Falconridge Read online

  The walls were covered with an embossed ivory material, and the floor was laid with a thick gold carpet. The draperies were dark yellow, falling to the floor in heavy satin folds, the bedspread and canopy were of the same rich cloth. The furniture was white oak, delicately carved in simple design. A bowl of vivid blue gentians set on a small white table, and there was a footstool covered in the same shade of blue. It was the loveliest room I had ever seen.

  “I’ve just done it over,” Helena said, leaning in the doorway. “It was so dark and dreadful with those massive mahogany pieces and the stuffy green velvet hangings. I thought a young girl would like something a bit lighter.”

  “I love it,” I said, turning around to take in all the features of the room.

  “I didn’t know whether it would be ready or not. I made the draperies and bedspread myself as soon as I knew you were coming. Covered the stool, too.”

  “You shouldn’t have gone to all that trouble, Aunt Helena.”

  “Helena, my dear, just Helena. Trouble? Nonsense. My only trouble has been that I haven’t had anyone to do things for in such a long time. That’s changed now that you’re here. An old woman like me needs someone to fuss over. What is this? Are you crying.…”

  I shook my head, trying to hold back the tears that welled up in my eyes. Helena moved across the room and put her arms around me, holding me to her in a tight embrace. I had never felt so warm, so secure. She released me after a moment, standing back and smiling radiantly.

  “You’re tired, Angel, that’s all. I see that they’ve already seen to your trunk. You freshen up and dress for dinner, and you’ll feel much better. I’ll send Lucy up to help you. She’s to be your maid. Hurry up now. This is certainly no time for tears.…”

  V

  I STOOD VERY QUIETLY in the room after my aunt left. I tried to compose myself. I had resolved never to cry again, yet the tears had come, and I was ashamed of them. I brushed them away from my lashes, scolding myself for the emotional indulgence. I had never known anyone like Helena Lloyd. I had never known that anyone could be so wonderful, so kind. It moved me deeply to know that I was wanted, that I would be a part in the life of someone else at last. I moved to the bowl of gentians, picking up one of the little blue flowers and holding it to my cheek. After all the unpleasantness at Mrs. Siddons’, after my uncle’s rudeness and the encounter with Martha Victor, my aunt’s warmth was overwhelming. I was filled with a soft glow, surrounded by the beauty of the room, at home at last.

  There was a timid tap at the door, and I opened it to see a small, wide eyed child with pale yellow hair and a thin, pug-nosed face. Her eyes were very blue, surrounded by long sooty lashes, and her mouth was bow shaped. There was a smudge of dirt on her cheek, and a perky white cap rested on her curly head. She bowed, lowering her lashes, and introduced herself as Lucy, my new maid.

  “I’ve come to help you unpack, Ma’am,” she said. Her voice was thin and reedy.

  “Come in, Lucy. My, how small you are. How old are you?”

  “Twelve, Ma’am. Almost thirteen.”

  “And how long have you been at Falconridge?”

  “Since always. Cook’s my ma. I was born here.”

  She went over to my trunk and began to unpack it, laying each dress carefully across the bed. Her hands shook a little, and I could tell she was frightened. She glanced at me out of the corners of her eyes. I smiled at her, sitting down on the edge of the bed, hoping to put her at ease.

  “You mustn’t be nervous, Lucy,” I said. “I won’t hurt you.”

  “It’s not you I’m afraid of,” she said, taking the last dress out. “It’s Mrs. Victor. This is my first important job—seeing after you. I was in the pantry before, helping ma with supplies and things. Now I’m a lady’s maid and I’m sure I’ll do everything wrong. Mrs. Victor would love that. She hates me anyway, says I’m always getting into mischief. If I make any mistakes she’ll send me back to the pantry.”

  “You’re doing beautifully,” I told her, “and you won’t make any mistakes. Even if you do, I won’t tell.”

  Lucy looked at me for a long moment as though doubting the truth of what I said. Her thin face was very serious, her eyes searching mine intently. I sensed that she hadn’t known much kindness in her short life. She was hesitant, not knowing whether to take me at my word or not, and then she smiled. The corners of her mouth turned up like a tiny rosebud opening, and contentment flooded her face.

