The Lady in Yellow: A Victorian Gothic Romance (2 page)

A soft howl filtered through the door.

Crossing herself, Veronica backed away, and ran.

All she had done for this
mad child
, who came to be called Tala, was be foolish enough to try to help her.

eee

The bleak sky, smudging into solid grey, sank into the rolling hills until sky and land merged into one inky entity. Only the moon shone through the black pane of window, brighter than Veronica's gas-lit reflection. She stood up and stretched. It was time to find the wagon lit and allow the rocking of the train to lull her to sleep.

The bed on its shelf was narrow, the mattress thin. But she was used to austerity. It was worry that kept her awake. What was she really facing with the twins? Were they
merely unusual
, or something worse?

Three

W
hen the train, wheezing its last blast of smoke, finally screeched to a standstill, it was dawn. Stepping out onto the cold, abandoned platform, dragging her two bags through the cold, abandoned station, Veronica was grateful to find a large black carriage with a matching team of four horses, and the red and gold
de Grimston
crest emblazoned on the door, waiting for her. A tall, silent driver in a black frock coat and stovepipe hat jumped down, helped stow her bags on the roof, and, with a curt nod, held the door open and handed her into the carriage. It was plush inside: fine leather, red velvet curtains and windows large enough to enable one to enjoy the view.

What an astonishing situation! Who would have dreamed she would ever experience such
luxury? Veronica sank into the soft cushions and gave herself up to comfort.

The drive seemed to go on forever across the open moors, their heathery vastness sometimes broken by misshapen hillocks, solitary rock formations and low boundary walls. They entered a wood with a leafy canopy so dense that only scattered sparks of sunlight broke through the overhanging limbs to light the road before them. Still, the horses trotted on, emerging at last into broad daylight on the grounds of a manicured estate.

Black iron gates opened to a drive leading down to a broad forecourt with a fountain in the midst. As the horses slowed to a walk, Veronica gazed out the carriage windows, unable to believe that this was to be her new home.

Belden House was beautiful. Built of quarried yellow stones, its flawless proportions graced the center of a wide lawn, its chimney pots, gables and crenellations set off against a background of hills and tapering evergreens. Sunlight glinted off the many diamond-paned windows so that the entire length of the façade sparkled. The only flaw in the house's perfect symmetry was a tower looming at the back like an unwelcome visitor from the Dark Ages.

As the carriage pulled up to the front door, a shout rang out. Soon, a maid in a black dress and white apron came out to the porch, accompanied by two working boys, and a tall, slender, auburn-haired lady in widow’s weeds whose face visibly brightened at the sight of Veronica.

“Good day.” She came down the steps and grasped Veronica’s hands. “I’m the housekeeper, Mrs. Twig. We shall see quite a lot of each other.”

“Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Twig,” Veronica said. “I’m Veronica Everly. My, this is a beautiful house.”

“Yes. The newest bits are Georgian. The tower at the back is tenth century.”

“Oh my. That’s very old, isn’t it?"

"Yes. The de Grimstons are a very old family, going all the way to Roman times in these islands."

"That's quite impressive," Veronica said. Of course her family went all the way back as well, just not as impressively.

"This," Mrs. Twig introduced the maid, "is our maid, Janet."

Janet bobbed a curtsey. She wasn't much older than Veronica. Her hair, pulled straight back from her round, pretty face, was dark brown. Her smile was sweet, her eyes hazel. She blinked a lot as if she were afraid to look directly at people.

"And here we have our groom
and
steward, Mr. Croft."

Mr. Croft jumped down from the driver's box of the carriage and came around to stand beside Mrs. Twig. On closer inspection, he proved to be a strong, square-built man, his pale face darkened by a smudge of black beard that looked impossible to shave off.

"At your service, Miss." He doffed his well-worn stovepipe hat.

"Pleased to meet you," Veronica said, with a little nod. "Again."

Eyes glittering with humor, Mr. Croft smirked.

"We would be utterly lost without our Mr. Croft," Mrs. Twig said. "He is often the only man we have around here. Isn't that right, Mr. Croft?"

He nodded. Mr. Croft seemed a man of few words.

"Our cook, Peggy, is preparing luncheon, but you'll meet her soon enough. We have a small staff, but our needs are few." Mrs. Twig smiled. "Everyone here works hard for the de Grimstons. Members of their families have been employed at this estate for generations."

That was a good sign, Veronica thought. That kind of loyalty suggested trustworthiness and mutual respect.

The boys, both displaying the shar
p-eyed, restless energy of ten year olds, were called Petey and Sam. They greeted Veronica with fidgety bows, looking anxious to run off.

