Chapter 12 #2
Slanting rays charged through the windows, dividing the space with intermittent shafts of light and darkness, the room seeming to lose its form, the air itself softening into a dreamy haze around her.
She stared as something—someone—moved, their form emerging into light, only to pass through shadow once more, as if seeking their true manifestation, their real identity in a divided world.
Their steps fell muffled, as if they too were made of the same elusive substance as the light, careful yet radiant. Longing yet fearing to be captured.
Then the sun was pulled back behind the looming clouds, and the room regained its natural character along with the man now standing before her.
“Good morning, Miss Mercer,” Nathaniel greeted her with a warm tone. “I see you have found your supplies.”
Phaedra blinked, the swift dissolution of the vision leaving her dazed.
“I…” She looked down at the table before her, trying to rein in her unraveling thoughts. “Yes. Yes! Thank you… Mr. Hawthorn.” She shot him a smile she hoped looked genuine.
He raised a brow. “Is everything to your liking?” He stepped up to the table, his eyes following hers to survey the neat order she had placed everything in.
“Yes,” she said. “It is. I was just… about to get started.”
She turned back to her drawing, the ceaseless flutter of her heart making her self-conscious. Her hand was stiff as she moved to tear the sheet from the pad, but then she froze.
“Would it be alright if I stayed a bit to observe?” Nathaniel asked behind her. Then, when she did not answer, he hurried to explain. “I do not mean to intrude. It is only that I have never seen your technique executed, and I must admit, I am very intrigued. I promise I shall keep out of your way.”
But Phaedra still did not answer, his words blending into the background as she stared at the pad and, on it, the sketch she had not touched since the previous evening.
She knew the lines she had drawn, indeed could redraw every single one from memory in perfect likeness.
And she knew even better the ones she had deliberately chosen to omit.
The very thing that had started out as insecurity in her early years, and had since grown into nothing less than a sacrament at this point in her professional life. She did not sketch faces.
“Miss Mercer?” Nathaniel’s words came to her muffled, as if she were adrift deep underwater, the cold current pushing against her body from all sides, her thoughts floating anchorless in her mind.
An expression.
It was there in the look of the eyes, the shape of the mouth, all blending together to form—
“Is everything alright?”
It was the light touch of his hand on her arm that finally broke the spell, and Phaedra blinked, her thumb moving over the paper, over the smudge of dark charcoal she had mistaken for something it could not have been.
She let out a breath, bracing herself on the edge of the table. “Yes”, she said finally. “Do forgive me. It seems I have not slept as well as I imagined.”
He nodded, his hand slipping from her arm. “It does seem a curse of this place, doesn’t it?”
Phaedra glanced up at him. “Have you slept badly as well?”
“Every night since I came back,” he said. His gaze wandered up the wall, landing on the portraits. “Although, in a way, it was to be expected.”
Phaedra nodded, then her brows pulled together, his words sparking a thought. “Did you know of your mother’s condition? Her… fits or nightmares?”
There was a moment of silence before he asked, his tone light, “Was that in my sister’s journal?” His eyes were still focused on the paintings, and Phaedra wondered if she should have kept the question to herself. Whether it would have been better to—
“I do not know,” he began slowly, every word as if carefully mulled over, “if I ever consciously did. I was young when I left Brackenhurst Hall, and I…” He let out a slow breath, his brow creasing.
When he spoke again, his voice was back to its usual detachment, the fleeting moment of his wavering gone.
“When we were children, Ana would sometimes sneak into my room in the middle of the night, claiming she did not wish to sleep alone. She never told me why, only that she was frightened.” His jaw worked, and Phaedra could almost see the pieces of the puzzle clicking into place in his mind.
“Her room was closest to my mother’s. And if my mother did have fits, it would explain Ana’s unwillingness to be alone on the other side of the wall. ”
“It must have been dreadful,” Phaedra murmured.
Nathaniel’s lips pulled into a mirthless smile, his fingers twisting the signet ring. “I remember feeling sorry for her. Wanting to protect her from the horrors of the dark. And it never once occurred to me that my mother was the one I should be worried about.”
“You were a child,” Phaedra said, her tone soft. She felt her hand yearning to lift, her fingers to seek out his, yet she suppressed the urge, knowing the gesture too familiar, too forward for what they were.
“I was.” For a moment, he looked like he was going to say something more, but then thought better of it. He turned, and nodded toward the easel. “How long do you think you will need for the first painting?”
Phaedra folded her arms, considering it. “Perhaps two days.” Nathaniel shot her an incredulous look, and she could not help but smile. “I work quickly. And with your foresight in choosing the panels, the time will only depend on how long the wax will need to dry.”
“Alright,” he said. “Then I shall leave you to it.”
And with that he was off, leaving Phaedra to wonder why he had changed his mind about wanting to stay.