The Lady in Yellow: A Victorian Gothic Paranormal Romance

Fifty-Six

A hare shot out of the woods and began swiftly zigzagging up the lawn toward the ruined chapel. The entire birch grove seemed to snarl as a white wolf shot out of the trees, chasing the hare.

Veronica clutched the balustrade of her balcony, hoping to spot the twins. The hare leapt into the air, attempting to escape over the hedge, but the wolf clawed it back and pulled it to the ground.

Veronica held her breath and forced her eyes not to blink as Jacques stood up and, with the dead hare lying across both hands, stepped toward the house as if presenting a gift.

Veronica was surprised at how angry she was. She was tired of these endless assaults on reason, on reality, tired of all the evil.

She threw on her winter cloak. Inside the fur lining was a pocket deep enough to hold the pistol. Slipping the weapon in, she allowed her hand to linger on the ivory handle as if she could absorb its power into herself by touch. Then she dashed down the stairs, and ran out into the yard.

It was windy. The moon was coming up between the horns of the cypress trees amid waves of rolling clouds. The stars began winking out, cold and sharp. Veronica pulled up her hood, but the wind blew it down again, swirling her cloak up around her as if to carry her off.

The bell was tolling, muffled and somber, turning the world askew.

There was a shimmer of misty light around the wishing well, two children standing among the lilies. Their faces, under the brims of their birch bark hats, glowed whitely, and standing next to the one Veronica now knew to be Sylvie, was Jacques. In his arms was a sheaf of white lilies, and in his hand, a china doll.

The children sang in high, faraway voices, a strange wordless tune that sounded like the wind whistling over the low hills. The air shimmered with vision, and in her mind's eye Veronica saw the china dolls in the well looking up through the water, their tiny eyes bright with living sparks. They opened their tiny mouths, and in high, sharp, quavering voices, screamed.

Veronica covered her eyes as if she could block her inner sight. She wasn't just disturbed, but freezing, as if the hand of death had gripped her. When she uncovered her eyes, the children wearing the birch bark hats were fading into the night.

She hurried to the shelter of the woods. The wind died down among the trees and, through a screen of bare branches, Veronica watched a misty light move up the lawn toward the ruined chapel. Two children had multiplied to many, their shadowy shapes sparked with the petals of white lilies. In the archway of the chapel stirred a misty, glowing light. The children entered that light and vanished.

Veronica slipped into the birch grove and ran up the pathway at the edge of the trees, slowing down when she saw the walls of the chapel. The archway was filled with mist. From somewhere beyond the yews and the cypresses, came the high, otherworldly keening of a wolf.

Listening intently, she heard a branch snap. Blood pounding in her ears, she sucked in her breath and listened. The sound of a heavy tread fell close by. It was in the woods.

Her scalp tingled; her mouth went dry. Pistol cocked, she turned slowly around to see what was behind her. A flock of crows flew up into bare branches that crossed the moonlit clouds like a cage, and perched amongst them.

It's only birds... a fox running by...

Veronica looked deep into the birches with narrowed eyes. Anything could hide among these white trunks and shadows, these thickets and hollows in the night. She was about to slip out to the lawn when she heard leaves rustling further up the path.

Her heart fluttered so fast she thought it would rise out of her chest into the air with the crows. She stood very still, barely breathing, as the mist in the chapel archway dissolved, and a great bulk of blackness emerged. Its large head swung to and fro, its long nose twitched like a hunter on the scent. Veronica waited for what she knew would come: two red eyes staring straight at her, and the whisper of a growl.

She turned and ran back into the woods. Whip-thin branches slashed at her, tangled her skirts, tripping her, trapping her. She tore out of their grasp, sliding into a muddy brook she hadn't seen. Standing up in her waterlogged skirts, shaking, unable to look away from those two points of red light so ruthlessly trained upon her, she backed into the shelter of the tomb.

The werewolf prowled toward her. Its eyes glowed in the blackness of its face, red as flames through stained glass.

Pulses hammering with panic, yet unable to free herself from the beast's penetrating gaze, Veronica froze.

The wolf lifted its nose and howled. Then, inexplicably, it shuddered and turned away, its blackness sinking into the shadows as if it had never been. From deep in the woods, came a deep, guttural roar. Then, through the bare trees, the red eyes focused on her again.

Veronica ran, dodging tree after tree, straight into a stand of juniper. Cornered, she backed into the narrow limbs of the vast, prickly shrub, shut her eyes, and struggled for breath. The juniper needles pierced the back of her neck, tangled her hair. Cold sweat poured down her sides; she shivered so hard she had to hold tight on the gun to keep from crumbling to her knees.

Footsteps crackled the leaves.

Help me, God! She raised the pistol.

The werewolf was before her, staring through its own blackness. The eyes were blue now. It was Rafe.

"No, no," she turned into the juniper tree, holding the gun across her chest.

A wave of hot breath poured down the back of her neck. She braced herself. A strong arm covered in rough black fur, its scimitar claws retracting, wrapped around her waist and squeezed her hard. Warm breath dampened her ear.

The voice was raw, but it was Rafe's. "Shoot me, by God! Turn around and use that gun on me!"

Veronica screamed and jerked around, tears blinding her to horror before her. She shook her head. "I can't!"

The creature was enormous. His eyes smoldered.

"Then return to the house and don't look back."

Tearing her cloak out of the juniper needles, Veronica plummeted through the darkness. Slippery leaves, dead branches, phantom trees and stones seemed to jump into her path as if to stop her reaching the yard. But, in no time, she saw, shining between the trees, the fire-lit windows of Belden House.

She didn't stop running until she hit the long shadow of the tower. There were the ivy-clogged windows, the one with the broken bars gaping. Cries wafted out from high up in the house, high, thin, childlike wails. Calls for Mamma and for Jacques.

Veronica raised her pistol and spun around to face the woods. Moving through the birches was the wolf. Huge, and blacker than the night, its powerful shoulder muscles rippling, its long snout quivering with scent, red eyes aimed right at her, the beast hunkered forward.

A sharp sword-like thrust stabbed at her heart.

"Don't make me shoot you. Don't! If you do, I shall turn the gun on myself."

A howl wheezed out from the top of the tower. A choir of howls went up from the fields and hedges and woods, filling the sky.

Veronica looked again for the black wolf. No longer stalking her, it crouched near the wishing well and stared.

A voice erupted in her head. Get into the house, now!