Mrs. Twig laughed. "The
boys put themselves to good use in the stables and such. And I'm sure they will have the entire neighborhood informed about the pretty new governess by this afternoon."

Veronica felt her face heat up and knew she was blushing. She wasn't used to compliments. "Thank you," she breathed.

Mr. Croft gave her another smirk and a wink. "I'll be off, Mrs.," he said to Mrs. Twig. Tipping his hat to Veronica, he left.

Startled by the wink, Veronica watched him go. Turning back, she found Mrs. Twig waiting by the door.

"Is it possible to meet the children right away?”

“Of course. Come this way, please.”

Mrs. Twig led Veronica through the elegant high-ceilinged rooms, all so light and airy, and tastefully done. At the back of the house, French doors opened out into a large open garden. A wide, green lawn spread out in all directions, a stand of white birches the only portion not in full sunlight. The soft, light voices of children floated through the trees, carrying the strains of an old folksong.

Green grow the lilies oh, bright among the bushes oh...

Mrs. Twig stopped short as if she had second thoughts about continuing on, then, pressing her lips together, beckoned Veronica to follow her toward the singers.

Shielded by a fringe of white lilies, were two white-blonde children of about eight years old. One was standing on a mossy hummock tying a china doll to a low branch. Small stones dangled from the doll's ankles, as if to weigh it down.

Mrs. Twig gestured to Veronica to wait as the children, thoroughly engrossed in their curious play, continued to sing the old ballad.

“One is buried beneath the tree,

One is buried beneath the well,

The well below the valley-o…”

Singing out the burials, they slowly lowered the doll into what appeared, through the screen of lilies, to be a pool of dark water at the base of the hummock.

Mrs. Twig must have seen Veronica frowning. "It's our wishing well, Miss Everly."

"Oh," Veronica replied, wondering what in the world the children wished for that required the sacrifice of a doll to obtain. Perhaps they wished to bring their mother back.  Veronica sighed. She knew all too well the futility of such a desire.

  The twins stopped singing and stared silently down into the well. Then with an air of great solemnity, they straightened up.

Mrs. Twig waved to them. “Jack! Come along and meet your new governess, Miss Everly.”

Both children looked at her. Veronica’s scalp tingled at the eerie duplication of their faces, the intense gaze of their pale green eyes. They came out of the lilies and walked slowly toward her, their eyes shielded by long, white lashes
. They both wore white, one a simple frock and the other trousers and a shirt. Their chin-length, sun whitened hair and pale eyes glowed like photographic negatives against their sun-kissed skin. Veronica had never seen identical twins before, but she’d heard a superstitious belief that they were magical. In that moment, she was sure that superstition had been founded on truth.

Heart pattering nervously in her chest, Veronica smiled at them
pair.

“So you're our new governess,” the one in trousers said.

“Yes. I’m Miss Everly. And you’re Jacques aren’t you?”

“Yes. And this is my other half, Jacqueline. Together we are called Jack.”

"Oh! How unusual." She glanced at Mrs. Twig who was gazing through her eyelashes at the twins. "Well, Jack, how do you do?" Veronica extended her hand.

"Very well, Miss." Jacques set his small hand in hers.

Jacqueline curtsied deeply, then laughed as if good manners were a great joke.

The twins were indeed unusual. Veronica tried not to be flustered. "I’m so happy to meet you both. I think we shall be very good friends.”

"She looks like a deer," Jacques said to Jacqueline. "A pretty doe."

The children narrowed their eyes at Veronica.

Mrs. Twig gave them a forbidding look.

As if caught being naughty, the twins
smiled in a sudden, shy way. When the sun broke through the clouds, they seemed to vanish in its rays.

Four

T
ea took place in a corner conservatory, its beveled, lead crystal windows looking out on a marble terrace. Beyond the flower-filled urns, shrubs and benches along the terrace's edge, the lawn sloped north to a bit of ruin at the top of a rise, and east toward the white dazzle of the birch grove. Inside, swathes of ivy and summer flowers, banked against the glassed-in curve of the western wall, glowed brightly in the last rays of the afternoon sun. The statue of a fawn played his pipe amongst the foliage, its half-naked cavorting appearing to have set loose a flurry of leaves and rose petals over the checkerboard floor.

A crystal vase of irises, lilies and ferns adorned the tea able. Sunlight sparkled on the silverware, rimmed the bone china cups. Mrs. Twig sat stiffly in her chair, glancing out at the terrace from the corner of her eye.

“Mrs. Twig, the children are charming. I wonder why they have a reputation for being difficult,” Veronica said, watching her spoon as she swirled it around in her tea.

