The Lady in Yellow: A Victorian Gothic Romance (21 page)

Forty-One

T
he remains of the torn dress still lay on the floor by the hipbath where Veronica had dropped it after that terrible night. She'd been looking at it from the tail of her eye for a fortnight, unable to go near it. As impossible as it seemed, the dress was proof that the attack she'd barely survived at Saint Lupine's had been real, that ghosts and werewolves existed, that Sovay still walked the earth as their mistress, Saint Lupine. That she and minions were not insubstantial, but could harm the living, could rend and tear, could kill.

Since she'
d always had so little, the forest green dress had been like a friend, an
old reliable.
Now it was a crusty rag on the floor. She couldn't blame Janet for not throwing it out. Frightened and oddly ashamed of what she'd been through, Veronica hadn't allowed the maid in to see it.

Thankfully, she'd bought enough fabric for three new dresses. It was time to get to work. The garnet dress only needed a hem. If she had some help, she could have another one finished in a week and the last one on the way.

Veronica looked at the torn dress, dried into a stiff, green mound on the tiled floor. Gingerly, she picked it up. More than half the skirt was gone, and what was left had been clearly ravaged by teeth. Swallowing hard, for the image of white wolves howling around the tree came vividly back to life, she found the nearest waste bin, dropped the dress in, and shut the lid.

"
I will get Janet to take it out. I will get Jack to help me with my sewing," she muttered. "I will begin anew."

Her new garnet dress was hanging on the inside of the wardrobe door. Fresh bolt
s of blue worsted and copper colored silk were folded neatly on the lower shelf, her muslin patterns lying on top, ready to be cut out.

She took out her sewing basket and
went to find the twins.

They were both in Jacqueline's room, sitting on the floor, two trays of food beside them. A few dolls were arranged around as if to share in the meal. Jacqueline was holding one up like a puppet, speaking in a silly voice. Jacques was laughing and banging a small, flat drum with a stick. An entire army of tin
soldiers was arranged in rows, marching toward this mock banquet as if they were meeting the enemy.

Veronica knocked on the door. "Hullo, Jack."

Their faces fell with the interruption. They jumped to their feet.

"Good morning, Miss Everly."

"What are you playing at?" Veronica asked.

"War," said Jacques. "I'm Lord Raglan leading the charge and Jacqueline is Queen Victoria."

"Yes," said Jacqueline waving her doll around. The doll certainly looked like Her Majesty in its layers of taffeta and lace. "We are bestowing our Royal Blessing before we give them the old
heave-ho
!"

"With you women always striving to be the boss these days," Jacques said. "It is my duty to prove we men can stem the tide." He hit Queen Victoria with his drumstick.

"We aren't
try-innnng
," said Jacqueline in the voice of the Queen. "We
arrrre
the boss. I'll have your head, you treacherous lout! Off with your head! Off with your head!"

A small battle was about to ensue. Veronica piped up. "I need some help, you two. Come into mine and help me sew and I'll make sure Peggy cooks your favorite meal and
makes some hot chocolate besides."

The twins stared at Veronica. Jacqueline leaned into Jacques to whisper in his ear. Jacques nodded, then Jacqueline stood up.

"I'll help you, Miss Everly. Jacques is a boy. He's not supposed to sew."

"Oh, that's right. He can come along anyway and keep us company. Would you like that, Jacques?"

"What? Sit and do nothing while you two get on sewing?"

"I just need some help," Veronica said. "If we all work together, I can have three new dresses in no time at all."

"I'll help you, Miss Everly," Jacqueline said. "What do you want to do, Jacques?"

Jacques gave Veronica a funny, sly look. "I'll go to the library and read. We have some very interesting books up there. I'm getting to an age when I must improve my mind. While you women make dresses and things."

Jacqueline pursed her lips at her brother, then took Veronica's hand.

"We'll make your new dresses, Miss Everly. They shall be very pretty."

"We won't be at it all day, Jacques," Veronica said. "Only while the light lasts."

"Yes, I too shall take advantage of the light. Tah."

Nose in the air, Jacques brushed past them and went out to the hallway.

Jacqueline squeezed Veronica's hand. "He's jealous, Miss Everly."

"I'm sorry about that. It seems an army man should learn to sew. Don't you think?"

Jacqueline gave Veronica a withering look. "But not dresses, Miss Everly."

"Oh, of course. Let's just get it done. He'll keep himself busy."

Hopefully not reading that
Dragon Rouge...



By late afternoon, Veronica and Jacqueline had the garnet dress hemmed and two more cut out and pinned together.  It was enough. Veronica hated to do anything to come between the twins. They were so alike that she'd never thought of them having differences before. Perhaps this was a new development. Perhaps her request for help with typical woman's work had prompted this new differentiation. It many ways it was inevitable, and, she felt, a good thing. It just wouldn't be wise to push it. Children needed space to grow.

