The Visitor (Graveyard Queen, #4)(57)

“I’m sure you did the best you could,” I murmured.

Her smile was wan. “You’re very kind to think so. My only excuse is that I wasn’t much more than a girl myself and wrapped up in my own affairs. Rose offered the twins sanctuary. A safe haven where they didn’t have to worry about being bullied by the other children.”

“Your sister said Rose was their tutor.”

“She was so much more than that. I believe they came to think of her as a surrogate mother. I’m certain they would have gone to live with her if given the opportunity. As it was, they spent every waking moment thinking about her, talking about her, making little gifts for her. It was a harmless obsession. Nelda was always the stronger of the two. The dominant twin, I suppose. Someone at the Colony built a little device, a sort of cart with a special harness so that she could pull Mott along behind her. Off they’d go. Sometimes at night, I can still hear the squeak of those wheels.” She paused and I could have sworn I saw a shudder go through her. I, too, suppressed a shiver as I remembered the metallic sound from my garden.

“They must have had a very strong bond with Rose,” I said.

“A bond,” Louvenia mused. “Yes, that’s an apt way of putting it. I think in some ways, Rose clung to them just as tightly. I often wondered if she’d lost a child of her own before she came here. There was such a sadness about her.”

“Your sister mentioned that Rose became ill.”

Louvenia nodded. “When she got really bad, she’d wander the countryside at all hours, mumbling to herself, pointing to things that no one else could see. It was really quite eerie. And the way she would look at you. As if she could see all the way down into your soul.” Louvenia closed her eyes. “The memory of it still brings a chill.”

“Who took care of her during her illness?”

“Nelda did what she could, but she was still so young, only fourteen or so, and the surgery after Mott passed left her weak. A local doctor looked in on Rose from time to time, as did I, but there was no one else. Most of the townsfolk were afraid of Rose. And of Nelda, too, I think.”

I was hesitant to pursue the conversation. How much did I really want to know about Rose’s descent into madness? But I couldn’t leave it alone. I couldn’t ignore the squeamish details when there might be a chance I could learn something that would keep me from the same fate. “Did Nelda arrange for Rose’s burial in Kroll Cemetery?”

“There really was no other place for her,” Louvenia said.

“Because of the suicide?”

Another hesitation. “Yes, of course. The suicide.”

Before I could say anything else, the front door opened and a man breezed in with a leather overnighter strapped over one shoulder. His slacks and shirt were neatly pressed, his loafers polished to a high gleam. He turned his back to me as he closed the door, but I knew who he was at once.

“Sorry I’m late,” Owen Dowling called over his shoulder as he hung the bag on a hook near the door. “I had to take care of a few things before I left Charleston. I’m afraid Micah may not be our only problem—”

He turned toward the foyer and froze when he caught sight of me.

His sudden appearance seemed to have rendered Louvenia speechless. The fingers of one hand tangled in her shirt while the other hand crept to her throat.





Thirty-Two

“Owen,” she finally managed. “I— You surprised me.”

“Really? Aunt Nelda told you I was coming, didn’t she?”

“Yes, of course. I guess I lost track of the time. Anyway, I’d like you to meet Amelia Gray. She’s the cemetery restorer Nelda and I met with the other day in Charleston.”

“I’ve already had the pleasure,” he said with a flash of his usual charm. “I’d like to thank you again for returning the stereoscope to my great-aunt. She was quite overcome with emotion after you left the shop.”

“I’m happy it’s back with its rightful owner,” I said.

“What’s this about a stereoscope?” Louvenia asked.

“I’ll explain later,” Owen said. “No need to bore Miss Gray with a story she already knows.”

“No, of course not,” Louvenia murmured. She seemed subdued, perhaps even a little cowed by Owen, but I found that hard to imagine from a woman who had managed a sizable estate and run a successful horse farm for most of her adult life.

“So you’re here about Kroll Cemetery,” Owen said. “It really is nice of you to come all this way. My aunt tells me that we’ve another visitor from Charleston. A ghost hunter and his assistant have taken rooms in her B and B.”

That seemed to rouse Louvenia from her daze. I saw a flare of the same impatience she’d shown Nelda that day at Oak Grove. “Dr. Rupert Shaw is not a ghost hunter. The work he does at the Charleston Institute for Parapsychology Studies is highly regarded all over the state.”

“I meant no disrespect,” Owen said gently.

Louvenia was not appeased. She lifted her chin. “You’ve been listening to Nelda, haven’t you?”

“She’s expressed some concern,” Owen admitted.

“I’m sure she has. She thinks I’m a fool or even worse, demented. But I’m telling you something is out there.” Louvenia seemed to be addressing Owen, but her gaze was on me. “How do you explain the fact that no horse or dog will go near that place? Or birds. You won’t find so much as a wren’s nest in the trees growing around the wall.”