A Dreadful Splendor (18)

“I promise,” I said.

She nodded. “Good. That power will save you when you think you’ve lost everything. You are strong. You will depend on yourself, not others.”

A gust of salt air pulled me from my daydream. Maman’s words had never felt so relevant. I knew I was courting death being so close to the ocean, but the only way to earn my freedom was to perform this one last séance. Of course, that’s what I’d thought I was doing at the Hartfords’.

I shut the window and decided my first task would be to find a suitable room.





Chapter Nine




Lady Audra Linwood

Diary Entry

Somerset Park, March 18, 1845

Dearest,

William Sutterly is the most impishly fun person I have ever met. He has only been with us a short time and already he’s had Father and I laughing more than we can remember.

But while he’s not a servant, he’s not truly my equal either. His room is between our wing and the servants’ quarters, but he always sneaks about, causing the most delightful mischief. He already knows the best hiding places. I may even share the Linwood secret with him, but not just yet.

The governess finds his constant fidgeting too distracting and allows him to leave when he’s only done half of his geography. And during my piano lesson his black curls appeared at the window and his head popped up next. He winked at me before disappearing, just as the instructor turned around. I had to bite the inside of my cheek not to laugh and give him away.

However, I am terribly jealous at the freedom he has. If Mrs. Donovan ever caught me racing up the servants’ stairs with a pocket full of freshly baked ginger biscuits, I would be punished with several rounds of recitation and an extra hour of lessons on the piano. But not William! Oh no, Mrs. Donovan merely held out her hand as he passed the biscuits back to her. Then she ruffled his hair and gave him back one. She treats him like a child even though he is sixteen, just two and a half years older than I.

I watched this exchange from behind the fern in the foyer. I was sure they didn’t see me, but when Mrs. Donovan left, William placed the biscuit on the floor next to the fern. As if I need his handouts! I’m Lady Audra, and he is an orphan!

Still, I took the sweet, and am eating it now! I have discovered that a stolen biscuit tastes much better than cake served on a silver tea set.





Chapter Ten




I avoided the Gallery Hall, suspecting William to be lounging about, and instead found the library. Three long windows along the front wall faced the courtyard. Despite the curtains being pulled back and secured with tassels, there was little light. The smell of old leather lingered in the air. A grandfather clock ticked softly from the shadows like a quiet witness to my inspection.

Although I had been in several impressive homes in London, none of their libraries had a ladder on wheels that ran the length of the wall. I put my hand on the ladder and gave it a test push, but it only went a foot before getting stuck, squeaking in protest. The shrillness echoed.

Disappointed, I looked around the rest of the room. There were animal heads mounted at various heights. Stopping under the nose of a stag frozen in time, I pondered what kind of person would surround themselves with the heads of dead things.

The focal point of the library was a massive fireplace with an even larger portrait above it. The man had wild eyes framed by a thick fringe of hair that swept across his forehead. I instinctively took a step back. He was sitting in an ornate chair, leaning forward. One hand was curled into a fist and resting on his knee, the other gripping the hilt of a sabre. The knuckles of both hands were painted white, giving the impression he was posed to jump out of the frame, ready to kill. No wonder it wasn’t in the Gallery Hall beside the other family members.

I turned away from his murderous glare.

There was a large round table in the middle of the room. I tested the weight by pushing down on one edge; it tilted, slightly off center. My fingers left marks in the dust. The staleness of the air and general neglect made me guess no one at Somerset was particularly interested in using this room.

It was a natural choice for the séance. The long, heavy curtains would keep out any natural light, and the eyes of all the dead animals staring down would create the perfect atmosphere—not to mention the ominous gentleman above the fireplace.

With that settled, my curiosity wandered back to the bookshelves. There was only one title I was interested in. Maman used to say there were signs all around us, and if we looked carefully, we would receive affirmation we were on the right path.

I desperately needed a sign. I looked for the name Hugo. It took a few minutes, but I finally found it. I climbed the ladder and stretched out my hand. Clouds of dust floated down from the higher shelves, making me sneeze. Trembling, I pulled out the spine, letting my fingers feather over the cover.

The Hunchback of Notre Dame.

Flipping through the pages, I found my favourite chapter, where Esmeralda is rescued by Captain Phoebus. It was like reuniting with an old friend. I could have wept. Then the cold memories surfaced, and I snapped the cover shut. The last time I saw that book, its pages were strewn on the floor, trampled and muddied by the coppers’ boots.

A small squeak came from the doorway. A young girl in an apron and bonnet stared up at me. I tucked the book under my arm.

“Sorry, miss.” She curtsied clumsily. “I only needs to wind the clock. I can come back if you’re busy.”