Of Monsters and Madness (10 page)

She picks up her book again and, acting as if she had not just come from a clandestine meeting with my father, says calmly, “Let us resume.”

In light of what I’ve just heard, I find it even more difficult to concentrate during my afternoon lessons, and Mrs. Tusk’s attention seems equally distracted. When we are done for the day, I walk with her to the door, but all I can think of is returning to my room. There are so many things I want to write about in my journal.

Moments after she takes her leave, there is a knock at the door. I open it to find Allan standing in the vestibule. The white shirt he wears beneath a black vest contrasts starkly with his dark hair and dark eyes, giving him a wild, rakish look, and I suddenly wish I were wearing something from my new wardrobe instead of the same dress he saw me in when last we met.

“Good afternoon, Miss Lee.”

My throat goes dry, and I cannot find my words. I
curtsy to him while I compose myself. “Mr. Poe, how are you?”

He reaches for my hand and holds it for just a second too long. “Better now.”

Not only have my words deserted me, my thoughts have as well. He leans in with a smile. “May I come in?”

“Yes! Please forgive my lack of manners.” I move out of his way and silently berate myself for losing my head.

He steps inside and then tucks my hand in the crook of his arm, pulling me beside him as if we are going for a Sunday stroll. “I’ve been working on something, and I must have your opinion.”

I glance around uncertainly. There is no chaperone within sight. I do not wish for another “incident” to occur. Mrs. Tusk will surely mention it again if she should find out. “We are alone, Mr. Poe. It isn’t proper—”

“
Allan
,” he reminds me. Then he softly repeats the words that he said in the courtyard. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

Surely, he can hear my heart beating in my chest. It is so very loud.

I manage a brief nod, and he clears his throat. “I have
no words, alas! to tell, the loveliness of loving well! Nor would I dare attempt to trace, the breathing beauty of a face. Which ev’n to
my
impassion’d mind, leaves not its memory behind. In spring of life have you ne’er dwelt some object of delight upon, with steadfast eye, till ye have felt, the earth reel—and the vision gone? And I have held to mem’ry’s eye, one object—and but one—until its very form hath pass’d me by, but left its influence with me still.”

“You wrote that?”

“It’s from ‘Tamerlane.’ I thought you might like it.”

“It’s beautiful, Allan. Truly beautiful. You are very talented.”

He stops and turns to look at me. “I was inspired.”

Suddenly flustered, I move to pull my hand away.

“Don’t be afraid of me,” he says quietly. Almost desperately. “Please.”

“I’m not afraid. I’m …”
Confused. And overwhelmed. And …

Anything but afraid.

A loud laugh comes from the kitchen, drifting through the open dining room doors, and then Allan is the one pulling away. But not before he brushes a quick kiss across the back of my hand. “Forgive me, I
must be off. I have an errand to run for your father, and he is waiting.”

I stammer a good-bye and watch as Allan strolls away from me. My whole body is warm, and I press cool palms to my burning cheecks. My stomach is churning, yet I want to go skipping through the halls. I don’t know how to sort through any of these feelings. I’ve never experienced this sort of thing before.

I hope to catch another glimpse of Allan when he returns from his errand for Father, but I do not see him again. Father does not join us for dinner again either.

When the last course has been cleared, I join Maddy for a cup of tea with Cook and Johanna in the kitchen. As the kettle boils, I check Johanna’s bandage.

“Is your finger sore?” The edges of the wound are an angry red color and I worry that infection will set in.

“A bit,” Johanna admits.

“Have you been trying to rest it?”

“She has not,” Cook says indignantly, gathering teacups and saucers. “I’ve told her over an’ over, but she insists on pulling her full weight.”

Johanna blushes and looks away.

“Do you have any stinging nettle in the gardens?” I ask Cook. “With that and some licorice root, I can make a salve that will draw the infection out.”

Cook nods. “We have the nettle, but licorice root we’re out of.”

“I can get more at the market tomorrow,” Maddy volunteers. She brings the tea tray over to the table and we gather around it while she pours. “It won’t be any trouble.”

