A Dreadful Splendor (68)

Chapter Forty-Two




I could barely look at Mr. Pemberton during dinner. Flora’s description of him stumbling out of the woods with a shirt soaked in blood kept overlaying the fine evening jacket he wore. He asked about the village, but all I could give him were brief answers. I didn’t dare bring up Auntie Lil’s story.

Even Harry and Bramwell exchanged curious glances at our lackluster conversation. The sound of cutlery punctuated the uncomfortable silence. Finally, I excused myself, claiming the rainy weather had given me a slight chill.

Mr. Pemberton stood. “I’ll have Joseph ride into the village for Barnaby.”

“I only need rest,” I told him. “I’m sure I’ll feel much improved in the morning.”

He looked unconvinced. “Is there a problem about the séance?” he asked, and I was surprised by his boldness in front of the others.

“Not at all. Good night, my lord.” I was sure they could hear my hurriedly retreating footsteps all the way to my room.



I lay in bed, wide awake, until I was certain every soul had retired for the night. The very house seemed to breathe. There were mysteries within these walls, but I was more worried about my own secret being found out.

With my dressing gown tightened, I slipped out of my room. Tucked under my arm was the tiara, along with the copy of The Hunchback of Notre Dame. Sneaking around Somerset in the middle of the night with stolen jewelry wasn’t my finest hour, but I had no choice. The séance was only days away—as was my nineteenth birthday. The sooner I completed the conjuring and left Somerset and the ocean, the better.

The small lamp I carried was the only speck of light in the entire house. The shadows took on the shapes of all my uncertainties. I saw Mr. Pemberton ready to jump out at me from behind the heavy drapes, awash in blood and asking to dance. William was there too, smelling of wine and pointing an accusing finger. Finally, Mrs. Donovan slinked into the light, her head caved in and calling me a murderer.

I would have welcomed a specter, a voice, anything to break this sense of foreboding. I took the stairs as quietly as I could.

The library door moaned on its hinges as I closed it behind me. It was like entering a cave. The air was still and heavy. The only noise came from the steady ticks of the grandfather clock.

The ladder was in the same place where I’d left it, stuck on its rusted track. I carefully climbed until I could reach the top shelf. I slipped the tiara into The Hunchback of Notre Dame’s empty slot, then returned the novel to its original place, pushing it back until it touched the tiara. The spines did not quite align, so I pulled out a few of the other books in that row a few hairs until they were mostly flush.

When I reached the bottom of the ladder, I looked up at my work and smiled. It was completely undiscernible. I would be able to retrieve the tiara the night of the séance and slip it into my bag. No one would be the wiser.

I turned to leave and nearly bumped into the table I’d chosen for the séance. A memory played against the darkness of Mr. Pemberton and me sitting in these chairs, facing each other. My cheeks warmed as I recalled the feeling of his palms against mine, and how I studied his face while his eyes were closed.

My whole body slumped. The pull of regret was stronger than I’d expected. How disappointed he would be to see me now. Then I pictured his bloody shirt once more; I had to focus.

The lamp pulsed for a few beats, and then the flame lowered. I frowned; something in the room had changed, an intangible shift in the dark. Holding up the lamp, I inspected the corners of the room, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. All the animals were still dead. My attention wandered to the fireplace. Only the mantel was within view.

I moved closer, wondering if Lord Chadwick had finally come to life, climbing out of the painting with one hand clutching the gold frame, and the other brandishing the sabre, ready to slice off my head.

A floorboard creaked just behind me. I held my breath, building my courage to turn around, fully aware there would be no one to come to my aid, just as with Mrs. Donovan. The person who had lured her outside had access to the servants’ private quarters. Dr. Barnaby said the weapon had left a curious wound. I waited stiffly, with each muscle aching, afraid to move.

An icy breath brushed against the back of my neck. I pictured the weapon being raised over my head. It was now or never. I whipped around, ready to kick or throw a punch, whatever was needed to save myself.

The library was empty.

Once I swallowed my heart back down, I noticed the room had become uncommonly quiet. Even the wind outside had eased up. And that’s when I realized what had changed.

The clock had stopped.

A shiver rolled along my spine. “Time for all good girls to be locked in for the night,” I said, sounding like Mrs. Donovan. I made to leave, but when I reached the other side of the room, the chill became electrified, prickles shooting through the tips of my fingers. The door was wide open. I was certain I had closed it.

A sob echoed from the grand staircase. It sounded like Flora.

Had she confronted William about Audra? Was she hurt? My unease was pushed to the side as I rushed to find her. I followed the echoes of heaving cries to the servants’ door and then down the narrow staircase.

The kitchen was abandoned, but the crying was louder now. “Flora?” I whispered, squinting at the shadowy corners.

“Help me.”