In the Shadow of Lakecrest(33)
I couldn’t bring myself to ask Matthew. What would I say? I’ve been investigating Cecily’s disappearance because I was afraid you were involved in her murder, and I thought it would be a good idea to snoop around a loony bin in case she’d been locked up for the past sixteen years. And by the way, what are you doing there?
The longer you avoid a subject, the harder it becomes to discuss. One day went by, then another. I stared at Matthew across the dinner table and saw the gray shadows under his eyes. I pressed my face into the curve of his neck as we huddled together under our covers each night, warming each other inside the frigid sheets, and still I said nothing. The only logical reason for Matthew to visit the clinic would be for some kind of treatment, which meant he was even more disturbed than I’d thought. Even worse, he was too ashamed to tell me. All the more reason for me to continue my search for Cecily.
I waited as long as I could before calling Mr. Haveleck. Lakecrest’s only telephone was tucked in an alcove off the front entry, and though I’d made sure Hannah was out, I spoke in a near whisper in case one of the maids was eavesdropping.
“Nothing to report yet,” Mr. Haveleck said.
“But it’s been nearly a month.”
“Patience, Mrs. Lemont. This is not the kind of undertaking that can be rushed. I assure you, my men and I are hard at work, and I’ll notify you as soon as I have news. In the meantime, try not to fret.”
I wasn’t very good at following his advice.
I started lingering in Cecily’s bedroom, moping around as if I expected her ghost to appear and explain everything. Which was pointless, because every trace of her had been scrubbed away. There was no armoire full of gowns to rifle through, no silk pillows that carried a trace of her perfume. One day in late February, I sat on the window seat that looked out over the estate, trying to calm my swirling, maddening thoughts. A brief warm spell had melted all evidence of the previous months’ snow, and the landscape had transformed from white to grayish green. I wondered if she’d sat in that same spot on her last night at Lakecrest, if this was where she’d formulated a plan to escape. Suddenly, I caught a flicker of movement in the distance. Someone was walking along the path that led to the north edge of the estate, the path that ended at the Labyrinth.
I’d never been inside; I’d never wanted to before. But suddenly, I felt an overpowering urge to go. I rushed out of the room, down the stairs, and pulled on my coat and boots. I had the strange sensation that the apparition I’d seen was Cecily herself, luring me. I’d heard so many stories, but the woman herself was still a hazy blur: strong yet sickly, brilliant but crazy. If I walked the same twisted passageways that she once had, would I be able to summon her essence? Figure out who she really was?
I slipped out the kitchen door. The temperature had jumped from fiendishly bitter to simply cold, and I walked with my scarf hanging loose around my neck rather than twisted around my head. In the summer, this part of the estate had a certain wild beauty, but without the wildflowers and tall, swaying grasses, the landscape looked stark and unwelcoming.
When I arrived at the Labyrinth, I called out, “Hello?”
There was no answer.
The walls loomed over my head. Scraggly weeds crowded around the base, and tendrils of frostbitten ivy looked ready to push through the mortar. I could see cracks in the brick, gaps where pieces of masonry had crumbled away. It was a sad, desolate place, and I suddenly felt like a fool. Of course no one else was out here. Why would anyone want to be?
And yet I didn’t turn away. I pushed aside my distaste and walked inside. Immediately, I was faced with a choice. Left or right? Left, I decided, then right. It was important to have a system to avoid getting lost. I’d alternate directions at each turn and see where it got me.
Where it got me was nowhere. I covered a good distance, but all I saw was one narrow passage after another. There was no way to tell whether I was making progress toward the center or simply wandering in circles. I didn’t panic, but I hated the disorientation, the uncertainty of not knowing where I was. I felt stupid, not heroic. Cecily would have urged me to surrender to the magic, or some other gibberish, but my mind simply didn’t work that way. For all my curiosity about her, I’d never really considered how different her mindset was from mine, how we might not have liked each other at all.
Just as I had the thought, I heard a rustle behind me. I froze, spooked. The noise continued, getting steadily louder, then Marjorie thumped around a corner in green rubber boots, swathed from neck to knees in a fur coat.
“What are you doing here?” I demanded, annoyed.
I hadn’t even known she was home. Lakecrest was so huge that you could spend all day inside without hearing anyone else—one of the many reasons I hated it.
“I saw you march off across the lawn,” she said. “You were gone for so long, I thought you might need help.”
Was she the person I’d seen walking toward the Labyrinth? No. That figure had been wrapped in a dark, heavy coat, not fur.
“I’m lost,” I admitted.
“Follow me.” Marjorie turned back the way she’d come. “It’s easy when you know the patterns.”
Sure enough, within two turns we had entered an oval-shaped clearing. Stone benches sat at either end, and in the middle was the Minotaur statue Mabel Kostrick had described. It struck me as more odd than frightening: a muscular man’s body topped with the head of a wild bull. If I’d seen it pop out of the darkness without warning, though, I probably would have been scared witless.