Fresh new dresses were a wonderful tonic for the spirit. Clean and new. She commenced sewing in solitude, letting her mind wander. Always her thoughts revolved around Rafe: memories of his face, how he looked at her, how she felt when he touc
hed her. She'd chosen the copper colored silk for him. The copper sheen was slightly dressy, flattering her  creamy complexion and bringing the lights in her hair. It would be impossible to compete with his French paramour, but at least she could put in a showing.

When would he be back? Veronica sighed. It wasn't right for a father to stay away for so long. Even if he had no interest in her, it seemed Rafe should want to be with his children. Especially with so much danger all around them. They needed his strength and protection. It wasn't enough to rely on Mr. Croft.

The copper colored silk shimmered in her hands as she worked a fancy stitch into the sleeve. "Oh, Rafe, please come home. Come home now."

Forty-two

S
he was on the roof of the tower feeding the doves the day two black horses pulled into the snow-glazed forecourt, drawing a hearse.

Veronica’s breath left her body. No. It couldn't be. She'd have known if something bad had happened to Rafe. She would have felt it in her heart.

Tears started in her eyes. Had there been an accident?

Mrs. Twig ran screaming out of the house. In her haste, she stumbled and slipped on the ice, landing on her hands and knees. “Mr. Rafe! Mr. Rafe!” she cried, reaching for the hearse.

Eyes wide with alarm, Janet came running out after Mrs. Twig. She quickly pulled the distraught housekeeper to her feet, then dashed toward the rear doors of the carriage where two men waited for the driver who was jumping down with the keys. Veronica could just make out, through the long, etched window in the side of the hearse, the shape of a closed coffin.

"Oh, please, God, don't let it be Rafe."

She should go down and find out who it was, but after weeks of poor appetite, and now this shock, she could only lean weakly against the battlements and watch the scene around the hearse unfold. The doors at the back of the carriage swung open. Mr. Croft, in his stovepipe hat, strode over to help the two men grapple with the contents.

Reflecting the sunlight from a coating of pure, bright silver, the coffin slid out into the sunshine. After what sounded like a heated conversation with Mr. Croft, the workmen lifted the bright casket onto their shoulders and marched down the lawn toward the tomb in the woods.

A sob caught in Veronica's throat. She sank down on the bench. Her mind began to spin, her stomach turned. Breathing heavily, she lowered her head to her knees to stop herself fainting.

There were noises below, in the garden. She lifted her head to look between the crenellations, but hadn’t the strength to lift it high enough to see.

“Where is Miss Everly?”

Rafe’s voice boomed up from below the stairs.

What?

“Miss Everly? Where are you?”

It was as if life returned to her.

“Here! Here I am,” she called too softly to be heard.

Wiping her face with the back of her hands, Veronica felt joy bursting from every pore. She stared at the top of the tower stairs as if Rafe were about to appear, before she realized that he didn’t know where she was. She got slowly to her feet, braced her hand against the wall, and saw another silver coffin being carried into the trees. Had there been two deaths?

Smoothing her hair, her skirts, hoping her eyes weren't puffed and her nose red, Veronica hurried downstairs as fast as she could go. Rafe was home. He’d called for her. That was unexpected, and remarkable. Had he missed her? Of course not. But…

As if she’d heard her coming, Janet was at the bottom of the steps waiting to hand Veronica a warm, damp handkerchief to wipe her face. It was soothing, refreshing and so thoughtful.

“Thank you Janet. But how did you know I needed it?”

"I'm not blind," Janet said with a glint in her eye.

With that, she ushered Veronica into the drawing room.

He was there, waiting beside the fire, exquisitely dressed in a black frock coat and a white cravat, cufflinks flashing at his wrists. Handsome in his dark masculinity, Rafe looked her up and down, impatience dancing in his blue eyes.

Veronica pushed a stray curl away from her face. She was glad to have worn her new
copper colored silk dress and nothing yellow.

“And where have you been?” he asked.

“I was…. Class was over… I didn’t know you’d returned, sir,” she said.

“So. You didn’t miss me at all, or you would have been watching out for me.”

“Well, sir, I….”

“Never mind. I brought you something. A book.” Rafe pulled a large, wrapped parcel out of his satchel and handed it to her.

It was rather musty smelling and so heavy that Veronica had to hold it in both arms.

"Why, thank you, sir."

“That book… I had it appraised in London. It’s quite authentic. I brought it from our house in France especially for you.” 

“Why, thank you, but I can’t possibly accept it.”

“Please do. I insist. Come on. It’s very heavy so you’d better sit down.”

Veronica sat on a wing chair and tore the paper wrapping off. Inside was an a
ncient looking tome with a blue damask cover, gilded at the edges. The title was printed in gold leaf over crimson:
Book of Unholy Beasts.

“Come on. Open it.”

“I can’t.” She hoped he couldn’t see the trembling that gave away the powerful effect he had on her.

“You will, or I shall have to flog you for insubordination. Come on.”

Rafe leaned on the mantel, smiling. His eyes were commanding, but kind.

