The Lady in Yellow: A Victorian Gothic Paranormal Romance

Seventeen

They'd barely stepped in the door when Mrs. Twig hurried to meet Veronica, her eyes bright with excitement.

"Miss Everly, Mr. Rafe insists you attend his homecoming celebration in the Grand Hall. So put on your finest gown. I'll have Janet lace you in."

Her finest gown?

The idea of her having a gown at all struck Veronica as terribly amusing, but she didn't let on. It was too wonderful to be invited to a special occasion held in the grand style. Being included in a family celebration was a rare honor for the average governess. Veronica was thrilled.

"Why, thank you, Mrs. Twig. And thank Mr. Rafe for inviting me. It's so unexpected."

Slightly breathless from her long walk in the fresh air, Veronica took off her bonnet, unloosing streams of long chestnut tendrils.

"The fresh air does you good. Miss Everly. You're absolutely glowing. There's nothing like nature to bring one back to life. Though this house is lovely, it can become oppressive. So many large, unused rooms, the creaking of the foundations, children tiptoeing about at night, their voices echoing and laughing, can make the old house seem the habitation of ghosts. You should take a long walk every day to revive your spirits."

"I think I shall. It's good for the children as well."

"I'm sure you've discovered how close the village is."

"We didn't get that far. The twins led me to a strange little church in the forest."

Veronica hoped the housekeeper would elaborate on the subject, but something behind Mrs. Twig's eyes seemed to shut like a window blind.

"If it's a church you're looking for, there's one in the village. Church of England, I believe. Perhaps it's close enough."

Veronica laughed uneasily. Since visiting Saint Lupine's, the nuns' old warning against entering an unconsecrated church took on a new coloration. Surely the housekeeper knew the truth behind the twins' strange story of their mother bringing lightning down upon the steeple, and of murals magically appearing on the walls. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask, but Mrs. Twig's expression silenced her.

Smiling her acquiescence, Veronica changed the subject.

"How long do I have to get ready? I mean, what time is it now?"

"The clock has just chimed three times, Miss Everly. Didn't you hear it? You have plenty of time." Mrs. Twig turned to the twins. "Why Jack, you look like a pair of chimney sweepers. Come along for a wash. Now, they may need every minute between now and dinner to be made presentable. You on the other hand, Miss Everly, have time for a nap."

Veronica looked the twins over. They were quite grubby, their white clothes smudged with dirt and grass stains. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Twig. They were playing in the woods. Having such a wonderful time. Climbing the trees and such. I should have made them be more careful."

"We're starving!" they whined to Mrs. Twig.

"Well, luncheon is all ready, Jack. Into the kitchen with you. Then the bath." Mrs. Twig patted the twins toward the kitchen, then turned to Veronica. "I'll have Janet send a tray up to your room, Miss Everly. I'm sure you're ready for your tea."

"Oh, yes. Thank you. When is dinner?"

"At seven."

Vexation about her strange outing to Saint Lupine's gave way to excitement about the banquet. Veronica hurried through the vestibule toward the stairs. Halfway across the room, she slowed her walk. The warm light of an oil lamp was glowing through the partly open door of what looked like a small study tucked under the rise of the staircase. The rear wall was covered with books, and the lamp, sitting on a large, gleaming desk, shed its aura upon the figure of a man sitting very still with his elbows on the blotter, his head in his hands. His shoulders heaved and he sighed as if there were no light left in the world. Then, looking up, he gazed into space as if he'd seen a horror. Covering his face with his hands, he seemed to pray.

Unsure of whether to speak to him, and perhaps offer comfort, or pretend she hadn't seen him in his misery and move on, Veronica went still as stone. To spare the man's dignity, she mentally chose the latter course, but found it difficult to move away. He seemed so helpless and alone. She had no business witnessing him in this state, but she knew the agony of grief, and everything in her wanted to reach out to help. But how would Rafe de Grimston feel, knowing that she, a mere governess, had seen him so low?

The fear that he would look up and see her watching finally unglued Veronica from the spot. With a last worried glance, she tore away and fled up the stairs to her room.