A Dreadful Splendor (69)

I froze. That was not Flora’s voice.

“Help me.”

I pinpointed the source of the sound. Auntie Lil’s voice narrated the scene inside my head as I entered the pantry and went to the far end. A set of steps descended to the wine cellar. Ignoring the shaking of my lamp, I took the stairs down into the cold room. Racks of dusty bottles created several rows reaching for the low ceiling. At the back wall, behind a pile of crates, a narrow door grinned back at me.

I tried the rusted knob. It resisted at first, then gave way as the hinges protested loudly. I was hit with the pungent scent of seawater, but there was something else—death. An actual rotting, as if I was walking into a fresh grave.

With the lamp in one hand, and my other palm splayed flat on the outer wall, I tentatively took the curving stairs, feeling like I was entering the bowels of hell itself.

The lapping of waves echoed up to me, matching the thumping of my heart. I could only see a few feet in front of me. The stairs grew more slippery with each step downward. The ocean was claiming Somerset from the bottom up. After generations of smashing against the stones, the sea had finally sunk its teeth and begun to consume. Any moment, the icy water would reach up with a seaweed fist and grab my ankles, pulling me down under the surface, claiming me.

The waves crashed again, much louder than before. A plume of mist rose, soaking the bottom of my nightgown. Each time I took a breath, I felt the sea air slip into my lungs, eager to drown me inside out.

Stay out of la mer, ma petite chérie.

Every part of my soul urged me to turn around and leave, but I had to know. I had to understand who was behind all of this.

Bit by bit, the inner wall gave way, and I gained a sense that I was edging along the outside of a deep pit. My fingers skimmed the slimy surface. The methodical ebb and crash of waves was hypnotic.

Was I going to walk into the ocean? Was this what happened to Audra?

Without warning, a hand pushed between my shoulder blades, and I stumbled forward, pitching headfirst into blackness.

My ribs smashed into the steps, taking my breath away. I slid against the wet, salt-crusted steps for what seemed like an eternity. Then my hand finally found purchase and I came to a stop. Miraculously, the lamp had remained in my other hand, unbroken.

Catching my breath, I gathered my bearings and moved to stand upright. “Who’s here?” I called, holding the lamp out.

Nothing.

I could faintly discern the bottom of the chasm, made up of uneven rocks carpeted with seaweed. Again, there was the sound of spray, then water gushing and slipping away. There must be a small opening in the outer foundation. I sensed movement far below.

Then she screamed in my ear, so close I could smell her sour breath.

“Help me! Help me! Help me!”

I dropped the lamp. Its small point of light fell to the bottom of the pit, where it smashed on the rocks and extinguished completely.

I scrambled upward, with both hands clawing the steps above me, and did not stop running until I was back in my room. I would never forget what the lamp illuminated before it shattered and went out: rusted chains with cuffs, splayed across the rocks, and what looked like a gleaming white bone.





Chapter Forty-Three




Lady Audra Linwood

Diary Entry

Somerset Park, April 20, 1852

Dearest,

They found me near the cliff last night. I have no memory of getting there. Is it the family sickness? The pregnancy? Mr. Pemberton suggests we retreat to his home in the north, but I cannot leave Somerset. And I will certainly not leave with Mr. Pemberton to a place that is entirely his own, with his own staff, so that he might unleash his sinister nature.

I am safest here, with my love keeping close watch. I do not wish to be surrounded by strangers. My love is certain the pregnancy has aggravated my sleep patterns. He told Mr. Pemberton that I have the same illness that is inflicting the village, and that journeying north would only further risk my condition. Still, I worry. We must be so obvious; our love outshines everything and everyone around us.

We have moved the wedding date up.

Flora was crying today. Her dear friend Maisie has taken ill. She is worried that it is the same sickness that took the souls of a few elderly villagers in Wrendale already this month. She said she was concerned for me as well. I used to think Flora an amiable and perfectly harmless girl, but something in her tone put me on guard. I believe she suspected the pregnancy and was waiting for me to tell her. I’ve heard her gossip enough about the other staff to know she could never keep this secret. If Flora ever understood my true situation, it would be the downfall of Somerset Park, and I would be as good as dead.

Flora is not so innocent as she appears. I’ve seen how her gaze lingers on my jewelry and dresses. I wouldn’t be surprised if she comes in and tries them on occasionally. Should I lock my door? What if someone is poisoning me and carrying me out to the cliffs? William is certainly strong enough. Mrs. Donovan’s tea always makes me sleepy. I will only pretend to drink it henceforth.

My love attempted to ease my suspicions when I told him this. He told me that fear is warping my good judgment. Then his smile took on a peculiar angle, and he whispered that we should consider an alternative to my marrying Mr. Pemberton.

It was an odd way to see my love. There was almost a devious quality about him that frightened me. Does he know something nefarious about Mr. Pemberton? Is my love keeping secrets from me out of loyalty to his old friend? He was more than happy to let him raise our child. What has changed?