Chapter 3 #2
As they approached the drawing room, the sound of conversation confirmed that the others were still gathered. Jem’s pulse kicked up. Would they believe what they were about to see?
Inside, Gareth, Michael, and Ellen looked up from their discussion, teacups in hand. Ellen’s smile lit up the room...until she noticed their expressions.
“What has happened?” she asked with concern.
Reese and Jem exchanged a glance.
“It’s Beatrice,” Reese said, her voice soft.
Gareth stood. “What do you mean?”
“I think you need to see this first.” Jem set the painting against the couch, pulled out his phone, and opened the GIF. He handed it to Gareth.
The earl studied the moving image, his brow furrowing. Michael and Ellen leaned closer, and he touched the screen to keep it awake, then looked between the phone and the portrait.
“Did you move the painting when you took this?” he asked Jem.
“Nope.”
Gareth’s curious expression turned to disbelief. “I do not understand what I’m seeing.”
“Did Aunt Nellie paint this one?” Michael asked.
Reese nodded. “But she painted it even though Beatrice never time-traveled.”
“Ah, yes. Magical paint,” Gareth muttered. “Still, I have never seen one move.”
“Technology sometimes catches what the eye misses,” Michael said. “Has anyone tried photographing the other portraits?”
“Jem only took this one because I saw Beatrice look at me,” Reese said.
“What?” Gareth sounded alarmed. “You saw her move?”
“I did. And she called my name, Clarisse.” Reese pointed to her ear. “I heard it.”
Ellen’s eyes widened. “She spoke to you?”
“And looked straight at me.” Reese laced her fingers with Jem’s, as though grounding herself. “And she still is.”
Gareth turned back to the portrait, studying it intently. “I see nothing.”
“I do,” Ellen said softly, stepping beside her brother.
An icy shiver seemed to run through the room.
“She looks desperate,” Reese whispered. “Like she’s trapped in there.”
“How dreadful,” Ellen breathed.
“But how?” Jem arched his brows, wishing he had an answer.
Gareth’s expression tightened. “Are you suggesting Nellie imprisoned Beatrice in this painting?”
“Steady on, mate.” Michael lifted his hands. “That’s quite a leap, and I grew up with Twickenham paranoia. But let’s think this through. Didn’t you say Nellie painted it even though Beatrice hadn’t traveled?”
“That’s what Nellie told us.” Reese shared what the Fae woman had said about the prompting.
While the group studied the portrait, the sound of a carriage driving to the front of the manor drew everyone’s attention.
Ellen hurried to the front window to peek through the draperies. “Grandmama and the Colonel have arrived.”
Jem had heard about their great-aunt, who had once been obese, but whom Catherine had cajoled into a healthy lifestyle.
“Have your guests arrived, Gareth?” Grandmama called from the entry.
Before he could reply, she swept into the room and went right up to Reese.
“You must be Clarisse. Ellen prattles on about you constantly. My, but you are a tall one.” She glanced at Michael and then back at Reese.
“Good heavens. She is nearly as tall as you.”
“And I’m proud of it,” Reese said dryly. She could get temperamental about her height, but she sounded more entertained than irritated.
“But, my dear, no man...”
“I’m her husband,” Jem interrupted. “And I love that she’s tall.”
“Grandmama,” Gareth cautioned. “May I introduce our dear friends to you? This is Jamison Taylor and his wife, Clarisse.” He shot a sly look at Reese, knowing that it would irritate her to be introduced last because she was a woman.
“A pleasure, I am sure.” The older woman held out her hand to be kissed.
Jem bowed over it instead and then nodded at the older man, who stood hesitantly in the doorway. “And who is your friend?”
Gareth quickly introduced Colonel Alfred Pritchard, who looked like he would fit in a Victorian movie, all English stiff-upper-lip and properness. From the way Lady Evangeline was smiling, they must be what Reese called a grumpy/sunshine couple.
Suddenly, Evangeline gasped and pointed at the portrait of her sister on the couch.
“Beatrice disappeared over forty years ago. How is it possible that you have a painting of her at my age?” Her eyes glistened, and her voice carried the weight of years of unanswered questions, of missing a sister who had vanished without a trace.
Reese shifted, but Jem whispered, “She doesn’t know about the magic stuff.” Reese pinched her lips and shifted her gaze to Gareth.
He wasn’t doing any better, his poor mouth opening and closing like a fish.
Reese stepped to the portrait. As soon as her fingertips came within inches of the frame, the air crackled as though with static electricity, but on steroids. The candles in the room flickered, and the temperature dropped.
“What is happening?” Lady Evangeline cried, the Colonel pulling her away from the painting.
It glowed, the light somehow both soft and intense. Beatrice’s image shimmered and seemed to grow. And then she moved. Jem blinked. Yes, the woman was moving. She lifted a leg and literally stepped out of the portrait while everyone gasped.
They stared at her, stunned. Her blurry form flickered at first, almost translucent. Then, like an image viewed through a camera, she sharpened into focus.
And collapsed.