A Dreadful Splendor (65)

“Aye.” She nodded. “One night I heard it me’self. I was doing the final cleanup in the kitchen. Everyone else had retired to their rooms. I put the last bundle of logs on the fire, and then I heard someone hollerin’. It was comin’ from under the pantry floorboards, I tell ya.”

“Could have been the wind, Auntie,” Flora said. There was no conviction in her voice. I reasoned she’d heard this story many times.

“Does the wind call out for help?” she snapped back. Then she turned back to me, eyes bright. “It was soft at first, real weak-like.” Then she imitated the voice. “Help me. Help me.”

A million shivers skittered across my skin. My hand flinched, hitting my teacup, almost spilling it. I mumbled an apology and crouched in my chair.

Auntie Lil continued, “I ran as fast as me boots could carry me. I woke the head maid, but by the time I dragged her down to the kitchen, the voice had stopped.” She leaned back in her chair and took another inhale from her pipe. “She says I imagined it, but I’ll tells ya this, whatever was calling out for help probably died that night. ’Twas my cowardice that sealed her fate.”

“When was this?” I asked, feeling goose bumps pepper my arms.

“Fifty years ago, miss. I left Somerset Park soon after, and I ain’t never been back.”

I took the last sip of tea, but I couldn’t taste anything. All I could think of were those two words: Help me.

Auntie Lil reached for her cane and stood, wincing as she rose. Still, she had enough strength to stare down Flora. “You ignore my warnin’, but I’ll tell ya, Lady Audra paid for her grandfather’s sins. The ghosts of those dead servants lured her out to that cliff. And they won’t be satisfied until the whole place ends up in a watery grave.”



Before we left, she gave Flora a kiss on the cheek and slipped her a lovely autumnal posy. I supposed the gesture was meant to end the visit on a pleasant note, but I could see a weariness in Flora’s expression. I remembered what she’d told me about her aunt’s mind, and I worried I had enabled the embellishment of a false memory.

But as each step took me farther from the cottage, her words clung to me like an impending sickness.

Help me.

A coincidence, surely.





Chapter Thirty-Nine




Lady Audra Linwood

Diary Entry

Somerset Park, April 13, 1852

Dearest,

Something is wrong with me. For the last few weeks I haven’t been able to eat, and I am always tired. But that’s not the worst part.

I started hearing her voice. It was so strong it woke me from a dead sleep. She called out to me, begging for help. Although her pleas chilled me to the bone, a powerful pull inside my soul made me leave the comfort of my room to find her.

Mrs. Donovan discovered me, huddled in the doorway to the wine cellar. My feet were caked in mud, and my hands were covered in rust.

I have no memory of how I got there.

It was William who carried me back to my bedroom. He and Mrs. Donovan stayed with me all night, although I have only the vaguest memory of what they said. They told me I must have been sleepwalking. They exchanged a look of knowing. I am certain they are plotting a scheme. I trust neither of them.

Mr. Pemberton was summoned. When he arrived, he voiced his concern that a doctor had not been sent for. Mrs. Donovan merely told him that I had only a slight chill, nothing she couldn’t take care of with some tea and rest.

I dared not mention hearing the voice to Mr. Pemberton. There was enough suspicion surrounding Father’s death. I cannot risk him breaking off the engagement for fear of acquiring an unstable wife. He asked me if he could call upon his friend to assess me, just to be sure. I could hardly look him in the face. My guilt must have shown. Perhaps he is waiting for an opportunity to see us together, so he can accuse us of having an affair.

As soon as he took his leave, I turned my head and cried into the pillow. How can I ever face my love again? My heart will break, and I am so frail, I fear it may stop the very moment I see him.

Mrs. Donovan brought me a cup of tea, and although my stomach will not tolerate food, I found her bitter brew surprisingly calming. She stayed and watched me take each sip, making idle comments about how it will be good to have the wedding soon, something to rally everyone’s spirits. But there was a wickedness to her grin. It reminded me of William when he used to steal treats from the kitchen, knowing he wouldn’t get in trouble.

They’ve stationed someone to sit outside my door. They do not trust me to be alone. I can still smell the rust on my palms. And as I lie here alone, it unearths a memory long forgotten.

I only knew Grandfather as an old man, stooped over his cane. He never looked at me, always through me. One night he ap peared at the foot of my bed, nightshirt on and wiry hair standing on end. I screamed, thinking he was a ghost.

He put a hand over my mouth and pushed his face up against mine. His breath was rancid as he told me he needed my help. Terrified, I just nodded and got out of bed and followed him. The house was in total darkness, and we were the only ones moving about.

With a single candle in his shaking grip we made our way down to the kitchen. My bare feet were so cold. I noticed his were covered in mud. This made no sense, as it was winter. When I started to cry, he tugged on my arm fiercely and told me to be quiet. He said we had to stop her. Then he asked if I could hear her, calling out.