A Dreadful Splendor (22)

The only guarantee love brings is heartache.

When he left, I watched him from the kitchen window as Flora returned to her baking. He paused before he reached the lane and glanced back, but it was only my face he saw in the window.

“How far are the stables from here?” I asked her, thinking of last night when I had planned on escaping by stealing a horse, regardless of the fact I had no riding experience.

Flora’s steady hands worked the pastry. “’Bout half a mile. It’s an easy trail that curves through the woods.”

“He had no scarf or gloves,” I said. “He must have been eager to know your suggested name for the horse.”

She smiled at the pastry instead of looking me in the eye. “Joseph never complains,” she replied. The tenderness in her voice transformed her simple reply into sweet praise.

The air stilled in the kitchen as Mrs. Donovan arrived with my freshly mended gloves. She also handed me a scarf. “It would be insensible to go outdoors without one,” she said.

Regardless of my feelings toward her, the scarf was a welcome addition. I took the same hallway as Joseph and was soon outside, walking alongside the kitchen gardens. Fir branches covered the various vegetable plots while bushels of turnips and carrots lined the brick wall. The cold air was sharp, stinging the inside of my nose.

I purposely turned my back on the direction of the ocean and took the walkway that circled around the perimeter of the manor. Leaves crunched underfoot as I unwrapped Flora’s treat and took small tastes, letting the spicy apple filling warm me, forcing myself to make it last. I could have eaten the entire tray, I’m sure.

An easy path led to the ornamental garden. The shrubs were neatly pruned, and the flower beds had gone to seed and were covered for the winter. Not a vegetable plant or fruit tree in sight. Beautiful, but useless.

I glanced back at the house, observing the long veranda that ran partway across the first floor. Had Audra hosted parties there, donning her tiara with the blue stone?

I smoothed the borrowed scarf against my cheek, noting the softness. Audra must have always enjoyed the finest clothes. I doubted her stomach ever grumbled, knowing that the next meal wouldn’t come until the following day. She certainly never went to bed with the covers pulled over her head, attempting to stifle the sounds of what happened on the other side of the thin walls of Miss Crane’s boardinghouse.

But then I hesitated.

If life at Somerset Park was so wonderful, why did she kill herself?

A figure exiting the house caught my eye. Even from this distance I recognized the thick hair and surly gait. I cursed and ran deeper into the garden. The footpath curved through a tangle of rosebushes. The thorns caught my hem the last few steps. At last, I came to a greenhouse.

I slipped inside, immediately thankful for the warmth, and slunk between the large potted plants, hoping William would pass by unaware. I followed a gurgling noise and found a large fountain. In the middle was a statue of a weeping angel. Even here I couldn’t escape death.

The door opened with a violent commotion. I crouched down and scurried to the far end of the room where there was a large mound of dirt and a potting table. I was trapped.

Voices echoed faintly—he wasn’t alone.

“It’s the only way,” a man’s voice said. “He’ll never leave Somerset Park as long as he thinks her death could have been prevented. He’s determined to see someone pay, William.”

My heart raced. It was the voice of Mr. Lockhart. I squinted at them through the foliage.

“And we all know who he’s most likely to blame, don’t we? The unworthy ward.” William’s tone was full of bitterness.

“This will work,” Mr. Lockhart replied. “I have been travelling to London all these months making enquiries to find the perfect spiritualist. She can do this.”

I was stunned. Mr. Lockhart had told me our meeting was a coincidence. What else had he lied to me about?

“Do you trust her?”

Mr. Lockhart replied, “She desperately needs my services. Even if she does come to suspect that something is amiss, what can she do? Stop fretting; it will all work out.” Their footsteps shuffled closer, accompanied by the unmistakable tapping of the cane.

I tried to interpret his ambiguous answer, hoping my growing apprehension about him was wrong, and that this kind man was still an ally.

William laughed, but it sounded distressed, on the verge of tears. “I trusted you once before, and look what happened. She’d still be alive if it wasn’t for you.”

I held my breath. They were only a few yards away. Mr. Lockhart stabbed the floor with his cane. He let out a soft stream of curses at William.

Taking advantage of their confrontation, I got on my belly and slipped under the potting table, praying there was enough shadow to conceal me.

Mr. Lockhart’s voice was like gravel. “Don’t you dare point that accusing finger at me. Your foolish impatience brought all of this into being.”

“She had a right to know the truth.”

“You had only one reason for attempting to prevent the wedding,” Mr. Lockhart said, “and it had nothing to do with Somerset. No, stop! I don’t want to hear your explanation. Ever since you arrived as an orphan, you’ve tainted everything you’ve touched.”

There was a strength behind his words that surprised me. It was unnerving to hear him angry.