The Lady in Yellow: A Victorian Gothic Romance (22 page)

Forty-Three

“
B
ook of Unholy Beasts
…”

Veronica traced the gold leaf letters with her finger.
             

“Rafe.”

His name was only a breath, barely there, nothing more than a vowel, really. But the man who owned it was complex. It was obvious that he'd suffered, but he was kind. And passionate.  How could he have married Sovay, with her séance parties and castle soirees?

You're very beautiful, Miss Everly...

Veronica had replayed the words in head a hundred times in the past four hours. She recalled Rafe's look as he said it, a look that told her that he
saw
her, had seen
into
her, and found her lovely.

He liked her dress.

He wanted her to stay.

What was she to think?

It seemed he felt something for her, but she was fraught with doubt. What about the one in France? A horrible thought entered her mind: that Rafe might be a rake, a seducer with a woman in every port. A girl in her position must be vigilant. Careful. One misstep could lead to ruin.

She looked over at the séance room and shivered. During the day, its terrors dissolved, and she saw only a mass of ugly furniture. But, as her torn dress proved, the strange events she'd lived through had been real. These apparitions had power. And what about next time?
If only Rafe would stay here and confront the dangers that swirled around them when the moon was full, instead of running back to his mistress in France. She hissed the last three words in her mind.

Veronica wondered what
her name was. What did she look like? Was she anything like Sovay? What if Rafe were merely manipulating Veronica into taking complete charge of the twins so that he would have the freedom to remain in France?

It was possible.

Sighing with resignation, she opened the
Book of Unholy Beasts.

On the frontispiece was an engraving of a monster: part lizard and part cockerel with wings.
Cockatrice,
it said underneath. Veronica froze in its gaze, hesitating to turn another page. What on earth did Rafe expect her to get out of pictures such as these?

She needed air.

Wrapping up in a thick mohair shawl, she took the Bestiary out to the balcony and sat down on the wicker rocking chair Janet had put there during her cleaning. She pondered the cover of the book and its apt title. Marvels waited in its pages, images that had the power to blight her very soul. The sisters at Saint Mary’s had warned the girls about books inspired by the Devil. Dangerous books that no Christian should ever even lay eyes upon.

A cold, thin rain began. Hugging the
Book of Unholy Beasts
, Veronica stood up and looked out over the lawn. The workmen were hurrying toward the woods. They entered into the birch grove and vanished into the mist as if they were never there.

Two people had died, but who were they? Why did no one talk about it? Mrs. Twig supervised the pallbearers as if they were nothing more than furniture movers. Why was she so cold?

Veronica knew from the receipt on Rafe’s dressing table, the one still lying there beside the gun, how costly a large sheet of silver was. Those laid to rest in these silver coffins must be very special, very important people, indeed, to warrant such expense. Yet, Rafe wasn't at all grief-stricken.
No one was being buried--
--he'd said.

Perhaps these were new coffins for those already dead. One for the child, one for Sovay, whose grave was broken, its cross shattered, and lying on the floor.

Veronica back went inside and poked up the fire.

That mysterious tune came
into Veronica's mind, and, with it, a vision of Sovay's yellow gown glimmering in the darkness of her sarcophagus. Veronica stirred the ashes in the hearth, absent-mindedly humming along with the voices that seemed both far away and within her.

The fire blazed up, crackling, catching the gold leaf on the cover of the
Book of Unholy Beasts
that waited on the ottoman. Perhaps it contained the answers she sought.  Perhaps that was why Rafe gave it to her.

She curled up in the easy chair, and once more opened the book. The pages fell open on a swath of red silk that seemed to have been torn from something larger, marking, she felt, her pre-ordained starting point. What she saw startled her so th
at she had to halt the urge to throw the book on the fire.

Under the silk was the image of a wolf-like creature. Up on two legs it stood, like a man, its dripping jaws opened to display dagger-sharp fangs, its claws poised as if to savage its prey.

She'd come so close to being the prey of such wolves.

How could Rafe have known about her encounters with
the wolves while he was nowhere in sight? Had she been right thinking she could commune with his inner self? Perhaps she'd find, in the book, an explanation for all of these things. One explanation was here now, directly under her nose.

Beside the beast, two words were inscribed:
Homini
Lupus
.

And there, on the facing page, was the illuminated image of a lady clamped in the jaws of a wolf. Her long, golden hair swept the ground, and her medieval gown was yellow. It was Saint Lupine all over again. And, as old as the picture in that ancient book was, the
lady's face was the perfect image of Sovay's.

