The Lady in Yellow: A Victorian Gothic Paranormal Romance

Three

When the train, wheezing its last blast of smoke, finally screeched to a standstill, it was dawn. Stepping out onto the cold, abandoned platform, dragging her two bags through the cold, abandoned station, Veronica was grateful to find a large black carriage with a matching team of four horses, and the red and gold de Grimston crest emblazoned on the door, waiting for her. A tall, silent driver in a black frock coat and stovepipe hat jumped down, helped stow her bags on the roof, and, with a curt nod, held the door open and handed her into the carriage. It was plush inside: fine leather, red velvet curtains and windows large enough to enable one to enjoy the view.

What an astonishing situation! Who would have dreamed she would ever experience such luxury? Veronica sank into the soft cushions and gave herself up to comfort.

The drive seemed to go on forever across the open moors, their heathery vastness sometimes broken by misshapen hillocks, solitary rock formations and low boundary walls. They entered a wood with a leafy canopy so dense that only scattered sparks of sunlight broke through the overhanging limbs to light the road before them. Still, the horses trotted on, emerging at last into broad daylight on the grounds of a manicured estate.

Black iron gates opened to a drive leading down to a broad forecourt with a fountain in the midst. As the horses slowed to a walk, Veronica gazed out the carriage windows, unable to believe that this was to be her new home.

Belden House was beautiful. Built of quarried yellow stones, its flawless proportions graced the center of a wide lawn, its chimney pots, gables and crenellations set off against a background of hills and tapering evergreens. Sunlight glinted off the many diamond-paned windows so that the entire length of the façade sparkled. The only flaw in the house's perfect symmetry was a tower looming at the back like an unwelcome visitor from the Dark Ages.

As the carriage pulled up to the front door, a shout rang out. Soon, a maid in a black dress and white apron came out to the porch, accompanied by two working boys, and a tall, slender, auburn-haired lady in widow's weeds whose face visibly brightened at the sight of Veronica.

"Good day." She came down the steps and grasped Veronica's hands. "I'm the housekeeper, Mrs. Twig. We shall see quite a lot of each other."

"Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Twig," Veronica said. "I'm Veronica Everly. My, this is a beautiful house."

"Yes. The newest bits are Georgian. The tower at the back is tenth century."

"Oh my. That's very old, isn't it?"

"Yes. The de Grimstons are a very old family, going all the way to Roman times in these islands."

"That's quite impressive," Veronica said. Of course her family went all the way back as well, just not as impressively.

"This," Mrs. Twig introduced the maid, "is our maid, Janet."

Janet bobbed a curtsey. She wasn't much older than Veronica. Her hair, pulled straight back from her round, pretty face, was dark brown. Her smile was sweet, her eyes hazel. She blinked a lot as if she were afraid to look directly at people.

"And here we have our groom and steward, Mr. Croft."

Mr. Croft jumped down from the driver's box of the carriage and came around to stand beside Mrs. Twig. On closer inspection, he proved to be a strong, square-built man, his pale face darkened by a smudge of black beard that looked impossible to shave off.

"At your service, Miss." He doffed his well-worn stovepipe hat.

"Pleased to meet you," Veronica said, with a little nod. "Again."