  “Gar,” she said. “I didn’t know what to expect. I didn’t know I was goin’ to have a princess for my lady.”

  “A princess?”

  She nodded. “Like in all them stories my ma read to me. This is a big castle, like the ones in th’ pictures, and you’re the princess come to break the evil spell.”

  “But Falconridge doesn’t have an evil spell,” I said, laughing at her fantasy.

  “Oh, yes, Ma’am, it does. It’s got a spell and everyone is unhappy. You’ll see for yourself.”

  “That’s silly, Lucy.”

  She shook her head. “No, it’s the truth. Honest it is.”

  “You’ve listened to too many stories.”

  “Maybe so. Anyway, you’re here now to break the spell.”

  “Silly child,” I said, amused at her foolish convictions.

  I washed up while Lucy hung my clothes in the closet. She brushed each dress and smoothed it out before hanging it up. She put all my toilet articles on the dresser, the ivory handled brush set, the bottles of cologne and lilac water, the tiny box of rice powder that I never used. She hummed softly to herself, and I could tell that she was at ease with me now, ready to do anything I wanted.

  I sat at the dressing table, brushing my hair. There were shadows about my brown eyes, and my cheeks looked a little drawn and pale. The trip had been very long and tiring, and my emotions had been through an upheaval. It all showed on my face. I took out the tiny pot of forbidden rouge Clarissa had given to me months ago and rubbed a little of the pink salve into my cheeks. That looked better, I thought. I parted my hair in the middle and let it fall in lustrous auburn waves on either side of my face. Lucy watched me, fascinated.

  “What shall I wear to dinner?” I asked, wanting her to feel that she was taking part in my preparations.

  She put a finger to her lips and held her head to one side, examining the dresses in the closet. Then she took out my old white taffeta overlaid with yellowing ivory lace. “This one,” she said, holding it up for my inspection. The dress had once been beautiful. It was a bit shabby now, but then all of them were. I put it on, letting Lucy fasten it for me.

  “There,” she said. “Now you really do look like a princess.”

  The sleeves dropped off-the-shoulder, and the waist was very tight, as the dress was at least three years old. The lace had begun to yellow, but the effect was not at all bad. I wore Clarissa’s ruby pendant, and the drop of glowing red against the white was pleasing. I whirled around for Lucy’s inspection. The stiff skirts made a crackling noise, and she clapped with approval. The child’s delight made me feel much better. I asked her directions for getting to the dining room and then left, resolving to be bright and cheerful for my aunt.

  A window had been left open somewhere down the hall, I could feel a chilly breeze on my bare shoulders. I quickened my step, anxious to get downstairs. I went down the hall and turned at the corner. The breeze was much stronger here. It was actually cold, zephyrs of wind billowing down the hallway and causing the old tapestries to flap against the wall. It was an irritating sound, a little unnerving. There was only one lamp burning, far down the hall, and its yellow light flickered and spluttered making dark shadows leap over the floor. As I hurried towards the light, a sudden gust of wind rattled a window violently and the light went out. I stopped, startled.

  I stood very still. It was ridiculous, of course, to be alarmed but I felt a chill of apprehension. The hall was in total darkness and the tapestries beat against the wall with a steady rhythmn. I
fancied I could hear footsteps, but I knew it was my imagination. The house seemed to surround me, holding me in its dark center, and my heart beat rapidly. I could feel the damp walls all around me. I could smell mildew and moisture. I remembered what Lucy had said about an evil spell, and I had a moment of complete fear before I pulled myself together. I bit my lower lip and forced myself to move on down the hall.

  Some rays of moonlight filtered in from somewhere, spreading a silver sheen over everything but giving very little actual light. There were dense blue-black shadows on either side as I walked along, but I wouldn’t let my imagination invest them with spirits. I seemed to have been going down the hall for a long time before I found the staircase. I was surprised that there was no lamp here. Surely there had been one when Aunt Helena and I came up.

