The Lady in Yellow: A Victorian Gothic Romance (5 page)

Eight

V
eronica's china teacup rattled slightly on the saucer. She tried to be calm, but it was difficult. Once pleasantries were over, Mrs. Twig just sat there, sipping her soup. Every time Veronica ventured to speak, the housekeeper looked down or away.

"Where is Jack?" Veronica asked, noting their empty plates. "I've been worried..."

"No need, Miss Everly. After a long, exciting day, they're too tired to join us. Janet will bring something up to them later."

Veronica considered, for a moment, how to broach the subject
of the horseman on the moor. "I'm glad they're not outside. How far do they range? I mean, when they're out playing?"

"Oh, I don't know... the woods, the fields. They've always been here and know the area like the back of their hands. They always come back."

Janet arrived with a plate of vegetable and meat pie. Mrs. Twig took a slice. Veronica followed suit, and watched Janet bustle back to the kitchen.

The darkness was heavy outside the window, transforming the orchard into a mass of shadows under a sky that was thinly veiled with moonlight. It would be easy for a darkly cloaked stranger to slip
through those shadows unseen. He could be at the window now, watching them through the candlelight. Waiting for his chance to come in.

Veronica set down her fork, unable to eat.

"Mrs. Twig? I saw a man out on the moors today, riding on a black horse at great speed. Who might he be?"

Mrs. Twig crumpled her napkin, pushed her plate away.

"A neighbor, perhaps."

"He threatened me with his whip. And ordered me to leave."

"I can't imagine why."

"Well, he did."

The housekeeper began massaging her temples. "If you'll excuse me, Miss Everly.... I'm very sorry, but I have a terrible headache."

"Oh, of course... I'm sorry."

Mrs. Twig got up and
strode off.

What was left of Veronica's appetite dep
arted with the housekeeper. Having been so rudely dismissed, all she could swallow was her tea. Why was Mrs. Twig so unsympathetic? Didn't she care that her new governess had been terrified out of her wits on her first day here? And where were the twins, anyway? It seemed the height of bad manners to exclude people so.

She suddenly fel
t foolish for questioning her place in the pecking order. What business was it of hers to be informed? Still, Mrs. Twig had seemed so friendly at first. Perhaps she'd taken liberties...

Veronica left the table and went to the windows to look out at the now invisible or
chard. No one was there. She'd been over-reacting. Now that she was nineteen, it seemed she should stop being so excitable. In time, maybe.

With a sigh, she blew the candles out. Let the horseman
try
to spy on them. She wasn't that easy to fool.

Veronica dragged up the stairs to her room. Before she went in, she rounded the corner to the twins' rooms. Though she hated to admit it, she had to be sure they really were there.

Both doors were locked. She knocked on each door and was met, each time, with cold silence.

They must be sleeping.

Baffled and unable to do anything about it, Veronica went back to her room and collapsed in the easy chair. She kept seeing the horseman in her mind, warning her away. Why did he hide his face? Bright blue eyes under black brows would give anyone away.

The fairy tale book was on the table at her side. She opened it, perused the familiar tales with their colorful illustrations. She hadn't noticed before how frightening they were with their forests and witches and fairies. She'd never realized before how horrible
Hansel and Gretel
was.

She closed the book and stared into the darkness of the treasure room. Childhood and its terrors were not that far behind. Being set adrif
t in the world without a family, or a home, was almost as bad as being cast out into the forest to starve. Like Tala. Like Hansel and Gretel. But unlike Hansel and Gretel, Veronica couldn't accuse her parents of abandoning her. You couldn't blame people for dying young.

Sorrow fell on her chest like lead. Grief was a strange visitor, coming and g
oing when she least expected it. Exhausted, she climbed into bed, then lay awake all night fearing the horseman might come inside, or climb her balcony to gaze at her through the French doors… tapping on the glass to taunt her before he broke the latch and the doors blew open... Even closing the bed curtains failed to calm her. Her mind would not rest.

Perhaps she shouldn’t read fairy tales before bed. She laughed at herself. That was what you said to children when they had nightmares.

The children... They were pulling their disappearing act tonight. She hadn't expected it so soon.

She rolled over on her side, and put the pillow over her head to block out the night.



Veronica grabbed a scone and put it on her plate. Opened the pot of blackberry jam
and put a dollop beside it. Silent as the night before, Mrs. Twig sat there writing up her
to-do
list. There was a novel beside her plate. It had a buff cover, the title easily readable in red:
The Woman in White
by
Wilkie Collins
.

"What is that book about, Mrs. Twig?" she asked.

"A sort of mystery," the housekeeper said without looking up.

"Oh. Is it good?"

"Hm."

Co
uldn’t Mrs. Twig tell Veronica needed to talk? Couldn’t she feel the static in the air? Was the housekeeper utterly insensitive?

Veronica
needed to know what was going on before the twins came downstairs for breakfast, to be reassured that everything was normal and safe, that the horseman on the moor was just a nasty neighbor who would be told by Mr. de Grimston, wherever he returned, that his interference was not acceptable.

Veronica fiddled with her teaspoon. She should write to Mr. de Grimston about it herself. Mrs. Twig must have his forwarding address.

"Mrs. Twig?"

"Yes, Miss Everly?"

"How is your headache? I was quite worried about you last evening."

"It's much better now, thank you. It's age you know. A young girl like yourself can have no idea how it creeps up on one."

Mrs. Twig sipped her tea like an invalid. Veronica wondered if she was acting. In any event, something wasn't right.

Veronica's tea was flat and cold. The scone tasted like dust. It wa
sn’t Peggy’s fault. It was frustration that brought Veronica low. It was infuriating the way Mrs. Twig refused to communicate. If the governess position was so low down, why not consign Veronica to the servants' quarters? It would have to be friendlier than this.

