Chapter 29
The lengthening shadows of evening climbed the walls around her as Phaedra found herself standing at the threshold of Nathaniel’s study. She stared at the door, unsure how she had gotten there, when a wave of dizziness swayed her, and she splayed her hand against the smooth wood for support.
She had a vague notion of finishing her painting, of the frenzied hurry to complete it consuming every other thought, and she regarded the evidence staining her fingernails, wondering if it indeed had driven out even the idea of nourishment throughout the day.
Despite her rejuvenated state of that morning, her body now felt heavy, as if wrung of every will of motion. Yet she could not deny the charge moving her bones, this relentless urge to carry on with what they had started.
She lifted her fist to the door, but before she could knock, it was pulled open from the inside. Nathaniel stepped out, then pulled to a halt, his eyes widening, the papers in his hand slipping to the floor.
“My apologies, Mr. Hawthorn,” Phaedra said, quickly bending to gather the flyaway sheets. “I did not mean to startle you.”
He stood a moment, addled by the near collision, before he too sank to the floor.
“It’s quite alright,” he said, an unusual strain to his voice.
Phaedra peered up to see his face set in a neutral mask, his handsome features as if leveled by the pressure of an invisible hand, denying him the expression of whatever he was feeling. Because there was something there, of that she was certain.
They stood, and Phaedra offered him the pages she had gathered, watching as he reached out almost cautiously to take them. As if he were unsure that he should. As if he were afraid to touch her.
Her brows furrowed. “Is everything alright, Mr. Hawthorn?”
The uncertainty was now clear in his features, and Phaedra wondered what had happened since she had last seen him. What it was that made him pull back into himself, to inflict upon him the reservation of strangers instead of—
Color flared in her cheeks, the memory of what she had done, the fact that it had been mere fantasy, halting her breath.
It had not happened. And yet, for her, it had.
For her, they were more now than before.
And the only question that remained was what she would do with this state of affairs.
Because even if her reverie had been one-sided, she knew the feelings were not.
And yet, it felt mistaken to account this sudden shift in his demeanor to the moment they had shared the evening before, however gripping it had been.
“Yes. Forgive me, I…” he began, his words an unfamiliar stutter, and Phaedra was almost sure that it was but the play of light flooding the hall from behind him that infused his skin with the same hue as her own.
“You simply— I was not… Why were you—” His words came to an abrupt halt as his wary eyes finally lifted to her, and they cleared.
He stared at her, as if seeing her for the very first time, and what he saw made it impossible to look away. A slow breath escaped his lips, the sharp edges of his shoulders softening, and he slowly stepped closer as if pulled by an unseen force.
She froze, her voice wavering as she asked, “Mr. Hawthorn?”
There was something strange in the way he looked at her, his features turning lax, his eyes glazing over as if mesmerized, that made something uncomfortable settle in the pit of her stomach.
Then he lifted his hand, and she sucked in a breath as his fingers dipped into the raven locks gathered at the back of her head.
A tremor shot down her body, the intimacy of the touch, the heat of his sudden proximity overpowering her, and she held her breath not knowing what to do—what to think—her mind flooding with false memories in merciless detail.
Her body strained against her absolute refusal to lean into him, her mind clinging to the last piece of her sanity telling her that something was not quite right.
But before the last pillar of her defense could crumble under the weight of endlessly denying what could no longer be denied, he murmured, “It suits you.”
It could have been her downfall, the way his voice dipped low and smooth, his hands weaving through her hair and down her back, the tips of his long, delicate fingers barely grazing yet scorching through the fabric of her dress.
But as he lowered his gaze to hers, their eyes finally meeting, she realized he had not been looking at her. Not exactly.
It suits you.
Heart pounding, Phaedra pulled out of his reach, and lifted her own hand to her hair. In it she found a ribbon she did not remember tying, yet she felt more than certain of its origin. Of how its radiant color contrasted the darkness of her curls, painting them with the sheen of an unearthly halo.
“Oh,” she said, her voice going frail, her tone almost absent. “My hair was in the way while I was working.”
She did not know if it was the truth, did not remember why or when she had done it. And she had the distinct impression that her fingers did not truly consent to the act as she pulled the piece of fabric from her hair, and pushed it into her pocket.
