel of the Lord lights them for her.”

“The priest must take care of it,” Veronica said. “And why lilies? Always white lilies…”

“For the dead,” said Jacques. “Lilies are flowers for resurrection of the dead.”

Veronica shivered. Jacques was right. “I’m sorry,
but I don’t think I can worship here. I've never heard of murals just appearing out of nowhere, or of wolves being in a church, or of Saint Lupine.”

“Where will you go?”

“Isn’t there a church in the village or something?”

They both nodded gravely.

“Methodist,” Jacques said regretfully.

“No, there’s Church of England,” said Jacqueline. “It’s almost the same as Catholic but instead of a Pope we have a Queen.”

The idea of the elfin Queen Victoria being head of the church had always struck Veronica as incredibly funny. Her Majesty was neither priestly, nor saintly, and hardly seemed spiritual at all.

“Do you know the story of Romulus and Remus?” Jacques asked.

“Of course,” Veronica said, urging them toward the exit. “Why do you ask?”

“It shows how one could be the son of a wolf,” said Jacques. “And go on to do great things.”

The twins must have known this place would scare Veronica half to death, and mission accomplished, they kept throwing matches on the fire with their stories of wolves and sons of wolves. Had they been told of her experience with Tala? Was that behind all of this? Well, if there
were
any wolves left in England, Tala had certainly grown up among them. And she would certainly
not
go on to do great things, if anything at all.

What Veronica saw just before leaving the building frighten
ed her more than all the rest. In every pane of stained glass in the Tree of Life window was a face with eyes of blood. And just below, on a plinth set between the two arches of the exit, was the sculpture of a lady in medieval dress standing behind a wolf.

Veronica dragged the twins out into the sunshine, and pushed them down the path toward the road. About halfway down she sensed something strange, and turning, saw a priest standing in the graveyard watching them. He had a bell in his hand, but he did not ring it.

Jacqueline waved at him and he waved back.

“There’s Father Roche,” Jacqueline said. “Shall we ask him for a Mass?”

Father Roche stood still as a black obelisk among the gravestones. Veronica was about to greet him, but something put her off.  She nodded at him, smiled wanly, then looked away.

Jacques watched the priest with narrowed eyes.

“Good morning, Father Roche!” he shouted.             

Father Roche raised a thin arm and waved.

Veronica gave him another nod, then gripped the twins’ hands and pulled them down the path.

“Strange, silent creature he is,” she muttered. “I’m sure it’s he that takes care of the place.”

Jacqueline turned to look back. “Don’t you want to ask him?”

“For what?”

“To say Mass, of course.’

Veronica tugged Jacqueline forward. “Why did you show me this place? You must know it’s not a proper church.”

“Mamma came here,” said Jacques.

“We thought we mi
ght see her again,” said Jacqueline.

“But children, you know you cannot see her again. She is in Heaven now
, with God and the angels. Someday, if you're good, you will join her. But she can't come back to earth. Not ever. ”

The twins walked straight ahead without speaking, their stormy expressions signaling that the conversation was over. Far ahead of Veronica, they slipped between the two stones at the end of the path to the road. Looking down as she walked, Veronica noticed that the lilies at her bosom were already limp and brown.