  Suddenly there was a loud crash behind me. I grasped the railing, trying not to scream. I realized then that the wind had knocked over a vase or something and it had crashed to the floor. Some servant would be severely reprimanded for leaving the windows open, I thought, moving on down the staircase. It seemed more narrow than it had earlier, and there was a musty smell about the carpet that was unpleasant. The railing gave a little as I leaned against it, and a stair creaked loudly. I knew then that I had missed a turn and was coming down the wrong stairway. The only thing to do was to go on down to the ground floor and try to find my way to the dining room from there.

  I stopped at the foot of the stairs, all my senses alert. There was someone watching me. I was sure of it. I could feel the eyes on me. It was a physical sensation. I leaned against the railing, afraid to move. My eyes were gradually growing accustomed to the darkness and as they did I began to see large, moving blurs of white. The whole room was full of these objects, and heard a rustling noise, the noise of soft whispers. I closed my eyes. My head swam for a moment. I smelt the strong odors of dust and decay. When I opened my eyes, I realized that I had somehow managed to come to the left wing of Falconridge, the wing that was closed up. The white objects were the sheets covering the furniture, and the whispering noise was made by the sheets as they rustled softly in the breeze. I sighed deeply, holding my hand over my heart. For a moment my imagination had gone wild.

  I could still feel the eyes on me. This was not my imagination. I heard someone moving in the room. I could see a large, dark figure move across the floor, coming towards me. I leaned against the wall, trying to maintain some degree of calm.

  “Who’s there?” I called.

  The figure stopped. There was no reply. I could see the dark shape standing several yards away from me. I knew that my eyes were not playing tricks, as they had done with the sheeted furniture. I could feel the presence of the person in the room, and I could feel something else, too. It was animosity. It was unmistakable. The animosity was there, directed towards me, filling the air with intangible waves. I felt cold chills on my bare arms, and I knew my instincts were not wrong.

  “Who’s there?” I called again, a pitch of hysteria in my voice. I bit down on my lower lip, fighting to keep control.

  There was a loud rasping noise and then an orange flare as someone struck a match. The flame burned low for a moment and then a gradually widening glow of yellow took its place as it was held to the wick of an oil lamp. My eyes blinked at the sudden light. I saw first the hand holding the lamp and then, as the light grew, the face of Martha Victor. It was grotesque in the flickering glow of the lamp, half in shadow. The face seemed to be suspended there in the dark, like something in a nightmare. I could see the heavy jowls, the tight mouth, the dark eyes that stared at me with pure hatred.

  “Why didn’t you answer me?” I demanded angrily. “You gave me a terrible start.”

  “Were you frightened, Miss Moore?” she asked, her voice honied. I saw the large lips spread into a smile.

  “You know I was!” I snapped.

  “It is very easy to be frightened at Falconridge. There are noises you can’t explain, little noises in the night, and shadows, always shadows. Sometimes they seem to swallow you up. Sometimes they seem to be waiting for you, dark nests of shadows, waiting for you.”

  “Why are you talking like this?”

  “No one sleeps well at Falconridge,” she continued, ignoring my question, “with all the noise. It’s a big place, full of twists and turns and corners and sudden stairways leading up into the darkness. Anything could happen to a young girl in a place like this.”

  “That will be enough, Mrs. Victor,” I said. My voice was level now. I did not know why she had wanted to frighten me, but I was over the initial shock. I was merely angry now, coldly angry at the dreadful way she had acted.

  “Why don’t you leave, Miss Moore? Falconridge is not kind to people who do not belong. You do not belong. You are an outsider. You will not be happy here.”

  “That will be for me to decide,” I replied.

  She smiled again. She looked very satisfied with herself, as though she had done something very clever. We stared at each other, my own eyes as coldly angry as her were flat and belligerent. I could not understand why she felt this way towards me, but I knew that there could never be anything but mutual dislike between us.

  “Are you lost, Miss Moore?” she asked, still smiling.

  “Would you tell me how to get to the dining room?”

  She pointed. “Down that hall, through those doors. It is the first room on your left as you enter the main hallway.”

  “Thank you,” I said icily.

