The Lady in Yellow: A Victorian Gothic Paranormal Romance

Five

Mrs. Twig sipped her soup while reading a newspaper. She seemed preoccupied. The twins, apparently practicing their disappearing act, were not there.

Veronica appreciated the quiet. It gave her time to reflect, to digest the beauty as well as her, admittedly, unexpected impressions of her first day at Belden House.

The dining room windows looked out on the orchard. The late summer twilight gave the trees a golden cast. Veronica fancied entering that twilight to gather up the apples and pears and nuts and whatever grew on brambles and trellises or fell into the long grass. She imagined putting on her brown cloak and going out into the gloaming to look for the twins, calling out, Jacques! Jacqueline! Where are you? her voice echoing back in the stillness... breezes whirling around her, lifting the hem of her cloak... a flock of birds circling overhead. She imagined unlatching the wicket gate, entering the orchard, floating down a path strewn with fallen red apples, out to the moor to wander under the light of a full, yellow moon.

She was jarred out of this daydream by the hard scrape of Mrs. Twig pushing her chair back.

"Miss Everly, take tomorrow off. I must bring the children out to the village. It will give you a chance to get acquainted with the house without us ordering you around. Pull your room together, relax, whatever. Classes can begin on Wednesday."

"Why, thank you, Mrs. Twig!" Veronica lit up. She wasn't used to having her needs considered.

Mrs. Twig tucked her paper under her arm as if to hide the headline from view.

"Good evening," she said.

"Good evening, Mrs. Twig." Veronica caught Mrs. Twig's glance. "The twins have missed supper."

"They disappear sometimes. There is no reason to be alarmed. They will turn up. I always save plates for them."

***

On her way to her room, Veronica looked in on the twins. She found them on the floor of Jacqueline's room, a ring of china dolls laid out around them like spokes in a wheel. Candles in deep blue glass flickered among the dolls, creating a funereal atmosphere. One of the twins was writing in a black book with a quill, and the other seemed to be examining a doll and murmuring to the writer.

In their white dressing gowns, it was impossible to tell them apart.

Veronica sauntered in. "Do you want a bed time story?"

They looked up, startled, and leaped to their feet.

"Yes, Miss Everly," they both shouted.

"Come on, then. Blow the candles out. There's a fire in my room."

Candles snuffed, dolls lying in the dark, the twins followed Veronica to her room.

She had them sit on the divan by the hearth while she took her place in the throne-like chair. A large, blue book of fairy tales lay on the table beside her.

"Sometimes, we swap rooms," said Jacques. He was wearing a long white nightshirt under his dressing gown.

"Just like we swap clothes," said Jacqueline in her long white nightgown.

"Then how can anyone tell you apart?" Veronica asked.

"They can't!" They both fell over with laughter.

"Well, as long as you're both here. There are two of you. Of that I am sure."

Veronica realized she should not allow Mr. Crowe's suggestion of a mad child to influence her perception of the twins. They seemed perfectly normal. They weren't mad, or feral. Mr. Crowe was just being silly. Being twins, they'd created their own special world. Unusual they might be, but also funny, gentle, and clearly intelligent.