Neferet's Curse (House of Night Novellas #3)(4)

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Madeleine Elcott and her daughter, Camille, were the first of the social calls I received two days later. Mr. Elcott was on the board at Father’s bank, and Mrs. Elcott had been a great friend of Mother’s, though I’d never truly understood why. Mother had been beautiful and charming, and a renowned hostess. In comparison, Mrs. Elcott had seemed waspish, gossipy, and miserly. When she and Mother sat together at dinner parties, I used to think Mrs. Elcott looked like a clucking chicken next to a dove, but she had the ability to make Mother laugh, and Mother’s laughter had been so magical, it had made the reason for it unimportant. I’d once overheard Father telling Mother that she would simply have to do more entertaining because dinner parties at the Elcott mansion were short on spirits and courses, and long on talk. Had anyone ever asked for my opinion, which of course they did not, I would have agreed wholeheartedly with Father. The Elcott mansion was less than a mile from our home, and looked stately and proper from the outside, but the inside was Spartan and, actually, rather gloomy. Little wonder Camille so loved visiting me!

Camille was my best friend. She and I were close in age, she being only six months the younger. Camille talked a lot, but not in the cruel, gossipy way of her mother. Because of the closeness of our parents, Camille and I had grown up together, which had made us more like sisters than best friends.

“Oh, my poor, sad Emily! How thin and wan you look,” Camille had said as she rushed into Mother’s parlor and embraced me.

“Well, of course she looks thin and wan!” Mrs. Elcott had moved her daughter aside and stiffly taken my hands in hers before she’d even shed her white leather gloves. Remembering her touch, I realize now that she’d felt cold and quite reptilian. “Emily has lost her mother, Camille. Think of how wretched your life would be had you lost me. I would expect you to look just as terrible as poor Emily. I’m sure dear Alice is looking down on her daughter in understanding and appreciation.”

Not expecting her to speak so freely of Mother’s death, I felt a little shock at Mrs. Elcott’s words. I tried to catch Camille’s gaze as we moved apart, settling ourselves on the divan and matching chairs. I’d wanted to share with her our old look, one that said we agreed how sometimes our mothers could say terribly embarrassing things, but Camille seemed to be looking everywhere but at me.

“Yes, Mother, of course. I apologize,” was all she muttered contritely.

Trying to feel my way through this new social world that suddenly was very foreign, I breathed a long breath of relief when the housemaid bustled in with tea and cakes. I poured. Mrs. Elcott and Camille studied me.

“You really are quite thin,” Camille said finally.

“I will be better soon,” I’d said, sending her a reassuring smile. “At first I found it difficult to do anything except sleep, but Father has insisted that I get well. He reminded me that I am now the Lady of Wheiler House.”

Camille’s gaze had flicked quickly to her mother’s. I could not read the hard look in Mrs. Elcott’s eyes, but it was enough to silence her daughter.

“That is quite brave of you, Emily,” Mrs. Elcott spoke into the silence. “I am sure you are a great comfort to your father.”

“We tried to see you for two whole months, but you wouldn’t receive us, not even during the holidays. It was like you’d disappeared!” Camille blurted as I poured her tea. “I thought you’d died, too.”

“I’m sorry.” At first, her words had made me contrite. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“Of course you didn’t,” Mrs. Elcott had said, frowning at her daughter. “Camille, Emily wasn’t disappearing—she was mourning.”

“I still am,” I’d said softly. Camille heard me and nodded, wiping her eyes, but her mother had been too busy helping herself to the iced cakes to pay either of us much attention.

There was a silence that seemed very long while we sipped our tea and I pushed the small, white cake around my plate, and then, in a high, excited voice, Mrs. Elcott asked, “Emily, were you really there? In the room with her when Alice died?”

I’d looked to Camille, wishing for an instant that she could silence her mother, but of course that had been a foolish, futile wish. My friend’s face had mirrored my own discomfort, though she did not appear shocked at her mother’s disregard for propriety and privacy. I realized then that Camille had known her mother was going to question me thus. I drew a deep, fortifying breath and answered truthfully, though hesitantly, “Yes. I was there.”

“It must have been quite ghastly,” Camille said quickly.

“Yes,” I said. I’d placed my teacup carefully in its saucer before either of them could see that my hand trembled.

“I expect there had been a lot of blood,” Mrs. Elcott said, nodding slowly as if in pre-agreement with my response.

“There was.” I’d clasped my hands tightly together in my lap.

“When we heard you were in the room when she died, we were all so very sorry for you,” Camille had said softly, hesitantly.

Shocked silent, I could almost hear Mother’s voice saying sharply, Servants and their gossip! I was mortified that Mother’s death had been the topic of gossip, but I’d also longed to talk to Camille, to tell her how frightened I’d been. But before I could collect myself enough to speak, her mother’s sharp voice had intruded.