Chapter 42
Harper closed the leather journal and replaced it in its protective case.
She rubbed her eyes. She had no idea how long she had been here at this desk, trying to decipher the script on the crumbling paper.
The ink had worn away in places and she struggled to make out the words.
It was written in bits and pieces, stops and starts.
But despite all this, Harper’s mind was reeling.
She felt entirely disconnected from her body, her skin felt like buzzing static, her mind floated on a string above her physical form.
This child’s story, it wasn’t being told to her, she was remembering it in bits and pieces, stops and starts.
She could smell the stink of the man called Father Taine and the panic in her heart, feel his hands on her arms, smell the drink on his breath.
She could hear the muttering of the other girls in her ear as they walked in prayer, how cold it was, how they were behind on all their chores and duties for this march around the province while the elders wailed and cried.
She heard the words whispered in her ear faint so as not to be heard by others: It is a fool to rely on our Lord God’s will alone in such dark times.
Harper knew it to be true, she could feel it in her bones, she knew it and could feel the curdling fear that settled in her gut as they walked and prayed, and walked some more.
A great rumble from her stomach interrupted her thoughts.
She was hungry and realized she had no idea how much time had passed.
Her phone stared at her. She’d been up in the library for hours, staring at the journal, picking through the entries and she was just at the beginning.
Harper gingerly picked up the case and on stiff legs replaced it in the filing cabinet.
She saw there were other documents in there too, a larger bound journal or ledger book, the sort that she used to record data in the field, but this was obviously older.
There were also a series of documents in sealed plastic sleeves.
Harper reached for them and then stopped.
She needed to clear her head before she read more.
As she descended to the first floor, Harper jumped to see Lady Bell at Nora Grey’s table, typing on a laptop with a file of what looked to be receipts next to her.
“Ah hello, my dear!” Lady Bell looked up over her reading glasses. “We thought we’d lost you up there.”
Harper shook her head. “You knew where I was?”
Lady Bell smiled. “We did.”
“I’m sorry if I shouldn’t have been …” Harper stuttered, her brain foggy and overfull.
“Hush, you are welcome anywhere in Bell Manor. I trust you found something intriguing.”
Harper nodded, aware that she was acting oddly. “I did … I don’t quite know how to process it.”
“Take a few. Meet me for a pre-dinner cocktail back here in an hour. You can tell me what you’re processing.” Lady Bell’s gaze was so understanding and accepting that tears sprang to Harper’s eyes.
“I keep crying. I never cry,” Harper said softly.
“All evidence to the contrary, love,” Lady Bell said with a faint smile. “Meet me back here, tell me everything.”
Harper made her way back up to her room. The number of cats lounging in the foyer seemed to have doubled. The young woman who had brought her tea the day before was walking around with a spray bottle and a bucket of cleaning rags. She looked at Harper with a distracted frustration.
“Not all of our guests are meant for manor life,” she said with a grimace.
Harper observed the layer of cats that stretched into the hall. “I can help you with cleanup; after all, I did contribute one cat to the mix.”
The young woman shook her head. “Nonsense. You are our guest, and Polly is hardly the problem.”
“The offer stands, I’m more accustomed to work than I am to being anyone’s guest,” Harper replied, and headed up the stairs.
In her room, Harper went to her marble-coated bathroom and splashed water on her face.
Her eyes were red and tired from her day’s work.
She stared at herself in the mirror, playing over and over in her head the words from the journal set against the background of her dreams. She had seen this place, she had been this girl.