Chapter Sixteen #2
“Is she all right?”
Her mother looked away.
“Tell me,” Portia ordered.
Lady Maclean swung around to face Portia, taking her hand. “You truly believe there is a cat, don’t you?”
“I know there is a cat.”
Her expression concerned, her mother slowly shook her head no. She went to the door and called for Minnie.
After a few minutes, Minnie came to the room.
Her face broke out into a smile when she saw Portia sitting by the window.
“Are you feeling better? We were all so worried. Ollie debated whether or not he should examine you. He believed we should wait and see how you felt when you woke. You are all right, aren’t you, Portia? ”
“I’m fine,” she answered. “But Mother insists I am imagining my cat Owl.”
The smile died on Minnie’s face. She looked to their mother, who nodded as if urging her to admit what she knew. “You are,” she told Portia. “There is no cat.”
Portia came to her feet. “There is a cat. Her name is Owl. You were in the sitting room the day I found her in the attic.”
Minnie had clasped her hands in front of her. She appeared ready to cry.
“We set out a bowl of cream for her every night,” Portia said. “You do it for me when I am busy.”
“I do it to help you,” Minnie said.
“Because we have a cat,” Portia was close to shouting.
Minnie shook her head. “No, dear, we don’t. You imagine the cat.”
If she had said the sky was as green as grass, Portia could not be more surprised. “Minnie, are you daft? Of course we have a cat. Why, the cream is gone from the bowl every evening.”
“Because I pour it out,” Minnie answered. ”I understand why you would imagine a pet that you could confide in. I’ve explained to Ollie that you’ve carried the weight of this family on your shoulders. It has been challenging.”
Portia took a step away from her mother and her sister. Were they trying to tell her that Owl didn’t exist? How could that be true when she’d held that cat and petted her? She’d felt Owl’s weight, slight as she was, in her arms.
Their mother spoke. “We would have been fine letting you pretend. However, our family’s circumstances are about to change. I haven’t said a word about your pet to Alastair.”
“Ollie understands your need for an imaginary pet,” Minnie chimed in. “He’s had patients who have imagined all sorts of things in order to manage their lives. Such as Crazy Lizzy and those dolls she calls babies.”
“However,” Lady Maclean continued, “if you are going to live under my roof, you can’t keep carrying on about the cat. You must give the cat up.”
For a moment, Portia doubted her own sanity. And then she thought of Harry. “Colonel Chattan has seen the cat. He knows Owl exists.”
“Alastair told me that the colonel claimed to have seen a cat, but there are so many about,” her mother said, “who is to say if it is your cat or not? And, Portia, if you wish to secretly pretend you still have the cat, then that is fine. Just please be prudent. Not everyone will understand you the way your sister and I do.”
“I even put the cream out last night,” Minnie said proudly.
Portia had witnessed Owl drinking the cream . . . or had she?
“No cat?” she said, looking to these two people who loved her more than anyone else in the world.
They both shook their heads.
“May I have a moment alone?” Portia said. “I need to polish my teeth—” She was going to cry, and here she had not thought she had tears left.
“Of course,” her mother said, heading toward the door as if relieved an unpleasant interview was over.
Minnie was right behind her. “Glennis has fresh buns for breakfast. Shall I bring up a tray? Or will you come downstairs?”
“I’ll be down.”
“It’s going to be fine,” Minnie said as if to reassure herself. “In fact, Mother and I were talking about a pet for you. A real cat.”
Portia didn’t want a real cat. She wanted Owl.
When she didn’t answer, Minnie excused herself and left. Portia’s first action was to get down on her hands and knees to search for Fenella’s book and then remembered it wasn’t there, and hadn’t been for almost two weeks. Harry had it. How could she have forgotten?
She pressed her palms against her temples. She mustn’t think this way.
The book existed. Owl existed. The curse was real.
She knew of only one person besides Harry who could tell her if she was mad or not.
She climbed to her feet and flew through her toilette.
She dared not tell her mother and Minnie where she was going.
After the disastrous escapades of the past weeks, she didn’t think it wise to tell them she was going out again.
And they would certainly believe her a lunatic if she told them why she needed to see Lizzy. The crone might be able to help her make sense of all this. Lizzy had known of Fenella. And Lizzy had predicted Portia would be the source of Harry’s death.
So Portia stole out of the house one more time.
Crazy Lizzy was sitting on her stool beside her door when Portia arrived.
“Why, Miss Maclean, what a pleasure. Did you bring some treats for me?” She spoke as if there had not been a scene days before. As if all was well.
Portia approached and went down on one knee so that they were eye level. “No, Lizzy, I didn’t. I shall remember you tomorrow.”
“Christmas Day,” Lizzy said as if pleased with herself for remembering.
Her reminder surprised Portia. Her world had been spinning like a top and she’d not stopped to realize the passage of time. Her mother and General Montheath were to have a dinner. “I’ll bring a basket of something special.”
Lizzy smiled her approval.
“Do you remember my being here?” Portia asked.
“I do. You had the Chattan with you.”
This was a good sign. Portia leaned toward the crone. “You spoke of Fenella.”
Again, Lizzy nodded.
“I’m so grateful you remember. I feared I was going mad.”
“You made a wise decision, Miss Maclean,” Lizzy whispered. “Stay away from the Chattan.”
“And what if I can’t?” Portia asked, thinking of the child she knew she carried.
“Then Fenella will have her way. Much power she has, does Fenella.”
“Is there any way to stop her?”
“None that I know.”
Portia closed her eyes and realized that a part of her had hoped that if she had imagined Owl, then she had imagined all the rest.
“The Chattan shall die,” Lizzy said, reading her mind.
“He can’t, Lizzy. He mustn’t.” She couldn’t bear thinking of him dying. She would rather give him up.
“It’s too late,” was the whispered reply. “You were meant to be here.”
Meant to be here.
Portia came to her feet. She backed away from Lizzy as if putting more distance between them would serve to weaken her words. “Are you saying there is no way to change what is to be?”
“Is there ever?” Lizzy asked, her smile as innocent as a child’s.
Portia would not accept that prediction. She couldn’t. Just the thought of it sent the pain of despair ripping through her—and then she realized, this was some of what Rose had felt.
Rose, who had stood on her tower, knowing her love was lost to her.
Just as Harry was lost to Portia. And her son growing within her would bear this curse as well.
She had to believe there was a way out of this madness. There must be. “What part do I play, Lizzy?”
“How should I know, mum?” was the reply.
Frustrated, Portia walked back to Camber Hall, her mind working furiously. She’d been destined to play a part in this. Hadn’t Lizzy said she was to be here? But how did one escape her fate?
She kept her eye out for Owl . . . but she did not see her. The cat had disappeared.
Or perhaps she had never existed.
Portia managed to sneak into the house without her mother or Minnie being the wiser.
For the rest of the day, she stayed in her room.
She read her Bible. She opened and shut one book after another in her meager library, searching for anything that could free Harry of this curse, and she found nothing.
If she was supposed to be here for Harry, then what role did she play? Why was she not here to save him?
He called. He sat in the sitting room for hours waiting for her. She did not go down to meet him. Instead, she pushed herself into a corner of her room, sitting with her knees up and her head down, aching to run to him and knowing she couldn’t.