Hands shaking with the excitement of finally holding a piece to the puzzle, Veronica took the stack of English translations on her lap and rifled through the pages. At last she found a page marked with a red scrawl:
Homini
Lupus

Homini Lupus means Loup Garou in French, Werewolf in Saxon, and, in English, Wolf Man.

Veronica held her breath. The wolves she'd heard singing on those full moon nights were...
this!

Lycanthrope.
A man that is a-cursed. When the moon is full, he transforms into a wolf. In such guise he goes forth to rape and kill for his Master.

How the Curse is Passed On: If the victim of an attack by the wolf man does not die, he is cursed with lycanthropy. If the victim dies, he will rise from his grave at each full moon and stalk the earth as a wolf. In either case are souls provided to carry out the Works of Darkness.

This she'd seen in the graveyard at Saint Lupine's: the priest with the hare, calling up the dead, dancing among the graves with the lady in yellow, and the spirits of men transformed into wolves....

All of them were victims of lycanthropy; all were victims of Saint Lupine----Sovay.

Stuck between the pages was a note that seemed to be addressed to Veronica personally:
This is a copy of a mural at my wife’s house, Chateau Villeneuve. It shows the event that is the seed of all of our troubles.

Veronica glanced over at her wardrobe and recalled Rafe’s reaction to her beautiful yellow dress, now wilting on a hanger, never to be worn again. How hurt she’d been by his remarks. She'd thought it had been because yellow was Sovay's color and he couldn't bear to see anyone else wearing it. But now she knew that, for Rafe, the color had deeper, more sinister connotations. Like sulfur, fire, and brimstone.

She recalled Jacqueline’s talk of the art objects at Chateau Villeneuve:  the jeweled toads, the mummified birds, the lady’s hand that, under the full moon, transformed into a wolf's paw. It smacked of black magic. Was this the message of the Bestiary, of Rafe's allusion to
our origins
? Was this the secret he'd promised to disclose: that Sovay came from a family of witches? And they practiced a religion of werewolves....

Veronica glanced up at the white toy horse, its bowed rockers smiling in the dark. It occurred to Veronica that the only church the twins seemed to be familiar with was Saint Lupine’s. Yet, the twins
must
have been baptized in full knowledge of Christ. They had to be. Everyone was.

She smoothed the frown away from her brow, turned the page, and saw the comforting image of a pure white unicorn.

Unicorn. A creature that symbolizes Our Savior that is also a demon found in the Goetia of King Solomon.

Veronica slammed the book shut. She'd had enough. What kind of man
was
Rafe de Grimston? Why did everything she loved have to be spoiled by all this evil? Was nothing sacred?

Screams rang out.

She leapt to the window expecting some strange creature to come crashing out of the birch grove, but saw only the two workmen stumbling up the lawn, shouting and cursing as they hurried toward the house.

“What’s wrong?” Mrs. Twig’s voice rang out.

“We won’t say Ma’am. We don’t want to say.”

“Did you put the child in the silver coffin as you were hired to do?”

“Yes, ma’am. Indeed we did. Just hurry now and find a Catholic priest.”

“Yes. Those are the chaps’ll take care of it.”

Veronica peered down through the trees where the open door of the tomb was a black hole in the mist. Rain pattered down through the leaves. Suddenly, Rafe came out of the house and raced toward the woods. She shook herself. He was carrying a gun. To a tomb.

The wind picked up. The dog barked. She waited for the sound of shots being fired but there were none. Rafe came walking back over the wet grass to the house, the gun dangling in his hand like a useless toy. He looked pale, and distressed.

“Mrs. Twig! Mrs. Twig!” Rafe picked up his pace, and vanished under the balcony. Wolfgang followed him like a furry, white shadow.

“Yes, Mr. Rafe.” Mrs. Twig’s voice was clear, as if she’d stepped outside to greet him.

"The men didn't finish the job."

"Oh, the superstitious louts!"

"Can you blame them? What is the moon doing tonight?"

"It's to be full, sir."

There was a long pause. Veronica searched the sky and saw the clouds were clearing: a sure sign that the moon would be full. All too soon!

Rafe's voice drifted up with an edge of despair. “You'll have to lock me in the tower tonight.”

"No, Mr. Rafe!"

"Don't argue with me. There've been too many slip-ups already."

“What about the children?”

“We’ll have to take our chances.”

"I’ll put them in the safe rooms. Miss Everly will see to it the door stays locked.”

Someone was coming up the stairs. There was a knock on her open door. Veronica went to answer it, and found Mrs. Twig holding a set of keys.

“We shall be keeping the twins in the rooms upstairs tonight, Miss Everly. Once they’re in, we shall lock the doors. Under no circumstances, unlock them. Even if you think all hell is breaking loose. Especially then.”

