As if a child were standing before the fogged glass and using it as a chalkboard, letters appeared, illuminated from behind by the lanterns on the veranda.
B, B, be, beeea, B
The candles were blown out by a sudden whoosh of cold air, plunging the room into darkness. Polly wailed and Sarah pulled her close to comfort her. Eliza’s eyes strained to adjust to the light, her pulse rushing in her ears.
“Who is B?” she asked, projecting her voice over Polly’s fervent praying. “Are youBfor Beatrice? What happened to you? Who killed you? Did someone shoot you?”
The answer didn’t come from the spirit board or the window. Instead, it was a sibilant whisper in her left ear, coaxing every hair on the back of her neck to stand on end.
“Leave us or die.”
CHAPTER 35
Eliza was no longer sleeping. Instead of retiring to her chambers in the evenings, she remained on the chesterfield in the library until she heard Shirley’s door open at five in the morning, her eyes bared to every flitter of movement. Once the house was bustling with activity, she could finally rest, but her sleep was far from restorative. Her skin had lost its characteristic flush and her fingers trembled from exhaustion. Even her appetite had become abysmal—the tea tray Shirley brought for her hours earlier, stacked with squares of her favorite shortbread, remained untouched. Every bite of food she took in lately seemed to turn to ash in her mouth.
The séance had stoked even more questions. Who were the spirits they’d spoken to? One seemed to have clearly been old Havenwood. Was the other the mysterious Beatrice? Or someone else?
The sonorous chime of the doorbell interrupted her thoughts. Shortly, Turner appeared in the library, presenting an envelope on a silver tray. Eliza recognized Lydia’s looping, graceful hand right away. Taking note of the address and the fineness of the paper (Lydia’s mother had married well, it would seem), she tore the seal carefully and read.
Dearest Liza,
I have arrived unscathed and in good health. The passage was a bit choppy, although we experienced no delays. Maman Justine met me at the port with her husband, George Fontaine. He’s a railway engineer and very kind. They’ve a lovely home with green shutters in Uptown, near the park. Best of all, I have a brother and sister! Margot is fifteen and a bit spoilt and headstrong, like you. Hugo is twelve and so quiet I hardly know he’s about. I must admit, a piece of my soul has moved back in place. I do miss you, though. Terribly.
How is Sherbourne House? Pray, tell me you’ve gone there, at least while Malcolm is away. I do worry so. Have you heard news from London? The papers are saying the war in Africa isn’t going well, although there is much more sympathy for the Boers’ plight here, as you can imagine. I expect the soldiers will be returning to England soon. I’m going to volunteer at Charity while here, to insure my skills will not founder. I mean to improve in surgical assistance and midwifery, so that upon my return I will be primed to begin my work with Clarence anew—and Iwillreturn after the year turns, I promise you, sister. Have faith! Ask after Clarence for me, would you? And please write soon.
All my love,
Lyddie
Eliza wasted no time in replying. She rushed to her room, took out her finest stationery, and wrote.
Cher Lyddie,
I miss you. A thousand times a day I think of you! Sarah and Polly are fine company, but they could never replaceyour fond governance over me. It seems you are more settled having gone, and that is no small thing. I am happy for you, even if, selfishly, I wish you were here at my side.
I have not heard from Malcolm. Not a single telegram or letter. I am more than a little concerned by this, but Turner says this is not unusual when he is away. I will remain optimistic and try not to worry.
Sherbourne House is in good order under Mr.Mason’s care, although I have not left the manor. Things are as quiet as a church at Havenwood. There has been no activity from the spirits, and I am safe. Please do not be angry with me for staying, sister. It is my duty, as mistress of this house, to remain in my husband’s absence. As he continually reminds me, I am a viscountess now, and must act as such. Please write again ... your letters are sustenance.
I love you,
Liza
Eliza sealed the envelope. Lying to her sister was no easy thing, but it was much more readily done in writing than in person, where Lydia could search out a falsehood in every glance and gesture Eliza made. At least she’d told half the truth.
Eliza bundled up in her fur muffler and cape, then walked the short distance to the post road, where the postal office stood like a stalwart little fortress among a zigzagging maze of telegraph wires. Inside, she was greeted with a blast of warm air, and Nigel sorting mail at the counter. He was wearing a smart new uniform, with a gleaming badge on his breast.
“Good afternoon, Nigel,” Eliza said. “You’ve gotten a promotion, I see.”
“Yes, m’lady. Assistant Branch Postmaster Phelps now, it is. I’m looking to hire a boy to help with deliveries, as I’m needed here in office.I’m fifteen now, you know.” Nigel smiled, sending her thoughts once more to Albert, who would have been about the same age, had he lived.
“Well, Mr.Phelps, congratulations.”
“I see you’ve a letter to send?” he asked. Eliza offered the envelope. Nigel glanced at the address. “To America! I hardly ever get to use that stamp.” He placed it to the side with a stack of mail, then reached into a cubby behind the counter. “You’ve saved me a trip down the road, mum. A wire came through from your husband a few moments ago.”
“Oh, what good news!”Finally. Eliza took the telegram from Nigel and opened it with shaky fingers. To her disappointment, it contained only two lines of text:
Will return Nov 6 (stop) Send Turner to Winchester Station that morning (stop) War is going poorly and I am weary (stop)—Malcolm
