The Lady in Yellow: A Victorian Gothic Paranormal Romance

Fifty-Nine

In her dream, Rafe was chasing her through the forest. He was human; she was human. Then they both turned into beasts.

A blast of hot steam wafting over her face woke her. She was in the drawing room, curled up in the wing chair.

"Here Miss Everly. A nice cup of tea will revive you. We're a sorry sight in this house, we are. Such a sorry sight."

Veronica had no memory of walking over the fields back to Belden House, no idea where she'd found the strength to carry a dead eight-year-old boy all that distance. She took the tea, sipped it. Her mouth was so dry. It took a few swallows before she was able to speak.

"Thank you, Janet."

Janet nodded and dropped down on the footstool.

"Poor Jacques," Veronica said. "How is Jacqueline? All this time she said they were fighting."

"She's in her room. I've had to lock her in. Such a fit she threw! I was afraid she'd hurt herself. But... Miss Everly. One more thing."

"No."

"Mrs. Twig wants to speak with you."

The horror of the night before swept through Veronica's mind. "Is she all right?"

Janet bit her lip and looked away.

"Oh no. And Jacqueline? Is she really in her room?"

"Yes. Come on. You must hurry."

It was painful to rise from the chair. But, pushing her tangled hair out of her face, Veronica forced herself to her feet and followed the maid up to the housekeeper's rooms.

Only one candle burned in the dark. The smell was overpowering and made more awful by an overlay of camphor. The bed was against the far wall, swathed in purple curtains that billowed in the dark like clouds of smoke.

Mrs. Twig lay in her large bed, breathing heavily. Her neck and head were bandaged, and the hands on the coverlet were thick with bunting. She opened her eyes and looked at Veronica. Her face twisted into a smile.

Veronica sat on the chair beside the bed.

"Mrs. Twig, I saw you go into the tower last night. I am amazed at your courage. But now..."

The housekeeper's voice was a hoarse whisper. Veronica had to lean close to hear her.

"I shall die of this wound. But I shall come back. As one of them...."

Veronica swallowed hard and thought of the task Rafe had given her. The task she didn't want.

"I am not sure what Mr. Rafe told you.... Sovay... was a skin turner from the start. I knew it long before Mr. Rafe did. Every month, another death... She used to sneak back in at dawn to wash the blood off. I could see her from the kitchen window, for I was up preparing breakfast at that hour... She came into the kitchen... swore me to secrecy. I had to obey or she'd kill me. Like this." Tears sprang up in Mrs. Twig's eyes.

Veronica, understanding all, filled in the blanks to spare Mrs. Twig the effort. "Mr. Rafe told me he saw wolves come into the yard. That he had to shoot one in self-defense. But it wasn't a wolf at all. It was Lady Sovay."

Mrs. Twig gasped for breath. "Yes... But he shot her with only an ordinary bullet. Not silver. So she comes back. She also bit him. I tended his wound. We had to cover up her death.... For the sake of the children. Held the funeral at home. Placed her in that tomb... with Sylvie...."

"Had Mr. Rafe known about Sylvie?"

"No. He was in India when that happened. I took care of her... Saw to her burial. Told Mr. Rafe... it was an accident." Mrs. Twig stopped to lick her parched lips. "After Sovay was buried, I insisted Mr. Rafe go to France. Get away from here until the dust settled. Sovay was well known... in Society... would be missed. No one would believe she was what she was... so I let them think she'd returned to France... with him."

Veronica took up the thread. "But he started having nightmares there, in France. He told me. A lady in yellow calling to him, leading him on. He dreamed he was one of them. A wolf man," Veronica whispered. She continued, faltering. "After he told me, I thought he was delusional with guilt over killing his wife. Even if it was in self-defense."

"Now you know."

"Yes."

"He is one of them. As I will be."

The housekeeper labored to breathe. She raised a hand as if to clutch Veronica's arm, but it fell back weakly.

"Why do they kill? Why? Mrs. Twig?"

"For Satan, my dear. They vow... to wreak destruction... and bring souls... to him."

Veronica crossed herself. "Jesu Christe."

She wanted to tell Mrs. Twig about finding Jacques where Jacqueline had hidden him a month ago, and to ask why the housekeeper had covered up the fact that one of the twins had been missing all this time. But Mrs. Twig was losing consciousness.

And the farmwoman killed last night... had Rafe been involved? Sick with despair, all Veronica had left to her was weeping.

The housekeeper's voice rasped from the bed.

"Miss Everly. He never loved Sovay. Not like he loves you."

Her heart fluttering like wind-tossed leaves, Veronica stood up and paced away.

"Me?" she said, breathlessly. She ran her hands over her arms as if she were cold. What good was it anyway? Love with Rafe was impossible.

Mrs. Twig continued talking, her voice weak with fever. "Sovay never forgave him for denying her that love. And leaving her in her doom." Mrs. Twig's eyes suddenly flew open and blazed at Veronica. "She won't forgive you, either."

Veronica looked wildly for Janet. The maid lunged out of the shadows toward the bed.

Mrs. Twig exhaled loudly, shouted for God, and died.

*