Veronica cleared her throat. Tapped her foot under the small table hard enough to shake the house. Still the housekeeper ignored her. Unable to contain her
self any longer, Veronica blurted out:

“Mrs. Twig, why would a neighbor command me to leave?”

Mrs. Twig looked up, startled.

Veronica went on. “I was walking on the moor yesterday when he accosted me. He was riding a powerful back horse. He actually raised his whip to me."

Mrs. Twig’s eyes flashed. She hooded them, and gave Veronica a reassuring little smile.

“Oh, that. As I said before, it's most likely a neighbor. Perhaps someone who knows Mr. Rafe.”

"He had startling blue eyes."

Mrs. Twig seemed to freeze
.

"Oh, that's not uncommon around here."

Veronica played with her butter knife, looked around to see if the twins were in earshot. They weren’t.

"It seems Mr. Rafe has some rather aggressive friends. I spent the whole rest of the day in a fright lest he crouch in the bushes, or look in. I thought he must be a highwayman or a convict or something horrible like that."

Mrs. Twig seemed to be groping for words.

“Who
is
he?” Veronica insisted.

Mrs.
Twig pressed her lips together.

"I can't say, Miss Everly. A neighbor. Yorkshiremen can be quite... territorial."

"Territorial? Does he have a stake in this property, then?"

"Perhaps at one time, he did."

"Who is he?"

"Please, Miss Everly, just let it lie. Whoever he is, he is of no consequence."

"No cons...?"

Veronica got up and walked to the windows. The twins were on the terrace petting the white Alsatian. When they looked up at her with their identical faces and mysterious green eyes, her agitation fell away. She smiled and waved to them; they waved back. Then, thumping the dog’s rump to send him running, they chased him across the lawn.

Veronica returned to the table where Mrs. Twig was reading her list.

“That white dog is very beautiful,” Veronica said.

“I’m glad you think so. It’s a Swiss shepherd called Wolfgang. He’s their guardian.”

“Oh, really.” Veronica went back to the window and watched the twins throwing sticks to the dog from two different directions. What did they need a guardian for? She was suddenly afraid to ask; afraid Mrs. Twig would deflect the subject as she had the one about the horseman. She obviously thought Veronica ridiculous for being frightened by his behavior. Though Veronica failed see why she should not be, being a woman out here in the middle of nowhere, alone in this big, empty house.

Mrs. Twig put her
to-do
list down, placed her spectacles on top of it, and passed her hands over her eyes. She did not look at Veronica, but seemed to want to pretend she wasn’t there. Veronica sat back down, and pressed her lips together to stop herself saying something she might regret.

They sat quietly finishing their tea. The conversation was over. It was obvious Veronica would get nothing more out of Mrs. Twig.

Janet came in with a fresh breakfast platter and set it on the sideboard. The fragrance of eggs and warm scones filled the room. Veronica went to the window and waved to the twins to summon them in for breakfast. They smiled and began prodding the dog to follow them.

Mrs. Twig’s chair scraped back.

“Thank you, Janet,” she said to the maid. “Come, Miss Everly. Let me show you the classroom. Lessons begin at nine. I’m sure you’re anxious to get started.”

“Oh, yes, Mrs. Twig. I’m very much ready to begin.”
             

Assured the twins had come inside, Veronica followed Mrs. Twig upstairs.

On the third floor, they stopped at a door that seemed to have been closed forever. Mrs. Twig unlocked it and ushered Veronica into a cold, stale-smelling classroom. There was a chalkboard, a teacher’s desk, and three students’ desks. A pair of bookshelves flanked a small cast-iron fireplace. The windows looked out on a dark hedge of lofty Irish yews.

“It can be cozy with a fire,” Mrs. Twig said. “For some reason, the former governess had the carpet pulled up. Then she left with no explanation. If you want, we can lay another.”

“That would be lovely,” said Veronica. She quickly perused the textbooks. “These look quite good. I’ve brought some of my own as well.”

“Why don’t I order the carpet while you get acquainted with the room. The children should be finished with breakfast in an hour. Shall I have your books brought up as well?”

“Yes, of course. Thank you.” Veronica said. “Oh, Mrs. Twig? Why are there three desks? Is there another child?”

Mrs. Twig stopped short but did not turn around. “It’s just an extra desk.” She hurried out of the room.

Veronica hoped this wasn't going to be the pattern, this evasiveness of Mrs. Twig's. Then again, it was right that Mrs. Twig should hold the personal lives of the de Grimstons in strictest confidence. Accepting that, with time and trust, the housekeeper would be more open with her, Veronica turned her attention to the classroom.

There wasn’t much to see. Her desk was quite barren of teaching supplies. In a side drawer she found a book with a red leather cover and no title. She had a hunch it had been left behind by her predecessor. It didn’t feel right to open it.

Veronica shut the drawer and looked out at the yew trees. About ten yards away from the window, and very close-knit, the yews loomed up like a dense green wall. Though on the south side of the house, they blocked out the sun, leaving the classroom in shadow.

Those yews would keep anything out. The horseman would never find her in here.

In the process of looking for work and coming to Belden House, she'd been out in the world for three weeks. The dark green peaks of the yews against the sky reminded Veronica of the nun's cemetery at Saint Mary's. She'd never wanted to be a nun, but there were aspects to their divinely inspired way of life that had formed her character and would live within her forever. She'd been fortunate. Not many orphans had the chance to live in beautiful surroundings amongst people who, if they didn't especially care, were not exploitive or cruel. Except for the wolf girl, Tala, who had come from outside, Veronica had felt secure at Saint Mary's.