House of Salt and Sorrows(29)

His eyebrows furrowed as he nodded. “I think I walked into something I shouldn’t have earlier.”

“That makes two of us.”

His silence felt like a gentle prod for more information.

“I had something I wanted to discuss with Papa, but he and Camille were locked in a battle over that nonsense about the curse, and I never got to tell him. And now he’s left for the capital, and who knows when he’ll return.”

“Is it really so urgent?”

“It felt like it this morning.”

“And now?”

I shrugged. “I suppose it will have to wait, whether it is or not.”

Fisher slid his fingers over the oars but made no motion to continue rowing. “You can talk to me about it, whatever it is. Maybe I could help?”

I ran my hand over the pocket watch but did not withdraw it. “I…I think Eulalie might have been murdered.”

His eyes narrowed, the amber darkening. “Mother said she fell from the cliffs.”

Tucking flyaway strands of hair behind my ear, I nodded. “She did.”

“You don’t think it was an accident,” he guessed.

I dared to look up, meeting his stare. “It wasn’t.”

A heavy wave slapped against the side of the boat, startling us both.

“Why haven’t you said anything to Ortun? You always used to go running to him with any problem.”

“I wanted to but…it’s different now. He’s different. He’s pulled in so many directions,” I said, speaking to myself more than Fisher. “He’s not a widower with a manor full of daughters anymore. He’s a husband again. I just wish…”

“Go on,” he nudged when it became clear I wasn’t going to finish.

My mouth raised into a smile the rest of me did not feel. “I just wish I could let him handle it. It feels too big for me alone.”

He smiled. “It’s too bad we can’t ask Eulalie what happened to her, you know? She was never one for a short story, was she?”

“Never,” I agreed.

Our eyes met, and a spark of shared intimacy warmed me. It was nice talking about Eulalie again with someone who truly knew her. With all the preparations for the ball, it felt as though she’d been somehow forgotten.

“Do you remember the time she…” I trailed off, my throat unexpectedly thick with tears.

“Oh, Annaleigh,” Fisher said, wrapping his arms around me without hesitation.

I pressed my face into his chest, letting him hold me and my heartache. He ran his fingers across the back of my neck in soothing circles, and something decidedly not grief unspooled within me. Against my ear, his heart picked up in tempo, matching mine. I lingered there, counting the beats, wondering what would happen if I allowed him to make the next move. But Hanna’s sharp tsk of disapproval popped into my head, and I pulled away.

He studied me for a long, silent moment before picking up the oars. He worked them against the waves, turning us toward the islet once more.

I bit into the corner of my lip, longing to diffuse the air between us. It was suddenly too heavy, too weighted with unclaimed meaning.

“Fisher? Do you believe in ghosts?”

The words were out before I could even think them over, and though I feared he’d believe me mad, his eyes crinkled, amused.

“Ghosts like…” He waggled his fingers at me, trying to look creepy.

“No, real ghosts. Spirits.”

“Ah, those.”

The waves around us darkened as we passed the drop-off. Gulls roosted in the islet’s nooks and crannies. They drifted above us, scanning for food for their young.

“I did when I was a little boy. I thought it great fun to make up stories and scare the younger children in the kitchens. Once I told a tale so horrid to Cook’s daughter, she had nightmares for a week and finally tattled on me. Mother was less than pleased.”

“And now?”

“I don’t know. I think you get to a certain point in life when ghosts are no longer fun. When the people you love die…like my father, your mother and sisters…the thought that they could be trapped here…it’s unbearable, isn’t it? I can’t imagine a worse fate. Unseen, unheard. Surrounded by people who remember you a little less each day. I would go out of my mind, wouldn’t you?” He stopped rowing. “I’ve been away for a while, but I still recognize that look on your face. Something’s bothering you. Not just the thing with Eulalie. Something else.” He reached out, squeezing my knee. “You know you can tell me anything.”

“Verity has been seeing ghosts.” It fell out in a rush, like a river racing off the edge of a cliff. “Ava and Elizabeth, Octavia and even Eulalie now.”

Fisher sucked in a deep breath. “Truly?”

I waved my hand, wanting to push the conversation aside. “It sounds absurd, I know.”

“No, no, it doesn’t. I just…What do they look like?”

I told him about the sketchbook, about the plague pustules and snapped necks, the splayed limbs and bloody wrists.

“Oh, Verity.” He sighed. “How awful.”

I frowned. “And the thing is…now that she’s told me about them, I’m certain I’m going to walk into the bathroom and see Elizabeth floating facedown in a bloody tub, or see Octavia’s broken body in the study. I can’t get the pictures out of my mind. I’m seeing my sisters everywhere.”