A Dreadful Splendor (27)

I gripped the key in my palm, feeling the edge dig into my flesh. I had never met a man whose personality was so vexing it overshadowed any handsomeness. “You’re quite right,” I said. “I’m not familiar with the etiquette of being less respectful to people whose status society perceives to be lower than my own.”

He only stared back at me, with his lips opened slightly. Before he could reply, I made my way up the grand staircase, silently cursing with each squeak of the steps. Only when I had closed the door behind me, pressing my back against it, did I realize what a risk I was taking each time I opened my mouth around him.

I had probably given him more than enough reason to cast off the whole scheme and follow through with his original threat of summoning the parish constable. There was a shaking at the base of my spine. I may not even last my first full day here. I needed to hold my tongue and keep my focus on preparing for the séance.

Placing the key on the vanity, I opened the top drawer. True to Mrs. Donovan’s word, there were stockings, several petticoats, and nightgowns. I smoothed my hand over the perfectly folded clothes.

The mirror on the wardrobe reflected a sullen creature. One of my hairpins was sticking out, and the other three were barely enough to contain my natural curls. I thought of Flora and wondered if she could help me. I hoped I hadn’t spooked her too much. She might never want to come in this room again. Not everyone was accustomed to death as I was.

I studied the beautiful dresses now at my disposal. The options were staggering. I had never seen so many lovely clothes in one place. Then something struck me as odd. I pushed the dresses to the side and inspected the bottom of the wardrobe. There were no marks or any other signs that a mouse had been there. I couldn’t even find a small hole. The scratches must be coming from the wall behind the wardrobe. That made more sense, and I was thankful for that, at least. I would hate for the dresses to be ruined.

My eyes went to the black-and-red gown. I held it up in front of me before the mirror and was pleased to see the length seemed about right. I stepped out of my frock and pulled the dress over my head. The fabric cascaded over me like water. I slipped on the black shoes and tilted, unbalanced.

When I turned to the mirror, the truth was so cruel it was almost comical. The waist was too big, emphasizing how gaunt I was beneath it, and my barely contained hair looked like a madwoman’s. “I could be the ghost,” I said to my reflection.

I carefully returned the dress to the wardrobe. This time I chose the plainest of the collection. The grey lace and pleated fabric were high around the neck, and even though simple, it made me feel less of a fraud. I was grateful that all the buttons were in the front and the hem was long enough to hide the scuffed toes of my boots.

A strange sense of unfairness washed over me. I went over the misery-filled timeline of my life and all the occurrences and choices that had brought me to this crumbling castle by the ocean.

Maman’s voice resurfaced from a memory. We have the skills to survive, you and I. Whenever it seems most bleak, remember, you will always find a way. You can only depend on yourself, ma petite chérie.

“Trust your skills,” I whispered. “Depend on yourself.”

I counted on my fingers what I knew was true. Mr. Lockhart and William had a secret about the night Audra went missing. Ghosts were not real. Someone was sneaking into my room and going through my things. But how would they know about the ghost book? Were they trying to scare me into leaving? A rather pathetic attempt by my standards.

All the staff knew I was performing a séance to conjure Audra’s ghost. Whoever wanted me gone must be afraid of what the séance would reveal. Was it possible there was some nugget of truth in Mr. Pemberton’s theory?

I had to get into Audra’s room and search for what William was so desperate to find. It might even help me decide who to target.

Once I’d organized my thoughts, the message from the ghost book no longer looked so threatening. I wiped away the “help me” messages with my palm and returned to my bag.



I was making a final attempt to pin up the last strand of curls when a knock at the door interrupted me. “Miss Timmons, I’ve come to accompany you downstairs.”

I groaned, hating how everything Mr. Pemberton said sounded like an order.

When I opened the door he leaned back, startled. The oil lamp he held was the only light in the hallway. He took in my poor attempt at dressing for dinner. By contrast, the glow from the lamp played off his polished buttons and fair hair. The square jaw and blue eyes were a striking combination. He looked as elegant as royalty in his dinner finery. If I didn’t know his distasteful personality, I would say he was rather fine. I imagined the jealousy he would stir up at Miss Crane’s.

“Follow me,” he said, already turning away.

I locked the door behind me, pocketing my key. I snuck a long ing glance down the hallway toward Audra’s room. I would have to wait until the entire house was asleep.

The manor was oddly dark, with candles placed at far intervals. I carefully made my way down the grand staircase, making sure to hold on to the railing as Mr. Pemberton held the lamp between us.

When we walked through the Gallery Hall, I noticed the portraits loomed taller in the evening. I slowed in front of Audra’s frame, watching the shadows flicker across her face. She was smiling, but it seemed there was a secret only the painter knew.