The Lady in Yellow: A Victorian Gothic Paranormal Romance

Twenty-Three

October came in quietly. Veronica ended her days with long solitary walks over the grounds. The autumn colors burned more brightly at twilight. Stunned by their beauty, she often stopped to pick up downed chestnuts, overblown rose petals, or the reddest of fallen leaves. Her heart was on fire, and she could do nothing to control it except to avoid chance encounters with Rafe de Grimston. When she saw him watching her from a downstairs window, her face flushed hotter still. If he disliked her so, then why did he look at her like that? His gaze was intense, yet soft, his mouth slightly smiling as if he admired her. She sensed he wanted to draw close, but if she moved to approach him, he instantly walked away, crushing her one more time.

It was hard to believe that his caring for her during her illness meant nothing to him, that his presence in her room, her vulnerability, the intimacy of their exchanges had meant nothing; that she was nothing.

It was so obvious now. She had to laugh at herself. The grieving widower, Rafe, missing his beautiful wife, had temporarily transferred his affections to Veronica. Once she was better, he'd pulled away, blaming her yellow dress. Now, because she was young and inexperienced and subordinate to him, he was enjoying a game of cat and mouse at her expense.

Dashing her tears away, she picked up a fallen birch branch and, as she walked along, switched it over the ground so hard it whistled.

"Never, never, never, never," she muttered.

She would never make a fool of herself again, never give Rafe the chance to rebuff her again, and dash her feelings like cinders from the hearth.

And he was so inconsistent! Riding into the forecourt on his black charger, trotting right up to her, drinking her in with his soulful blue eyes, then coldly passing by, reminding her, dreadfully, that she was nothing more than a paid nobody in his employ. A staffer!

Of course, despite all evidence to the contrary, that horseman on the moor could not have been he. No. Rafe had been in France. So the story went.

It was truly horrible that he was becoming the center around which her consciousness revolved. When she wasn't in the classroom with the twins, she looked for him. Standing on her balcony, she caught herself scanning the grounds for him. Planning her classes, she'd lapse into listening for his voice. What should she do? This emotional fixation was the last thing she wanted. Her duty was to the twins.

She looked up at the moon and knew in her bones that Rafe was on the roof of the tower with his telescope aimed at the sky. It was the same feeling she had when she'd sensed he was in his study under the stairs with the door closed. Passing that way, she'd see the splinter of light along the threshold that told her it was true. What was he doing in there, locked away? Grieving for his wife? Lady Sovay, the beautiful and wealthy? Mad as she seemed, Sovay was special.

Going by the dates on her tomb, Veronica realized it was two and a half years since Sovay's passing. Not that long ago, yet it was surely long enough for a strong man like Rafe de Grimston to be over the worst stages of grief. Sadly, it seemed as if Sovay utterly possessed his heart, and had taken it with her to the grave.

Veronica threw the stick into the woods. Birds flew up from the bushes. Her eyes caught a flash of yellow in the trees above the wishing well, the brief impression of a face looking at her through the leaves.

It could have been a trick of the light, but Veronica's scalp bristled. She walked firmly toward the house without looking back, and locked the French doors behind her.

***

For the next few days, Veronica taught classes in a kind of grey depression, reading aloud from her main textbook, directing the twins to repeat their Latin declensions like automatons. The sadness in their eyes betrayed how her dilemma, her fraught self-absorption, was weighing on their spirits. What was she doing to them? She must snap out of it.

"Jack, let's go on an outing again. It was so much fun the last time. We should have an adventure before winter comes. I can only imagine how the winds must sweep across the open moors come late November."

"Oh, yes, terrible, horrible winds that howl like wolves and fill the eaves with glass daggers," said Jacques.

Veronica smiled. She was getting used to the twins' frightful analogies, their gallows humor. "Where shall we go?"

"Saint Lupine's?" Jacqueline asked.

Veronica shook her head. "No. Where else?"

"The village," said Jacques. "You haven't been to the shops, have you?"

"Now that's a splendid idea," Veronica said. "Let's go to the village and distract ourselves with buying presents."

"It's almost All Hallows-een," Jacqueline said. "We must make food for the dead."

"All Hallows Eve? Do you celebrate that?" Veronica wasn't sure she wanted to encourage pagan holidays.

"All Saints' Day," Jacques went on. "We light candles for the souls of our ancestors to guide them to Heaven, and give them food so they'll think well of us and pray for us when they get there." He cast a pointed look at Jacqueline who nodded in agreement.

"Well, I suppose there's no harm in that," Veronica said. "Let's go tomorrow morning. I would like some fabric for a new dress. Perhaps some cakes to bring home. And something for Mrs. Twig and Janet."

"And Papa!"

"Of course, though I have no idea what he would want." The very idea of buying Rafe a gift took Veronica's breath away. Better the children took charge of that.

***

The sun came up burning through a thick white fog, infusing the atmosphere with golden luminescence.

"How shall we see where we're going, Miss Everly?" Jacques asked as Veronica helped him on with his coat. "You can't even see the trees in this fog."

"It will burn off, and the day will be quite fine," Veronica said, pulling on her gloves.

"But it can be awfully misty out on the moors," said Jacqueline, giving Veronica a meaningful look. "And darkness will fall very soon."

"It won't take us that long to go to and from the village, will it?"

"It depends," said Jacqueline.

"Miss Everly won't get lost again," said Jacques. "She's with us now."

Veronica laughed. "All the more reason to hurry." She adjusted Jacqueline's bonnet. "Now all we need are three large baskets to carry our bounty home, and we'll be on our way."