“Of course. May I ask why?”

“I wouldn’t,” said Mrs. Twig.

Forty-Four

T
he long case clock gonged five. The winter twilight deepened, and the bald crown of the moon rose above the yew hedge behind the ruined chapel.

The twins were still out playing. Anxious to find them before night set in, Veronica donned her cloak, pulled up the hood, and slipped out into the wet garden. No longer falling, the rain froze the air to frost and the cold was penetrating. The twins could catch their deaths in this.

The door to the walled garden on her right was open; the twin's high, clear voices pealing out. Veronica hurried over, stopping just inside the door. They were running around a small deer that had gotten cornered behind the ash tree. The twins were snarling at it, laughing. One of them lunged at the deer.

"Jack! What are you doing? Stop that at once!"

Snarling, the twins circled away from the deer and, hands crooked like claws, ran toward Veronica.

"
Grrrrrrrrrrrr...
"

Their light green eyes focused on Veronica, fiery yet blank, as if their spirits wer
en't there. She held up her hands to ward them, off. They swiped at her skirts, laughed, then skidded away, back toward the deer. Bucking, the deer leaped free and almost ran Veronica over to get out the door. The twins stood together, staring past Veronica through the door. The blank look in their eyes was frightening.

"Jack, come inside. Please."

Running at top speed, the twins flew past her into the yard.

D
azzled and dismayed by the twins' transformation, Veronica turned in time to see them running toward the birch grove, then disappear into the trees.

She
bolted.

The lawn seemed to go on forever. How far would she have to go to get away from Belden House?

She arrived under the tower with a terrific pain in her side. She'd run too fast. Couldn't breath. Her corset was too tight. Her head was spinning. She stopped and pushed her hands into her side to keep from blacking out. All the trauma of her struggles with Tala came back full force. The violence. The attacks.

The twins were cursed.

Pain eased, Veronica hurried down to the gate. Footsteps crackled behind her. Who was there? She picked up speed, pushed on the railings of the gate; fell against them.

The gate wouldn't open.

Footsteps were coming closer.

She rattled the bars and screamed.

"Miss Everly, what are you doing?" Rafe's voice thundered at her back.

Veronica spun around. Rafe's shadow loomed, dark and menacing against the moonlight. He stretched his long arms toward her.

"No! No! Get away.
Get away
!" Veronica shoved hard at the gate, but it wouldn't budge. "Who locked this gate?" She pounded on the bars.

Rafe grabbed her arm.

"Let go of me!"

"Where do you think you're going? Get back inside. Can't you see it’s getting dark? Look at the moon, woman!"

Veronica looked from Rafe to the sky and saw the full moon glowing above the trees.

"You must get back into the house,” he shouted.

“No! I’m leaving. I’ll not stay here for one more day!” She tore out of his grasp, quickly unlatched the gate and slipped through.

Rafe strode toward her, his long legs taking one step to her three. “You will come back, if I have to carry you."

He was on her fast, arms around her waist, picking her up off the ground. Her heart heaved painfully against her ribs.

"Let me go! Let me go!"

"It's not safe for you out here."

“It's not safe for me in there.”

She bit him and broke away, only to trip over the hem of her cloak. Rafe flew at her. Next thing she knew, he was picking her up like a sack of flour, and carrying her back into the house. Surprised at her own fury, she kicked and bit him all the way upstairs to her rooms.

He shoved the door open and dropped her on her bed.

“If you leave this room, I shall have you locked in," Rafe shouted. "Do you understand?”

His face was furious. He meant every word.

"All right," Veronica said quietly.

He stared at her for a moment as if trying to gauge her truthfulness, then looked at his hand. She'd drawn blood.

"
You
were that horseman on the moor, weren't you?" she said, watching his eyes narrow and grow cold. "You were the one who raised his whip to me."

Rafe glared at her.

"You weren't in France, were you? You'd come back."

The set of his mouth was grim. "All right, all right, all right. So I warned you off. You should have left and spared us all this..."

"Spared you what?"

"Your
witnessing
of us. None of this was meant to be seen. None of it! Especially by outsiders..."

"Then I shall go." Veronica stood up, but Rafe would not let her pass. "Get out of my way," she insisted.

"No. It's too late now. You're not leaving. Not now. If it's the last thing I do, I will keep you here."

"Am I your prisoner then?"

The look on Rafe's face was stormy, frightening. She tried to push past him. He raised his hand as if to strike her, then dropped it, fist clenched to his side.

“Very well,” Veronica said, sitting back down on the bed. "Just leave me."

He turned on his heel and left, slamming the door behind him.

She’d stay in her room for now, but tomorrow morning, she’d be gone.