She hands me a cup, and the warmth is soothing in my hands. “Can I go with you, Maddy? I would love to see what the market looks like here in Philadelphia.”

“Of course you can, miss.”

The conversation ebbs and flows as we discuss herbal remedies and poultice preparations, and it feels very much like being at home again with Mother. I take another sip of tea, and my thoughts turn to Allan again as I look down at my fingers. I don’t want him to see them looking so poorly. “Maddy, do you know remedies that will soften hands?” I say suddenly. “Or something that will make spots from the sun disappear?”

“Rosewater an’ lemon juice. Once in the mornin’ an’ once in the afternoon.”

“Can I find those ingredients at the market?”

“You can. You don’t need that, though, miss. Yer hands are just fine.”

“But Madame LaFleur said—”

“Pshaw, what she said,” Cook interrupts. “She’s just full of herself. Madame High an’ Mighty.”

“I don’t want Allan …” I stop, but his name has already slipped out.

Maddy grins knowingly. “I see how it is, then. It’s fer Master Allan.”

“Did you see he asked about my finger today?” Johanna remarks. “He saw the bandage an’ asked right away.”

“He’s always a gentleman, that one,” Cook replies.

“He’s very different from his cousin, Edgar,” I say. “I’m amazed they are even related.”

The room instantly goes silent. Cook stares intently at her tea as Maddy and Johanna exchange glances. My cheeks start to burn when the silence wears on.
Did Edgar tell them that we were alone in the library? Has my reputation been ruined?

“I did not know he would be in the library,” I say. “Truly, I thought I was alone. Please, do not tell Mrs. Tusk.”

Cook gives me a sharp look. “Did he do something to you?” she asks fiercely.

“N-no,” I stutter.
They cannot know that he touched my bare wrist, can they?

“When did you meet him in the library, miss?” Maddy asks.

“Last night. I came down for some biscuits and got turned around. I ended up in the library. He came in and introduced himself. I left as soon as I could. Forgive me if I did something wrong. I did not realize—”

“You did nothing wrong, miss,” Maddy says soothingly.

“That’s right.” Cook nods her head. “Just stay away from him, miss. Stay away. He’s a right nasty one.”

“Why? What has he done?”

But the silence returns, and no one will say anything more. My frustration mounts at the overwhelming number of secrets this house seems to hold.

“Miss Annabel was telling me all about Siam,” Maddy says, abruptly changing the topic of conversation. “You would never believe it.”

“What a long journey it must have been, miss,” Johanna replies. “Until the Grandmaster said you were coming here, I did not even know such a place existed.”

Cook nods. “I didn’t know the miss even existed. What a happy surprise it was to find the Master has a daughter.”

I try not to let her words sting, reminded that my father was not the one who wanted me to come to Philadelphia. Instead, I join their excited chatter and tell them more about my homeland. When I find myself growing sleepy, I finally bid them good night.

But I cannot stop wondering what they wouldn’t tell me about Edgar, and why they warned me to stay away from him.

Nine

I
expect to have another restless night with so many questions running through my mind, but I sleep well and Maddy wakes me early the next morning so we can go to the market. I’m excited by the thought of finally having the chance to see Philadelphia.

My excitement is further encouraged when Father joins Grand-père and me for breakfast. He is dressed in a freshly pressed suit, and his mood is bright. Even his labored walking does not seem to bother him as much. Grand-père was right; bed rest has done him well.

“Good morning, Annabel,” he says.

“Good morning, Father.” I curtsy, and the smile he gives me makes me feel as if I have just accomplished the greatest feat in the world.

“I see your lessons with Mrs. Tusk are paying off.” He whistles a cheery tune as he goes to the sideboard and begins to serve himself.

I don’t understand the mercurial change in his demeanor, but I find myself wanting to please him further. “They are indeed. She is an excellent teacher.”

“Yes, yes.” He smiles at me again, but he is distracted.

I try to remember what Mrs. Tusk said about polite conversation.
Talk about the weather or gardening
. “The weather seems to be lovely this morning. Although I do hope the rain holds off while Maddy and I are at the market.”