It was indeed a very old book.

“It's a Bestiary. Inscribed and illuminated by monks in the twelfth century,” Rafe said. “It is filled with tales of strange creatures no longer thought to exist on earth.”

Veronica flipped to a page with a picture of a mermaid sitting on a rock surrounded by a sea of lapis lazuli.

“How beautiful!”

Rafe smiled and flipped his hand, commanding her to turn the pages.

She came to the image of a loathsome looking creature: a lion with the head of a man.

“
Manticore.
Oh, that is alarming!”

“Is it? I’m glad you like it. I want you to read the entire thing. The text is in Latin, but I’ve had it translated. Here.”

Rafe set a bundle of papers, bound only by a leather strap, next to Veronica’s chair.

"That's very kind of you, sir, but I do read Latin."

“I wasn't aware of that. In any case, this will facilitate things. The folklore and ancient songs of our ancestors should be known to all of us,” said Rafe. “They are all we have left to help us to understand ourselves. Our origins.”

Veronica didn’t know what that meant, and was afraid to ask. She was sure
our origins
were not in unholy beasts, but in God. Perhaps it was just an amusing conceit of Rafe’s, a joke.

“Well, thank you, sir,” she said, laughing softly.

He scowled, paced up and down before the fire like a caged beast, then swung back at her. “Do not mock us, Miss Everly. You do so at your peril.”

"Mock? Us? What do you mean?"

She'd done it again, thrown Rafe into a mood. Breathless at the piercing coldness in his eyes, she sprang to her feet, knocking the book to the floor. She wanted to demand an explanation, but no words came. Mocking him? How absurd!

“I’ll just go,” she said, moving away from Rafe and the troublesome book.

His hand circled her arm. He pulled her back toward him.

“Veronica.” He breathed her name into her ear, setting it ablaze. “I’m very sorry. I am quite unreasonable when it comes to my family. Though we go back a long way in these islands, the mother of my children comes from an exceedingly ancient bloodline, stretching back into the darkest reaches of time when the earth was not as it is now. It’s for Jack that I want you to read this book. So you will understand.” His eyes were soft, yet his grip was commanding.

“I’m trying,” Veronica said. “But everyone here seems determined that I remain in the dark about the most bizarre events I have ever witnessed. At the same time, I’m expected to teach the twins, to care for them, and not to give it a second thought when they disappear…”

“Stop. Stop.” Rafe put his fingertips on Veronica’s lips and shut his eyes as if in pain. “You
shall
understand, but Mrs. Twig can’t help you any more than the twins can.”

  Rafe's close proximity and the fire of his touch were so stimulating that Veronica had a hard time keeping her voice from shaking. “Shall I know the
entire
story, sir?”

“Yes, you shall.” Yet there was such doubt in his eyes that Veronica could only wonder if he would actually disclose the unpleasant truth.

“You shall make good on that promise,” she said. "Or I'll leave."

Rafe slowly let go of her arm, but his eyes stayed on hers. He was clearly in pain, a pain no different than Veronica’s
, a raw wound too long uncared for, and thus unable to heal.

Rafe's eyes lingered on Veronica’
s face, on her chin, her lips. Seeming to struggle, he walked to the window and gazed out, keeping his back to her.

“I shall read your Bestiary, sir,” she said. “And I shall pass the lore on to the children…”

“Oh, there’s no need of that. They could talk circles around anyone on these subjects. And please, Miss Everly.” He turned to face her. “Don’t go running off… I mean… if you can bear to stay with us… please… call me Rafe.”

"What?"

They were interrupted by the loud voices of the workmen in the foyer.

“The tomb is locked,” said one.

“We’ve left the coffins there, but we need the key,” said the other.

Mrs. Twig’s voice cut in. “Oh, yes, I forgot. I had to lock it against the children again. If they had their way, they’d be in there all the time.” She seemed to catch herself and laughed.  Veronica winced. The housekeeper had, no doubt, locked the tomb against her as well. Mrs. Twig went on, “They miss their mother terribly, you see. Please wait here while I fetch the key.”

“Please hurry up, Ma’am. We don’t want to be meddling with the dead after sunset.”

"Well, sir, what's that all about?" Veronica asked Rafe.

He was looking at her strangely, his eyes shadows by his lashes.

"Why do you look at me like that?" she asked.

"You're very beautiful, Miss Everly."

Stunned at this unexpected comment, Veronica was speechless. Her cheeks flashed hot with blushing.

Rafe continued to stare.

"That dress... the color... suits you very well."

"Why, thank you, sir."

"Rafe."

"Rafe." Veronica looked away.

Hearing the men in the foyer noisily bustling out the front door, Veronica looked up.

"Who is being buried in the tomb?"

"No one. Now if you will excuse me, Miss Everly. I must unpack."

"Very well, sir... I mean, Rafe."

Rafe blustered out of the room as if he couldn't wait to get away, and called for Mrs. Twig.