A piece of wood cracked in the fireplace somewhere inside the study, the feeble light flickering for a moment, and Phaedra looked up to see Nathaniel bracing his forehead in his hand.
“Miss Mercer,” he said, a crease forming between his brows. “You wished to speak with me?”
He almost seemed dazed, the way he searched her face, as if not quite knowing, not quite remembering where he was, and Phaedra wondered if his duties had been keeping him from sleep.
But there was something else as well, some vague thought clawing at the back of her mind, unable to find purchase.
That she herself was forgetting something.
“Yes,” she said, unsure. Then she looked down at the pad in her hands, and the fog lifted. “Yes. I was wondering if we might continue tonight?”
“Continue?” he asked, a strange quiver to his voice.
She blinked. “With the journal,” she said, raising the pad so he might see it as well. “We still have some time until the dinner bell.”
“Oh. Yes.” He squeezed his eyes shut as if trying to chase away the remnants of some daydream, and this time she was sure of the light tint of pink creeping into his cheeks. “I apologize, I think I’m a little… tired. But yes, of course, please come in.”
He motioned for her to enter the study, and Phaedra could not help but notice the tightness in his stance as she walked past him.
And when he sat down, retrieving the journal with his usual reverence, there was a definite jerkiness to his movements, as if an unseen cold had dug itself into his veins.
She wondered again if his strange behavior was because of her. If he now felt embarrassed for the way she had responded, or indeed regretted what he himself had implied. But before she even had time to examine the possibilities or how she felt about them, he was speaking.
“The next pages are badly burnt, with only a few legible lines here and there. It is difficult to tell when one entry ends and another begins, but I suppose I could read on until you have some idea of what was happening.”
“Alright,” she said, pulling the pad open on her lap. He began to read.
Thurs—- —- -0th of October, 1879
——- day he grows more open to me. He spends his time —- ——- ——— - —— - ——— ——— -nd I cannot believe the sheer joy to finally be in his favor.
And I find myself doing the same, gravitating to this newfound pull, and I would be embarrassed of all that passes my lips were it not for —- —— —— —- ——- curiosity glinting in his eyes, his own fingers trailing the edges of this marvelous fabric that has become an extension of my being, and so I told him of my dreams. How this ——— ————- - ——— — ——- —- - - — ——- in the darkness, I see the rooms of this house, its walls lined with this pulsating radiance, see our halls stretching with it to labyrinthine lengths, and I feel it ——- ——— —— in tune with my very heart - ——- —— ——- ——- ——
—— ——- he told me there was more, I could barely contain my joy, my heart close to bursting as I buried my face in his warmth —— —— —- ——
I could never imagine —— ———- — - — —- ——— and now, all of it was here. Ours. Mine.
—- —- — ——— he promised to retrieve it, and have the work begin at once, and I cannot wait — ——- ——— — — —— this marvelous color everywhere I go - ——- —— - ——- — ——— - - —- ——- — ——- ———— — ——
There was a beat of silence, and Phaedra glanced up to find Nathaniel watching her, brows raised.
“Yes?” she asked.
“You were murmuring something.”
She stared at him a moment, confused. Had she been?
She tried to feel the trace of her words on her tongue, to catch the sound of their dying echo in her ears, but there was nothing. She looked down at her pad, hoping to reclaim whatever thought had sparked in her mind, but all she had drawn was a light shading with a delicate pattern, almost like—
Wallpaper.
In a flash of clarity, she found she had pulled meaning from the tattered lines of the journal, some vague understanding of how the wallpaper and the fabric had had the same origins.
Yet she felt there was something more, something slipping between her fingers, hiding just beyond the borders of her awareness.
“It’s… not important,” she said, not at all certain.
There was a pause, as if he too shared her uncertainty, then Nathaniel asked, “Shall I read on?”
She let out a breath, straightening in her seat.
She knew she needed to focus, while also knowing that it would prove increasingly difficult, her body already portraying signs that it was nearing some limit it would be unwise to cross.
Yet they needed to go on. She needed to know more so she might continue her work, because this was not enough.
