A Dreadful Splendor (45)

I returned to my room, unaware that I was smiling until I unlocked my door and was hit at once with the same staunch odor from earlier. I froze, my muscles going taut.

There was a long, odd-shaped lump under the bedcovers. A large mass lay near the pillow like a head, and thin limbs stretched out below it.

The stench was putrid. I edged closer to the mattress, waiting for the figure to move, but it was still as a corpse. Dark wisps peeked out from the edge of the blanket like tangled hair.

Finally, I was standing before the bed. With a shaking hand I grabbed the bottom corner of the blanket and pulled. The dark bundle lay there, unmoving. I brought the candle closer.

It was a thick mass of seaweed. The sheet beneath it was stained dark from its slimy wet tendrils.





Chapter Twenty-Eight




Lady Audra Linwood

Diary Entry

Somerset Park, January 23, 1852

Dearest,

I am engaged. I cannot believe I am writing these words with such little enthusiasm.

Mr. Pemberton hardly looked my way during dinner tonight. I sat opposite of him, with my hair bedecked with flowers and gems. I twinkled away unnoticed. I could have sat there naked and received the same amount of attention.

William was absent once again. I truly miss his support, as does Father. But I admit I think it is best that he and I share little time together, especially in the presence of Mr. Pemberton.

Oh! Listen to me! Speaking such things. How I wish you were a real friend; I would hug you and cry on your shoulder. How I wish William were still the good friend I knew years ago.

But as I mentioned, I am now engaged.

After dinner I retired to the drawing room while the men enjoyed their brandy and cigars. When I heard the door creak open, I jumped to my feet, thinking it was William. But Mr. Pemberton stood there—looking lovely in the candlelight, I begrudgingly admit. If only he would smile at me even once, he would be much more amiable.

He entered the room and stopped at a respectable distance. Then he said, “I wonder if I might enquire as to your opinion about my inheriting the manor, Lady Audra.”

Well, Dearest, you could have knocked me over with a feather! He was asking for my opinion. Something I realized at that moment was quite rare indeed.

I told him, “If you are happy with the manor, Mr. Pemberton, it is my father’s hope that you and I will marry. Therefore keeping Somerset Park in our family and myself off the streets begging for a living.”

If this were a novel of tragic romance, he would have been charmed by my plucky response. We would have laughed until we fell into each other’s arms. And then he would have told me how beautiful I was, and we would have kissed, sealing our promise of love. Hooray! A happy ending for all!

But that did not happen, as you have probably guessed by my lackluster announcement at the beginning of this entry. He only replied that the prudent choice would be for us to wed. He’d already asked and secured Father’s blessing, but he wanted to be sure that I was agreeable to the match.

Oh, how gallant! Asking me if I’m agreeable to marrying him! I dare say, I’ve had more passionate conversations with Mrs. Galloway over pie filling. I said yes, I’d be a fool not to. Then he took my hand and bowed over it, not even leaving a kiss.

I curtsied, then numbly returned to my room. Only when I shut the door behind me did I throw myself on the bed and cry.

It is selfish of me, I know. I should be happy that Somerset Park will stay my home. Although Mr. Pemberton is distant and dispassionate, at least he is not cruel.

Some men seem to have a direct link to the devil himself, I think.





Chapter Twenty-Nine




I stared at the tomato bisque soup. The steam had long gone from its surface. Every time I lifted the spoon to my mouth, my stomach protested. A cheese biscuit lay on the side plate, only one nibble missing from its otherwise perfect roundness.

I had locked the door to my room, but still I found myself barraged by images of Mrs. Donovan sneaking in and prowling through my things. It was like hearing a mosquito in the dark and having to wait for the bite. Obviously, she had a duplicate key to my room. How else could the seaweed have gotten in my bed? It would only be a matter of time before she discovered the tiara. Several times already I had jumped when Bramwell arrived, first with the post, and second with the tureen of soup.

“The invitations for the party will go out today,” Mr. Pemberton said. He sat at the head of the table. Bramwell served him a second ladle of soup. “Thank you.” He nodded.

“Party?” Mr. Lockhart asked. He looked across the table at me for more information. I picked a small crumb from the biscuit.

“A celebration for Audra.” Mr. Pemberton blew on his spoon. “It’s been six months since her death. It’s time we should acknowledge her in a way that honors her life.”

“Well, yes,” Mr. Lockhart said timidly. “I think a party is a lovely tribute.”

“And less emphasis on the way she died,” he finished.

Mr. Lockhart smiled, but it looked forced. Although his posture was stooped, the color of his cheeks was rosier than the last time I had seen him. Dr. Barnaby’s attention must have done some good. He moved his spoon around his bowl a few times. I sensed he was trying to summon some courage. “And will you have this tribute before or after Miss Timmons’s séance?”