Chapter 8
That night, Victoria settled into her room. She yanked the blankets to her chin and huddled beneath them. The candles by her bedside guttered in the dark, throwing long, twitching shadows across the ceiling.
She told herself she wasn’t afraid of the dark, but Ravenfell had a way of unmaking certainties. Every creak felt like a whisper. Every shadow, a warning. She laid there, staring at the ceiling, trying to make her eyes shut and go to sleep but everything in her told her to stay awake.
With a huff, she pushed away the blankets and sat up, swinging her legs over the side of the bed.
She found her slippers and then rose, dragging her dressing gown off the foot of the bed and wrapping it around her shoulders.
She a distraction to keep her mind occupied while she tried to sleep.
She decided to go to the study and find something to read.
Something dull that would put her right to sleep.
Snagging the candle off the bedside table, she exited her room and paused in the drafty hallway. A shiver went up her spine. It was cold, yes, but not the same chill she felt when she opened the child’s room.
She headed for the stairs when something pulled at her, making her halt. Her gaze flickered to the west wing. The candle flame sputtered as if disturbed by a breath that wasn’t there.
She didn’t know why she turned right instead of left, only that something in her bones urged her to go. That same pull she’d felt earlier.
That wing of the house seemed to be in perpetual darkness with shadows curling and crawling along the floor and walls. Her footsteps, silent on the floor, took her down the hall, past the curved staircase and to the entrance to the west wing. She paused there, peering into the gloom.
Her heart throbbed as she gripped the candlestick tighter. What was she doing? She didn’t need to go in there. She should turn back. Go down to the study and find a book to read.
But instead, she took another step toward the hallway and another and another, until she was standing in front of the door she’d opened earlier that day. Her shaking hand reached for the knob, but she pulled it back, clutching it against her chest.
Victoria turned away.
But as she did, she heard the faint whimper coming from behind the closed door.
She turned back, peered at the door, her heart now pounding a frantic beat. She stepped toward the door, wrapped her hand around the knob and twisted.
The moment the door swung open, the cold air slammed into her and wrapped around her like an icy winter breeze. As she stood in the doorway, she heard the soft sob of a young girl but there was no one in the room.
Even so, she took another step into the shadows, the candle flame flickering but not giving much light.
The room was exactly as it was earlier. Pale coverlet smoothed over the bed, dark drapes suffocating the only window, the armoire looming like a silent sentry in the corner.
The room, though, was colder than before.
Her breath fogged when she breathed out.
The candle flickered violently, the flame nearly extinguished.
She held her breath, her eyes fixed on the flame as it recovered and reignited.
A creak behind her. She spun, but nothing was there. The crying had stopped, but the shadows seemed to move. With her heart in her throat, she turned back intending to flee but something at the window caught her eye.
A glint of light.
From her candle.
She stepped closer, the floor beneath her felt ice cold as though it had not seen sunlight in years.
A mirror stood against the window. It hadn’t been there before. In the glass, she saw herself, ghastly and pale, her white nightdress glowing like burial linen.
And behind her, a child.
Not beside her. Behind.
She turned so violently, she dropped the candle. It thumped against the floor and snuffed out, plunging her in total darkness.
She bent to pick it up. A breath like winter brushed across her cheek.
Then came the whisper, feathering against her skin. “You left me. Where did you go?”
Victoria jerked upright, stumbled backward, and crashed into the armoire with a thump. There was no one there, but she recognized that voice. With it came the weight of memory, bitter and sharp. A girl. A promise. A door shut too soon. Had she forgotten someone?
Another whisper, closer this time. “I waited for you to come back.”
Then, a brush against her hand. A strangled whimper escaped her. She stood frozen, paralyzed by fear.
The cold vanished as quickly as it appeared and she was left standing there, huddled against the armoire, shivering in the dark. A quick glance at the window showed her there was no mirror there at all.
Without retrieving the candle, she fled the room, slamming the door closed.
She ran to her room, her gown fluttering behind her.
When she made it to her room, she closed and locked the door, backing up to the bed until her legs banged against it.
She sank into the mattress, her eyes fixed on the door.
Her gut was coiled in tight knots as she glanced around the room.
Then she saw it. On the bedside table where her candle had been, a crushed lilac.
Victoria slept. She awoke to a knock on her door and a muffled voice calling her name through it. When she finally dragged herself from the depths of sleep, she sat up, yawned and realized the morning light pressed against the window.
“Victoria?” came the call again.
It was her uncle.
She shoved off the blankets and stood, realizing she was still in her dressing gown.