Warily, she gave a nod.
——— —- —- - ————- -——
———— —— - —— much to be done, I can already feel myself immersed in joy. I feel as if I am floating in a warm embrace, this wondrous sight greeting me more and ——-— ——- ——— ——- -
—- - ——- —— ——- —- —— cold where it is absent. Yet he assures me that I must merely be patient, for in the end — —- — ——
—- — ——- ———- —- —— - and I cannot help but feel this beauty bringing us together, the way he speaks and consoles, the way he lingers within my presence, his touch a soothing balm wherever it lands, and I no longer know if —— —— ——— —- ——— ——— ———— ——
—- — ——- —— ———-
—- —- ——— ——— —- I feel she does not approve — ——- ——- ————- —- ——— ——- —- - —— catch glimpses of her watching and it makes me shudder — ———- ——- —- ——— — that she would deny me his attention - —— —- —— disturb every moment alone - - ——- —- ——- —— —- - —- ——— - he cannot even reach for —- ——— ——— ——— ——- — —— - ——— ——— —- —— - -
A seed of tremulous foreboding began to germinate, its burrowing roots shooting out in all directions. Phaedra stared at her sketch, at the grasping hand that was as of yet holding only emptiness. Emptiness she knew would soon evolve into something she was not ready to face.
But surely, it could not be right. Surely, she must be mistaken.
Perhaps she had been mistaken all this time. About everything she thought she understood, everything she believed she knew. Perhaps—
“… you need more?”
She jerked at the sound of Nathaniel’s voice, the interruption—completion—of her thoughts jarring.
“The next one seems somewhat better preserved.”
Phaedra looked at him, at the obliviousness of his expression, and she swallowed, her throat aching from the movement. She knew she could not say no, however she yearned to do so. That this was not nearly enough for her to go on. She needed more. She needed…
With withering dread, she nodded her consent.
Saturday, the 8th of Novemb— ——-
Today he offered to play with me —- — — ——- - ——- —— — ——- ——- — —— — - the room unused for so long — —— — - - ———- —- —- —- —- — ——— ——— —— —
But when we turned the corridor and I beheld the wonder before me, I felt as if all my adoring words would fall like so much dust in contrast to the sheer beauty that stood there.
— —— - —- — ——- —— — —— carved into delicate patterns, vines winding their way into blooms, life sprouting from every inch of —- ——— —- all I could do was stare, mesmerized, my fingers searching out each crevice, each undulation of this perfect ———— — ———- —-
—— ———- - —- I could never have my fill, yet I followed him through, the door closing behind us, shutting out the world until it was only us, safeguarded by such unearthly beauty.
But as we finally sat down to play, the music came slow, and I was afraid of the rust in my fingers, that they would ruin what was until now the most marvelous — ——- —- — comforted my doubts, his hands leading mine into the melody - —- - ——- —- — — for a moment reminded me of dear Brother, —- - —- ——- ——- - ——- ——- —— —— —— —— — —— —- ——- —- more kind, while Father’s can churn like a storm, dark and wild, and you know you cannot look away.
Yet he can be gentle, his hands caressing, guiding - —- —- —- — ——— - ——— ———- — ———- — — ——-
—- ——- —— - ——- ——— ————
- —— he means it as a kindness, when he says I look so much like her.
—- - beautiful, — ——- —- before this vile illness befell her, and I know I should feel remorse for the closeness I took away, for the smiles and glances that —- —- ——- for me instead of her - ——- — —— ——— ——- — ———
Yet every pang —— ——- ——— — —— feels softened by his touch - ——- —— — —- —— ——— ———— — —— ——- and I feel it in my being that I have found what I have always longed for. I am finally seen. Cherished. Finally his to—
“Stop!” Phaedra called, just as Nathaniel would turn the page. The quiver in her voice echoed in the trembling of her body as she shot up from her seat, the pad tumbling to the floor.
“Miss Mercer, what is it? What happened?” Nathaniel stood, eyes wide.
“I think,” she panted, backing towards the door, straining to push the words through her rapidly closing throat, “that will do. I— Please, excuse me.”
She jerked the door open, staggering into the dusk beyond.