The Lady in Yellow: A Victorian Gothic Paranormal Romance

Twenty-One

Veronica slept deeply, as if she'd been drugged. She fought her stupor many times, swimming to the surface of consciousness with a terrible need for breath, and wheezing awake to bright daylight glaring in the spaces between her partially closed bed curtains. When she could breathe, the air was thick with the medicinal smell of camphor. She drifted between sleep and waking, aware of the distant sounds of shouting, quarreling, doors slamming. It seemed a lot of people were running around upstairs. She wished they'd be quiet and let her sleep.

On a night, that seemed a continuation of all other nights, the stars of Orion shone in through the windows, waking her to delirium. The bed was so hot that her pillows were soaked with sweat. She wanted to get up, to go out into the coolness of the balcony, but she couldn't move. A bell was tolling over the land, the sound muffled as if its bronze hollow were choked with mist. Night winds blew low over the moors, lulling her into dreams of tombs and ruins and ghostly visitants. Mixed with the roar of the wind, were the cries of wolves.

Though vivid, none of these noises were loud enough to free her from the leaden heaviness of sleep. The voices of the twins rose up from the well, singing, but she could not move, could not go to them. She dreamed of white china dolls rising out of the water with lilies in their hands.

Wondering about them, Veronica seemed to have found her way out to the balcony. Down below, the lilies around the hollow of the well rustled. A lady dressed in an ancient yellow gown, a crown of birch twigs on her head, drifted out to the lawn. Like a spirit, she seemed to be lit from within, to waver like a flame...to shine...to shimmer...to grow white. Sorrow bruised the lady's eyes. But when those eyes found Veronica's they glowed red. Her mouth twisted open, showing long, sharp fangs.

Veronica's heart slammed against her ribs.

Mingled with the low moaning of the wind, a voice murmured: Go away...go away...go away...

"I'll not! I'll not!" Veronica felt herself say, but, dreaming, she could not be sure.

The lady in yellow vanished. In her place was a white wolf, its long, hollow cry rising through the night like an oath.

***

Veronica lay in the violet darkness of her curtained bed in the throes of fever, her mind swimming, unsure if the things she heard and saw were real, or fever-induced hallucinations.

***

The crackle of flames woke her in panic. Through the gap in the curtains at the foot of her bed, Veronica beheld streams of reflected firelight flashing over the walls. The red curtains around her bed seemed to be blazing, bright as blood.

Fire!

Too weak to scream, she clawed madly at the bed curtains until she was free. Seized by dizziness, she collapsed onto the floor.

The last thing Veronica saw before she fainted was Rafe and the twins sitting on her divan in the glow of a high, dancing fire, a large book splayed open across their laps.

"Miss Everly! Miss Everly!"

The twins were instantly at her side, petting her, waiting for their father to squeeze in between them. Leaning over, Rafe looked into her face with such tenderness, she burst into tears.

"Come on. You've been asleep for days. You're as weak as a kitten."

His strong hands slid under her shoulders and knees, easily lifting her from the floor. In a moment he placed her back into bed, smoothing the coverlet up over her shoulders.

"I thought the bed was burning," she mumbled, her voice scratchy with dehydration.

"As you can see, it hasn't burned at all," Rafe said, tucking her in. "The red curtains must have caught the glare from the fireplace causing you to imagine that they were in flames."