  I walked down the hall. I could feel the woman’s eyes following my progress. They seemed to bore into my back, and I wanted to shudder. I flung open the door and entered the main hallway, stepping briskly on the parquet floor. Many lamps glowed in this part of the house, making a welcome contrast to what I had left behind me. I waited in the hall a moment before entering the dining room. I had brushed against a cobweb somewhere, and it clung to my skirt. I wiped it off, frowning. I had been in such a good mood when I left my bedroom. Now I was filled with anger. I didn’t want my aunt and uncle to see me like this.

  I took several deep breaths, arranged my dress and walked into the dining room with a smile on my lips. They were both at the table. A manservant was waiting to serve the food. Charles Lloyd stood up, nodding politely to me. Aunt Helena gave a sigh of relief.

  “We were afraid something had happened,” she exclaimed.

  “I lost my way,” I said quietly. “The lamp blew out in the hall upstairs and I took the wrong staircase down. I found myself in the closed wing.”

  “Oh, dear! That must have been frightful!”

  “Mrs. Victor was there. She had probably gone to close a window. She was kind enough to show me the way to the dining room.”

  I had no intentions of telling them what she had done or said. If Martha Victor and I were going to do battle, we would do it alone. I was not going to draw my aunt and uncle into it. Charles Lloyd helped me into my seat.

  “You will soon learn never to walk the corridors of Falconridge at night without carrying a candle,” he said. “The draft is terrible in every part of the house. It’s nearly impossible to keep all of the lamps burning.”

  “The coastal wind,” Helena said. “It’s ghastly. Sometimes it’s so bad I think the house will fall apart. Every shutter on the place banging, doors slamming.…”

  “Another attractive feature of Falconridge,” my uncle said. His voice was heavy with sarcasm.

  “I’m sure it won’t bother me,” I replied, “now that I know what to expect.”

  “I hope not, Lauren,” he said.

  The servant began to fill our plates, and I looked around at the room. It was spacious and elegant, the walls covered with rich mahogany wainscoting below, the remainder in embossed blue material. The carpet was dark gray, and the furniture was the same rich mahogany as the wainscoting, gleaming with a dark red sheen. The table was vast, far too large for three people, but the candles glowing in their heavy silver candelabras created an atmosphere of int
imacy. Two large silver bowls contained pink roses, some of the petals scattered on the table. My uncle sat at one end of the table, Helena at the other. I sat in the middle.

  “How do you like Lucy?” Aunt Helena asked.

  “I find her adorable.”

  “I thought Lucy was in the pantry,” my uncle said.

  “She was. I promoted her.”

  “Did you consult Mrs. Victor?”

  “Goodness, Charles, one would think I could promote my own servants without consulting the housekeeper. No, I merely told her that I wanted Lucy prepared to be Lauren’s maid. She’s a good child, perhaps a little imaginative, but very observant. She’ll do wonderfully well, I’m sure.”

  “If you say so, my dear,” he said.

  Charles Lloyd smiled at his wife. It was a tolerant smile, the kind an indulgent parent gives to a spoiled child. He lifted his wine glass and drank, looking over the rim of it at Helena, his eyes full of some secret amusement. He wore an old brown velvet smoking jacket with brown satin lapels over his white shirt. His heavy blond hair was a little disarrayed, one of the locks fallen on his forehead. He was more mellow and relaxed than I had ever seen him, more at ease with himself and his surroundings, but the arrogance was still there.

  “Lauren said you met Lavinia in Devon,” Helena remarked.

  “Yes, we did.”

  “What a coincidence,” she said. “She had been visiting a sister? I didn’t know she had relatives in Devon.”

  “I am sure there’s a lot you don’t know about the Graystones, my dear,” he replied. “The relationship with them has never been intimate.”

  “I keep wondering how long you are going to keep that awful man. I don’t like him at all. Neither does Norman.”

  “Norman doesn’t completely run Falconridge yet,” my uncle said. “Andrew Graystone does his job well. He collects the rent from all the tenants on time. He sees that they have enough seed and the proper tools and supplies. He is honest, so far as I know, and he does his work without grumbling about it.”

  “He’s so surly,” Helena protested.