The Lady in Yellow: A Victorian Gothic Paranormal Romance

Nineteen

Mrs. Twig was waiting by the fire, her red hair set off by the glow of the flames, and a gown of black, jet-beaded silk. A fine cameo at the neck gave her a distinguished air. The housekeeper's eyes seemed to register surprise at Veronica's attire, yet she said nothing, not even a word about the pearls.

"You look lovely, Mrs. Twig," Veronica said.

"Why, thank you," Mrs. Twig said.

Veronica hadn't been fishing for compliments, but the housekeeper's lack of comment on her appearance was worrying. Veronica wondered is her gown was inappropriate, too theatrical in the conservative housekeeper's eyes. She couldn't help wondering what Lady Sovay would have worn on such an occasion. As an acknowledged beauty, it seemed she would have worn something far more lavish and revealing than this. But, Mrs. Twig was always secretive and taciturn. Veronica should be used to that by now. She lifted her chin and smiled.

With the flick of an eyebrow, Mrs. Twig summoned Veronica to follow her. They headed toward the center of the house, passing through two small, unused rooms hung with tapestries and a once fashionable ladies' boudoir, before arriving through a side door into the Grand Hall.

Hours of hard work cleaning and decorating brought out the room's innate magnificence. The beamed ceilings, the frescoed walls, the white mantel of the fireplace gleamed. Uncovered and washed, the tall windows framed a garden park where a little brook meandered between lush grassy banks, and trees flashed their autumn leaves against the deep green of the yews. The long table shimmered with points of light flickering from silver candle branches set between vases of lilies and overblown gallic roses.

Mrs. Twig indicated Veronica's chair as second down from the head of the table, then turned to leave. Veronica felt a brief stab of confusion. She couldn't be expected to dine with Rafe and the twins alone.

"You're not going, are you, Mrs. Twig?" she asked.

"Excuse me, Miss Everly?"

"Aren't you going to dine with us?"

"Of course, Miss Everly. I'm just going to see how things are moving along in the kitchen. Mr. Rafe should be here with the twins at any moment. Just relax. It's a lovely room, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is."

"It's so refreshing to see that view out the windows. Lovely." With that, Mrs. Twig crossed the hall and vanished out the door.

Veronica glanced around. It felt odd being left alone in the great, quiet hall. Mrs. Twig's silence was hard to take. Was the dress wrong? She dreaded seeming uncouth. She wanted to create an impression of competence and strength, to assure Rafe de Grimston that he could rely on her good judgment.

Thinking that they were all meant to sit down together, she stood waiting by her chair. Unlike the hard wooden benches at Saint Mary's dining hall, this chair was upholstered with cut velvet, the wood trim, gilded. A large silver dish filled with marzipan in the shapes of fruits and flowers, and of all things, snakes, had been laid before her place like a confectionary Garden of Temptation. Gleaming in the soft light of the candles were settings of fine china and ornately handled silverware and drinking glasses of crystal stamped with gold. The great brilliant fire was crackling, over-warming the room and throwing amber shadows over the walls. Veronica was awed at the comfort, beauty and perfection that wealth could provide.

An eruption of laughter heralded the arrival of the twins. They burst into the hall followed by their father and the smiling Mrs. Twig.

"As you can see, Mr. Rafe, Miss Everly is already here," said Mrs. Twig.