The Lady in Yellow: A Victorian Gothic Paranormal Romance

Forty-Two

She was on the roof of the tower feeding the doves the day two black horses pulled into the snow-glazed forecourt, drawing a hearse.

Veronica's breath left her body. No. It couldn't be. She'd have known if something bad had happened to Rafe. She would have felt it in her heart.

Tears started in her eyes. Had there been an accident?

Mrs. Twig ran screaming out of the house. In her haste, she stumbled and slipped on the ice, landing on her hands and knees. "Mr. Rafe! Mr. Rafe!" she cried, reaching for the hearse.

Eyes wide with alarm, Janet came running out after Mrs. Twig. She quickly pulled the distraught housekeeper to her feet, then dashed toward the rear doors of the carriage where two men waited for the driver who was jumping down with the keys. Veronica could just make out, through the long, etched window in the side of the hearse, the shape of a closed coffin.

"Oh, please, God, don't let it be Rafe."

She should go down and find out who it was, but after weeks of poor appetite, and now this shock, she could only lean weakly against the battlements and watch the scene around the hearse unfold. The doors at the back of the carriage swung open. Mr. Croft, in his stovepipe hat, strode over to help the two men grapple with the contents.

Reflecting the sunlight from a coating of pure, bright silver, the coffin slid out into the sunshine. After what sounded like a heated conversation with Mr. Croft, the workmen lifted the bright casket onto their shoulders and marched down the lawn toward the tomb in the woods.

A sob caught in Veronica's throat. She sank down on the bench. Her mind began to spin, her stomach turned. Breathing heavily, she lowered her head to her knees to stop herself fainting.

There were noises below, in the garden. She lifted her head to look between the crenellations, but hadn't the strength to lift it high enough to see.

"Where is Miss Everly?"

Rafe's voice boomed up from below the stairs.

What?

"Miss Everly? Where are you?"

It was as if life returned to her.

"Here! Here I am," she called too softly to be heard.

Wiping her face with the back of her hands, Veronica felt joy bursting from every pore. She stared at the top of the tower stairs as if Rafe were about to appear, before she realized that he didn't know where she was. She got slowly to her feet, braced her hand against the wall, and saw another silver coffin being carried into the trees. Had there been two deaths?

Smoothing her hair, her skirts, hoping her eyes weren't puffed and her nose red, Veronica hurried downstairs as fast as she could go. Rafe was home. He'd called for her. That was unexpected, and remarkable. Had he missed her? Of course not. But...

As if she'd heard her coming, Janet was at the bottom of the steps waiting to hand Veronica a warm, damp handkerchief to wipe her face. It was soothing, refreshing and so thoughtful.

"Thank you Janet. But how did you know I needed it?"

"I'm not blind," Janet said with a glint in her eye.

With that, she ushered Veronica into the drawing room.

He was there, waiting beside the fire, exquisitely dressed in a black frock coat and a white cravat, cufflinks flashing at his wrists. Handsome in his dark masculinity, Rafe looked her up and down, impatience dancing in his blue eyes.