Her slippers were discarded by the bed. When she’d returned to her room after the incident, she’d not bothered to remove her robe and instead climbed into bed, shivering under the covers until she finally managed to sleep.
“Coming,” she called.
A quick look in the mirror of her dressing table revealed her disheveled appearance. Her hair was a mess of tangles. There were dark circles under her eyes. It was difficult not to see the fatigue lining her features.
She tied up her hair quickly and then hurried to the door, opening it a crack to see her uncle, fully dressed with his hat, standing in the hall.
“Still abed?” he asked, one brow raised. “You missed breakfast.”
“What time is it?” Her heart lurched.
“Quarter to ten. You look exhausted.” Concern flickered through his gaze as he looked her over. No doubt noticing she was still in her nightclothes.
She forced a smile. “I’m fine. Just tired. I didn’t sleep well last night.”
That was an understatement. Even when she did sleep, it was fitful and plagued with nightmares.
“The carriage is leaving to take me back to the city. I was hoping to see you before then.” Disappointment creased his face.
“Give me a moment. I will be down to see you off. I’ll meet you downstairs.”
He nodded as she closed the door with a quick snap.
She peered around the messy room, trying to pull herself together.
Her gown was still discarded on the chair near the wardrobe.
Her shoes left there. She ripped off the robe and hurried to the wardrobe to find something to wear.
As she tugged out a pale yellow gown, she halted, realization pounding through her.
Once her uncle left for the city, she would be alone in this house with Gabriel.
Her breath hitched as she clutched the gown to her chest.
Did she dare remain here with him? With everything that happened last night—which she did not want to think about—she wasn’t sure she could stay. Was she strong enough? Bold enough?
What choice did she have?
Return with her uncle to his brownstone in the city where her meddling aunt was determined to see her married off or…
She swallowed hard.
Or she could stay. Make a life here. For her mother, who had once found peace in these gardens. For the little girl who whispered through the walls. For herself, becoming the independent woman she dreamed of becoming since the moment the letter from the solicitor landed in her hands.
Breathing in deeply, she knew what she had to do. She was staying. And she had very little time to dress before her uncle departed. She tidied her hair, pulling it back and tying it with a silk ribbon. Then she dressed in the yellow gown, stuck her feet in her shoes, and headed down the stairs.
Her uncle waited in the foyer, his bag in hand. Gabriel was nowhere in sight, which was a relief. She dreaded facing him this morning, though she couldn’t say why. Something about the previous night’s events left her spooked to her core.
As she stepped down, she plastered on a bright smile, then hooked her arm in her uncle’s.
“I’m sorry to see you go,” she said. “Are you sure you can’t stay longer?”
“I’ve been away from your aunt and the bank too long already.” He patted her hand.
Gabriel appeared, silent and stealthy, already at the door. She startled when she saw him, though his face remained unemotional. She hadn’t heard a footstep. Had he been there the whole time? Perhaps he was concealed within the shadows and she hadn’t noticed him.
Uncle Hubert gave the man a polite nod as he headed out into the warm morning sunshine.
There was something about the bright day that chased away all her fears and apprehension.
The carriage waited on the gravel drive, its lacquered exterior shining brightly.
Cheerfully. The driver sat perched on the seat holding the reins.
The footman stood to the side waiting patiently for the arrival of her uncle.
Uncle Hubert seemed unbothered by the impatient look on both men’s faces. When they were out of the house and closer to the carriage, he paused and turned to her.
“I do hope you fare well here, my dear. I don’t want to worry about you,” he said.
“There’s nothing to worry about.” Even as she said it, forcing a smile, a quiver of fear flickered through her. “I’ll be fine here.”
He cast a glance toward the garden. “I hope you’ll hire a groundskeeper and a butler, at the very least.”
“I plan to put out a solicitation as soon as I’m able.”
“Good.” He kissed her cheek. “Take care. And, Victoria, dear…” He paused, his eyes flicking back toward the house. “Please take care of yourself.”
Something about the way he said it sent a chill through her. She wasn’t sure what he was trying to tell her, but she sensed it was a warning somehow. As though he didn’t quite trust Gabriel. And perhaps he didn’t.
Perhaps she didn’t, either, but she was here. As soon as she had the manor properly staffed, she’d find a way to dismiss the caretaker for good. She didn’t need him skulking about the shadows, after all.
“Come see us when you can,” Uncle Hubert said.
She nodded. “I promise.”
Then he was stepping into the carriage. The footman closed the door, sealing him inside. Moments later, he was off. The carriage clattered down the gravel drive toward the road, leaving a cloud of dust in its wake and a sense of dread coiling through her gut.