Marlene spent most of the afternoon with Lady Erica. It turned out that once the initial curiosity was sated, they were able to converse quite comfortably on a mutual level. Although Marlene was nothing more than a glorified servant, Lady Erica didn’t turn up her nose or act as though she was superior. In truth, she seemed as though she genuinely enjoyed the company. Later, when the lady had chosen to return, she’d done so with the assistance of an ivory headed cane carved into the shape of a daisy.
“Your cane is lovely,” Marlene noted, hoping to continue their easy exchange. “Was it a gift from someone special?”
Her gnarled grip tightened on the stick, and she pinched her lips, suddenly retreating back into the woman Marlene had initially met. “It was,” she murmured. She turned to her with a slight smile. “I’m quite tired. I should like to lie down for a bit.”
Marlene frowned. She noticed the lady’s sudden withdrawal and decided it must have been a painful subject for her. If it had been a present from her late husband, she was likely upset to be reminded of a special time they had shared. “I didn’t mean to cause you any distress, my lady,” she said sincerely. “Would you like me to read to you while you lie down?”
Some of the tension left Marlene’s body as Lady Erica turned to her. “Another time perhaps. I wish for some time alone.”
Marlene inclined her head. “As you wish.” She paused, and then asked, “Do you think that Sir Gothry would mind if I borrowed a book from the library? I often like to read.”
Lady Erica’s gaze was keen and direct as she said, “I should think it would be well enough, so long as you didn’t go to the north wing. Those are my nephew’s private quarters.”
Marlene offered a curtsy. “Thank you, my lady. I will certainly heed your advice and refrain from that part of the manor.”
With a nod, Lady Erica headed up the staircase, her cane thumping lightly with every other step she took.
Once Marlene was assured that Lady Erica had made it safely all the way, she turned and headed for the opposite hallway she had traversed the night before, the one that had led to the master’s study. She thought perhaps this way might lead to the library. An avid reader with a particular fondness for historical literature, she had always found her mind calmed by books, which helped her to rest.
She passed several closed doors on her journey, most of which she didn’t feel comfortable opening. This was only her second day here and she didn’t want to get accused of prying, so she kept to the areas that were open, which proved that there was nothing to hide, nothing incriminating that she might stumble upon by accident. Not that she believed any sort of heinous crime had been committed here. However, Rosedale Heights was a very eclectic house. Most of the furnishings were outdated, at least a century old, and with the tapestries and gilt-edged framed paintings lining the walls, it looked more like a Medieval fortress than a modern, English manor house.
Then again, it wasn’t as if she had been inside many homes outside of her family estate, the one her cousin had inherited. Her father had been a baronet, not a true title by English standards, but enough where he was considered a gentleman.
Her parents had been gone for a little more than a year now. It had taken six months for her father’s heir to be notified of his inheritance, and then another three months for them to arrive from the American Colonies. It wasn’t long after her birthday when she had been informed that she would have to find somewhere else to call home.
Marlene shook her head. She refused to revisit those dark days. Nothing would be gained by opening the same old wounds. This was her lot in life, and she would have to adapt to it.
She was so involved in her thoughts that she nearly passed a spacious, open gallery. Intrigued, she walked inside where the walls were lined with several large portraits portraying subjects garbed in various fashions throughout the years. As she entered, her footsteps echoed on the marble. She carefully inspected each ancestor she passed, wondering about their history and their life in this house. She tried to find the similarities in her host to the ghosts of the past and found that there were many men painted with the same direct, blue gaze and midnight hair. Most of them were portrayed as proud and upstanding gentlemen. In turn, the women carried a slightly smug smile as they posed in their finery.
It was quite fascinating.
Until she passed one gilt edged frame and paused.
Gooseflesh broke out on her arms as a cool breeze abruptly drifted across her, like a gentle warning. About what, she had no idea, but it did cause her to glance curiously at the painting in question. It was a dark-haired woman who seemed to follow her with her hazel eyes. Her lips were forever frozen in time in a permanent sneer, but Marlene was sure that the woman’s focus shifted with her every movement.
Entranced, Marlene reached out toward the portrait with a trembling hand—
“Miss St. Clair.”
She spun at the sound of the authoritative voice of the housekeeper.
“Lady Erica wishes to take tea.”
“Of course.” Marlene took that as a summons to attend to the lady, and perhaps to also leave the room. With one last, curious glance at the portrait, she hastened down the hall, feeling the stern glare of Mrs. Bates until she turned a corner and separated herself from the woman’s view.
After she’d returned to Lady Erica’s room, she wondered if the older woman would still be a bit standoffish after the tense way they had parted, but to Marlene’s delight, they passed a rather lovely evening together. Marlene even joined her for supper, each taking a tray in Lady Erica’s private sitting room.
When she decided it was time for bed, Marlene parted ways with her and softly shut her door. The chime of a case clock somewhere in the house proclaimed the hour. Since it was nearly eight the last time she’d checked, she wasn’t yet ready for bed. Living most of her life on the outskirts of London, she generally kept town hours. She knew she would soon need to adapt if she wished to keep her position here, but her mind was swirling with the odd portrait in the main gallery, and she couldn’t possibly sleep until she understood the significance behind that frame. Wouldn’t it be a grand adventure if she discovered a secret passage? Perhaps even one that Sir Gothry himself wasn’t aware of?
In order to explore further, she would need some light. She headed to her chamber, where she found a clock on her mantel, as well as a small lantern by her bed that held a single tallow candle. She took it out and over to the bright fire burning in her room and lit the wick. Then she returned it to the lantern and placed the candle inside. Holding the ring at the top in her grasp, she dared to head down the stairs to the main level.
She didn’t see anyone stirring about, so she retraced her steps to the gallery. When she entered, another disquieting sense trailed up her spine. It was as if the faces lining these walls were aware of her presence—judging her, perhaps even condemning her to some sort of twisted fate.
She exhaled slowly as she walked farther into the room. She likely wouldn’t be so nervous if she hadn’t heard all about Horace Walpole’s The Caste of Otranto countless times from Elizabeth. It was one of her former maid’s favorite books since it had been released. Long before tragedy had struck her family with a curse of its own.
Marlene returned to the first portrait on the wall, a woman who looked as though she knew more than she would ever reveal. Not only was she intriguing, but again, Marlene could feel the cold draft wafting from around the edges of the frame. Glancing about to make sure she was alone, she reached up and pulled on the edge, revealing a dark tunnel beyond.
Instantly, a musty scent surrounded her, along with a strange sensation, as if someone was calling—enticing her to continue on. Her heart was pounding, but she had never been the milk-and-water sort. She stepped up into the passage but left the painting slightly askew. She wasn’t sure what she might find as she traversed this dark hall, and she didn’t want to be stuck inside.
