Reaching for the door, she swiveled out, pulling it closed behind her.
The bracelet sat heavy on her palm, full of unseen energy. What had their mother done, besides leave, that was so awful her own family sought vengeance for it on her offspring?
She took a step forward and looked up, sucking in. Arkin loomed in the hallway, all long arms and bright hair, his face an unreadable mask, mouth gaping like a sick animal’s.
“You scared me,” she scolded him, placing a hand to her chest. Thoughtlessly, she slipped the bracelet onto her wrist, pulling a sleeve down over it.
He took a step toward her, working that pathetic chin up and down.
Cordelia was just about to tell him to stop when Bennett Togers rounded into the hall.
“Ah! There you are,” he said with a jovial smile. “I feared you’d given up on us already and flown away home.”
She did her best to compose herself. “Ah, no. I’ve just been doing a little exploring. Thought I heard something is all.” She started toward the stairs, smiling at him as she neared.
“These old houses, you know,” he said with shining eyes. “They always have a point to make.”
She pressed her lips together and stepped down, letting him walk beside her. “I’m glad you’re here actually,” she told him, glancing back to see the glowering Arkin following them. He seemed in a nasty mood compared with their last meeting, and she wouldn’t have described him asjollythen. “I wanted to ask you a question.”
Bennett met her gaze with curiosity. “I will do my best to answer.”
“This might be outside the extent of your acquaintance with them, but you told us the other day that our family was from England. However, Eustace and I have reason to believe we might be Scandinavian. And our surname, apparently, is French. So, can you clarify? Are we French, or British, or Nordic?”
His face drew long with thought. “I already told you that you come from a very old family line. They arrived in America aftermany generations in England. But it is believed they arrivedthereduring the Norman invasion some six or so centuries before.”
Cordelia paused. “And that would mean?”
“Well, my dear, Normandy is in France,” he replied happily, steering them toward the library as they reached the first-floor landing. “Which might explain the name.”
She worked it back and forth in her mind like scrap wood, lowering herself onto one of the leather sofas. “And the Nordic connection?”
Bennett approached the far wall and kicked a piece of molding under the shelves. It opened like a cabinet door. From inside, he produced a bottle of fine scotch and two crystal tumblers. “This is where they always kept the good stuff,” he said, pouring a bit for each of them. He handed Cordelia her glass. “I can’t attest for theirentirehistory, of course. I am only the attorney, after all. But I believe the Normans were in fact descendants of Viking raiders who settled the region.”
She nodded and took a sip, letting the peat-flavored burn comfort her. She noticed with some distaste that Arkin loitered in the doorway, lowering.
“Now that that’s settled,” Bennett said. “I thought we ought to talk. It is my understanding that you have met with some misfortune while staying here.”
Cordelia froze. How did he know about yesterday?
“I am, of course, referring to your ill health,” he said. “Though Dr. Mabee assures me you are quite recovered. Still, I fear you encountered more than you were expecting while visiting our fair town.”
“Oh.” Cordelia relaxed, taking another sip of scotch. “You mean the rumors?”
Bennett looked apologetic. “I had hoped to spare you both this ugly element of your history. It’s hard to dislodge such bittersentiments once they take root in a small-town atmosphere like this one.”
“Please don’t apologize,” Cordelia told him. “It’s not your fault. People can be so cruel.” She set her glass down. “And I’m not sure we would have believed you if you’d told us.”
“I hope you won’t let it color your judgment of us too much,” he told her, moving to look out a front window. “On the whole, the people of Bellwick have been respectful neighbors of your family for generations, if a little superstitious.” He turned to face her. “I’m afraid your aunt found it rather unbearable. We did everything in our power to spare her these colorful little run-ins. You will need to cultivate the oily residue of a well-preened duck if you don’t want to let it sink you.”
Cordelia caught her bottom lip in her teeth. It was apparent their aunt had chosen to keep him in the dark about her inability to leave the estate, using the townspeople’s animosity as her excuse. Unfortunately, the “modified bed rest”—as Dr. Mabee called it—had not been so healing for her as it had been her relatives.
“Oh dear.” Bennett sighed. “I am too late. You’ve already made up your mind about us.”
“No, no.” Cordelia waved off his conclusion. “It’s just been a lot to take in—all this.” She circled a finger around. Her sleeve slipped down her forearm, revealing the heavy band she wore.
Bennett’s eyes locked on the twist of metal. “As I would imagine.”
Cordelia self-consciously pulled her sleeve back over the ugly bracelet. “Just something I found,” she said offhandedly.
