A Dreadful Splendor (53)

Miss Crane hollered down the hall. “Drusilla!”

When the girl appeared, she stayed behind Miss Crane. I could make out a thin shoulder and the side of her angular face.

Maman smiled gently and beckoned her into the room, holding out her hand. Hesitant, Drusilla took it, and together they stepped into the middle of the circle of candles. “Don’t let go,” Maman whispered to her, but it was loud enough for Miss Crane and the other girls who had begun to gather in the hall behind her.

Maman outdid herself. It was undoubtedly one of her best performances. She made the ectoplasm purge seem so real, even I gaped in awe. “He is here!” she said.

Startled whimpers echoed through the hallway.

“This spirit will not rest if ever another man enters this room,” Maman said. “He considers it very much his own now.”

Drusilla hesitantly mumbled, “No one has been in the room since—”

Maman shook her head. “He will not leave.”

Miss Crane’s mouth opened so wide her cigarette fell out. “That’s what I paid you for!”

“I told you. I cannot make demands of ghosts, only hear their will.”

“So no man can come in here?” Miss Crane squinted up toward the ceiling. I imagined she was doing sums in her mind.

“Where’s my room gonna be?” Drusilla asked. “How am I supposed to earn me rent now?”

Maman finally let go of Drusilla’s hand and lifted her shoulders. “Ghosts are incapable of lying. He will haunt this room forever. His spirit is bound here.”

Drusilla crossed her arms in front of her chest. I overheard murmurs in the hallway as each girl declared she would not, under any circumstances, take Drusilla’s old room.

“Then this room is useless,” Miss Crane said with thinly veiled anger. The girls in the hallway scattered.

I began to collect Maman’s things, but she stayed still and regarded Miss Crane. “You need someone to pay rent?” Maman asked. “How much?”

Miss Crane stared back, locked in a battle of wills. I sensed she knew exactly what Maman had just done and was torn between avoiding being conned and having another paying tenant.

They struck a deal, and Maman and I had new accommodations. She told me it would only be temporary, and that we could save a bit more this way if we continued to work hard.

That night I dreamt that I ran away and met up with the caravan.



The fortune-teller may have been nothing more than a con. Perhaps she was bitter, as Maman suggested, and purposely wanted to hurt me. Or perhaps she had told the truth, hoping it might somehow spare Maman and me—a warning for us to heed. Whatever her intentions, it set me on the path of a self-fulfilling prophecy.

I hadn’t told anyone at Somerset Park, but my nineteenth birthday was in five days.





Chapter Thirty-Three




Lady Audra Linwood

Diary Entry

Somerset Park, February 10, 1852

Dearest,

There are no words to describe how I feel today. In this never-ending graveyard of dread, a ray of sunshine has transfixed me with its glare.

Love has finally made itself clear to me, and most unexpectedly. I was unsure before, but now that I have felt it, really and truly, I will never mistake it again. Is it possible to look into a pair of eyes and immediately know? Yes! It is true!

I can hardly explain it—how one day there is nothing and the next, everything. His smile is the sun, and all I want is to bathe in its warmth forever.

Love is glorious and miserable all at once. He meets my gazes, returns my smiles, but he is always aware of Mr. Pemberton’s presence and turns away first. Ours is an affair of secret glances. But how can we proceed? I must speak with him alone. I must! For if he feels the same, and declares it for certain, we will find a way.

Mr. Pemberton does not want me; that is obvious. And as much as I have tried to make him happy, I know our marriage would only end in misery. What kind of home would we give our children?

My fiancé takes no notice of my emotions, but nonetheless, I must at least try to be discreet. So rather than gaze at my love’s face, I stare at his hands. I observe his careful manners, his easy gait as he moves throughout the house. It’s fascinating how watching a man complete simple tasks can be so enthralling.

How I crave to know what women before me have experienced. I can hardly contain my feelings, my own body, and I fear that if I don’t confront him, I will burst. But it is impossible to speak with him privately; Bramwell or Mrs. Donovan are always close by. It’s absurd that I should feel so guarded in my own home.

But today I did something devious! After he had visited with Father and sat for tea with Mr. Pemberton, I suggested we take a short stroll to the greenhouse. Imagine my surprise that Mr. Pemberton agreed to join as well. I positioned myself between them, walking with my fiancé on one side and my love on the other. I matched my steps to his, secretly hoping he would understand my message. I snuck a peek around the edge of my bonnet and saw that he was watching me as well, paying no attention at all to Mr. Pemberton’s dull remarks about the weather. I smiled at him, and this time he held my gaze, almost daring me to not look away.

We entered the greenhouse, and he began to ask me about each plant as if he’d never seen one before. He seemed so calm, but my voice shook when I replied. I found it impossible to look him in the eyes as I spoke. It was almost too much to be that close to him, with Mr. Pemberton just behind us.