Belladonna (Belladonna #1)(22)

“Are you claiming that yours are any better?” asked the governess.

Blythe scrunched up her face as Signa felt a rush of shame, hot and searing. She’d be damned, though, if she let Blythe see that her words had struck. “I’ve had a governess in the past,” Signa told them. “… On and off.”

Whatever Marjorie thought of that answer, she didn’t betray it. “What about lessons?”

Rather than admit how much time had passed since she’d had a proper lesson, Signa said, “I can read, and I know my lettering. Arithmetic, too.” Only the basics, given that no one had ever stayed around long enough to teach her more than that.

Marjorie’s lips curled into a smile that one could envy. “And what about music?”

Not wanting to give her cousins any additional fuel to taunt her with by admitting she’d rarely played, Signa said, “I suppose I’m a wonderful listener.”

Blythe coughed into her drink while Percy nudged her with his elbow, hushing her between his own snickering.

Marjorie ignored both Hawthornes. “Duly noted. Why don’t we begin there, then? With sight-reading and lessons on the piano.”

Frustrating as it was, Signa had been taunted enough throughout her life to ignore her cousins. She nodded and instead let herself imagine sitting in the manor she would one day own, seated at the bench of a pianoforte, playing with a perfect grace. Her daydream was short-lived, however, as a wave of coolness jolted over Signa’s spine.

“Miss Farrow?” Marjorie’s voice was distant.

Signa could not see Lillian, but the faint sound of crying fought to steal her attention.

No spirits, Signa told herself, pretending she didn’t hear it. Think of your future. Of the work you must put into debuting. Normal people do not speak to the dead, Signa.

Yet she couldn’t stop listening. It seemed the others heard the sound, too, for Blythe had gone deathly still. The porcelain cup slipped from her hands and dropped onto her lap, hot tea staining her dress. Percy sat up with a jolt, as did Marjorie.

“Heavens, Miss Hawthorne!” The governess motioned for Percy. “Help your sister back to her room and fetch Elaine. Blythe will need to change into a new dress. And while you’re at it, find a better use of your time, too, Percy. You both are far too distracting.”

Marjorie waited for Percy to help his sister—whose eyes were still dazed and anxious—out of the room before she turned to Signa. “Now then, never mind all that, and pay no mind to the sound. It’s merely the wind.” She took Signa by the hand and led her to the sleek black bench of a beautiful grand piano that likely cost as much as Aunt Magda’s entire house, if not more. There wasn’t so much as a trace of dust on it. “It’s always louder this time of year. Sounds like the devil himself is stomping about outside.”

Signa knew full well that the wind had nothing to do with the sound, though she had no choice but to nod. She sat, fighting the urge to make herself small in her seat as Marjorie straightened her back and lengthened her neck, placing Signa’s hands at the starting position upon the keys.

“Now,” Marjorie said, “let’s begin by practicing your scales.” Signa’s bones protested holding such a stiff posture, already aching. But if this was what it took to bring her vision to life and secure her place in society, she would do it. Signa pressed down upon the first key and had to swallow a grimace when her finger came away wet. Every inch of her stiffened, muscles coiling tight, for there was nothing on the piano. Yet when she lifted her finger, she saw mud caked upon it, and tiny worms sprouting from between the keys.

“Your scales, Signa,” Marjorie urged without any acknowledgment that she could see what was happening beneath her pupil’s fingertips. She didn’t see that Signa’s feet were sinking in dirt that wasn’t there or that her fingers became a perch for the worms to curl themselves around.

Lillian’s message was clear as the day—Signa needed to hurry and find the garden, or this spirit would never rest.

But until then, Signa steeled herself and pressed down upon the muddied keys. She refused to stop playing.





TEN





IT WAS HOURS BEFORE SIGNA MADE HER WAY OUTSIDE, STRETCHING her aching back as the wind lashed at her. The air was crisp, but it was nothing her scarf and a belly full of warm tea couldn’t fend off. Her body welcomed the chill after spending so long at her lessons.

In only a day, she’d nearly forgotten the stark contrast between the estate’s interior and exterior. Here, surrounded by endless moors of yellowing grass, wildflowers pocking the earth, and the golden blanket of leaves scattered along the ground, was a place of fantasy. The afternoon was peaceful; no bodies danced in or out of the house. No strangers in their finery. Though Signa knew not what the cooks were baking, something sweet and doughy warmed the air around her, and her stomach roared despite Marjorie having fed her more scones than she’d been able to eat.

But there would be time for sweets later, when her hands weren’t muddied with dirt and worms and earth not truly there.

Come to my garden and save her.

Signa would go to that garden, but she needed to find it first.

Behind the estate were steep, endless moors. Before it, manicured hedges and a grove of maple trees. And far beyond Thorn Grove was a line of trees that marked the start of the woods. Not one garden in sight.