Miss Ashton stared blankly outside, her face ashen. Catherine knew that expression all too well. She’d seen it on countless residents’ faces at Elk Grove. What had Miss Ashton seen in the woods that night?
“What is a Thorn Dweller’s moon?” Catherine asked, curiosity getting the better of her. It felt dangerous to even wonder, when her visions had been so vivid lately.
“Oh, I suppose you wouldn’t know about that coming from London, would you?” Lydia said with a triumphant expression.
“It’s a village superstition. Back in the old days, everyone used to blame things on the fae. If milk turned sour, if your favorite dress got a tear. They were even convinced that the fae took children from their cribs.” She shook her head. “But you don’t believe in that nonsense, do you, Catherine?”
The hairs on the back of Catherine’s neck stood on end. “Certainly not,” she said it a bit too emphatically.
Miss Ashton met her gaze this time, and she didn’t look away. Was she imagining things, or was that compassion in her eyes?
“Lydia, come help me. I fear I can’t carry all the tea things myself!” Mrs. Rosewood called from the room beyond.
Lydia stood with a huff. “Really, Aunt. You should hire a maid for this sort of thing...” Her footsteps faded away, and it was just Catherine and Miss Ashton.
The grandfather clock against the far wall bonged the hour. When it finished, a yawning silence filled the room.Surely neither of them wanted to be in this situation, Edward’s wife and presumably his past lover? What did Miss Ashton feel for Lord Thornton? As much as she wanted to know, she also feared the answer. If she discovered that they had been in love and had come between them, she wasn’t sure she could forgive herself. If Edward were that inconstant, would he one day tire of her as well?
“I hope you don’t think ill of Lydia. She means well,” Miss Ashton said.
Catherine nodded. Her throat was too tight to speak.
“If I may give you advice?” Miss Ashton prompted.
Catherine’s skin pebbled. “Yes?” she croaked.
“If you’re ever out at night on a full moon and hear music.” She hesitated; there was a crash somewhere in the house. Miss Ashton’s wide eyes darted in that direction. Murmured voices; Lydia or Mrs. Rosewood must have dropped something. Miss Ashton scooted closer to Catherine. She could smell the hint of her lilac perfume.
Miss Ashton craned her neck to watch the door and then back to Catherine. “Be careful of the woods. Thornwood isn’t like other villages. Strange things happen, things beyond belief.”
Catherine’s heart thundered in her chest. She thought of the ghost, the peculiar gardener, the doorway in the forest. The song which had lured her closer. It couldn’t be real. She refused to believe it. The visions were getting worse; perhaps she was imagining this conversation as well.
“Really, Lydia, how could you be so clumsy,” Mrs. Rosewood chided as she entered the parlor.
“This is why you need help,” Lydia returned.
They were getting closer. “There isn’t much time. I can’t talk about it in front of others. They don’t believe me. But tomorrow morning, meet me on the lane. There are things you must know about.”
“I’m not an invalid. I can do this much myself,” Mrs. Rosewood said as she entered the room. Her gaze swept over the two of them, and she smiled. “Oh. Isn’t it lovely to see you two getting along? See, Lydia, there’s no hard feelings.”
Lydia huffed. “What could the two of them possibly have to talk about?”
Mrs. Rosewood handed Catherine and Miss Ashton each a cup of tea. Though her hands shook, Catherine lifted her own cup off the saucer and spilled the scalding liquid onto her hand.
Mrs. Rosewood leaped to dab at it with a handkerchief. “Catherine, are you hurt?”
“I’m fine,” she said automatically. Her eyes were drawn once more to Miss Ashton, who shook her head slowly. Her intention clear. Don’t speak. But did that mean Miss Ashton saw them too?
5
Catherine peered through the crack in the grand oak doors. Edward leaned on his elbow. The top buttons of his shirt were undone, and his collar flipped up. He ran a hand through his disheveled hair and frowned at the document on his dark mahogany desk. If she interrupted, would he be angry? Dr. Armstrong hated it when she disturbed his work. But she and Edward were married. She should try and make an effort, shouldn’t she? What if he changed his mind and decided to annul their marriage? They’d yet to consummate it after all... Edward sighed heavily, and Catherine jerked back from the crack in the door. Back pressed against the wall, she exhaled.
Her confidence in Edward had wavered since meeting Miss Ashton. Who was she to compare to a woman of such poise and kindness? Why would Edward choose Catherine over her? Had their families forbade the match? No. That wasn’t possible. Lydia made that much clear, and she doubted Miss Ashton’s family wouldn’t have been thrilled to have a lord for a son-in-law. Did Miss Ashton love another? But if that were true, why had Miss Ashton looked so sad?
When dawn had risen after yet another sleepless night, Catherine had resolved to not meet with her. Pretending the problem didn’t exist was infinitely easier.Besides, she had an inkling of what Miss Ashton wanted to tell her. “Edward had been in love with me, but fate kept us apart; please give him up.” Catherine shook her head. Perhaps not something quite so melodramatic. The alternative was that Miss Ashton had something more to tell her about the forest, about that strange gate and the peculiar things she’d witnessed since she’d arrived here. She wasn’t sure which was worse. That all of that was real, or she had torn apart two people in love to stay out of the madhouse.
A gust of wind blew down the hall, and she shuddered.She glanced along the empty passage. A cluster of anemones drooped in their vase atop the credenza. There was no use disturbing Edward right now.
“Catherine! Now, this is a pleasant surprise,” Edward called.