“They aren’t bad children. They’re just different.” Mrs. Twig said. There was tension, a slight reluctance in the housekeeper's voice and manner.

Veronica wondered if it were obvious that she'd found the twins unsettling.

“The other governesses complained that they were secretive. Elusive,” Mrs. Twig went on.

“Elusive?”

“Yes. They disappear sometimes. No one can find them.”

“Like they did in the garden just now?”

“What do you mean?”

“In the sunlight. Didn’t you see them vanish in the sunlight?”

“No…. It must have been an optical effect of some kind. Your eyes are playing tricks on you, Miss Everly."

"Of course. I didn't mean..."

"I mean, they hide.”

“Hide? Where?”

Mrs. Twig sipped her tea.

“They always come out again. Safe and sound,” she said with a small laugh.

“Wel
l, I’m glad of that.” Veronica was a trifle put off by the housekeeper's enigmatic speech. Sipping her tea, she gazed into the room beyond the conservatory, taking in the high ceilings, the crystal chandeliers, the carved woodwork and damask-covered walls. “This is such a beautiful house. Who built it?”

“This house has been in the de Grimston family since the 17
th
century when Mr. Rafe’s ancestor, Lord Howard de Grimston, came into his fortune. When Mr. Rafe inherited the property, it had been abandoned for years. And you know what that brings."

"Oh, yes. Was it terribly decayed?"

"Not past saving, fortunately, but as murky as a tomb. As you can see by the tower at the back, there was once a proper castle on this spot. Parts of the ruins were incorporated into the garden walls.”

“That’s quite ingenious.”

“Yes, it is. There are more bits of castle in the basement.”

“Not a dungeon?” Veronica widened her eyes dramatically.

Mrs. Twig laughed. “No, no, no. We use it as a wine cellar. It was Lady Sovay who brought Belden House back to its former glory. Without her ingenuity, it would have gone the way of the castle."

Veronica couldn't imagine this gorgeous house being murky and desolate. "I must say Lady Sovay had a wonderful eye. These rooms are so bright and welcoming, it's hard to imagine them being otherwise."

Mrs. Twig looked thoughtful. "Yes. Lady Sovay created art everywhere she went. It was her gift."

"Was she very beautiful?"

"I've yet to see anyone surpass her."

"May I ask... what happened to her?"

Mrs. Twig's eyes shifted away. She gripped the edge of the table as if she were about to rise, but sighing, seemed to change her mind. "I can't tell you that. I... I don't know."

Afraid she'd been too nosy, Veronica blushed. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Twig. It's none of my business. It's just that... one can't help wondering."

Mrs. Twig smiled and lightly thumped the tabletop.

“I shall take you on a tour, Miss Everly. Mind you, there are one hundred rooms in this house, so we won’t be able to visit them all.”

“One hundred rooms. How astonishing! What use could there be for so many?”

“Four floors, we have, not counting the cellars.”

Veronica finished her tea and followed Mrs. Twig into a large drawing room. Cozy chairs were grouped around an oversized marble fireplace. Paintings of all sizes hung in ornate frames on hunter green walls, the floor to ceiling windows were covered with heavy drapes. Flower arrangements, small sculptures, curio cabinets, and layers of Persian carpets gave the room a Continental atmosphere.

“Most of the rooms are closed now, of course. There was a time when families such as the de Grimstons alleviated the isolation of rural life by inviting large parties of relatives and friends to stay.”

“Of course.” They did that in
Jane Eyre,
with a large party of guests staying at Thornfield Hall. Veronica couldn't imagine having so many relatives and friends as to need one hundred rooms. Never mind feeding them all.

Mrs. Twig led Veronica down a long hallway. They passed two dusky drawing rooms the perfect size for intimate gatherings on cold winter nights, and a large guest suite with a foyer opening out to a side garden. Sadly, but for curtains, carpets and tapestries, the rooms were almost empty of furnishings.

Mrs. Twig chatted along the way.

“We leave the doors open to let in the light and air. Some of the rooms are set off in strange little corners and mews. For instance, if you take the stairs at the end of the upstairs hall, you will find a door set in the corner of the landing where the stairs turn.”

“Odd place for a door.”

“Indeed! If you go inside, you will find a large tower room with windows at the back, and a room with no windows because it is
inside
the other room. Somewhere else, you may find a little corkscrew stair going up to a room with a window that looks out at the gardens, but cannot be seen from outside.”

“How does that work?”

“I wish I knew.”

“A room with no windows,” Veronica mused. “It must be very oppressive.”

“I believe it was used as accommodation for young mothers with babies. A baby would have no need of a window, I suppose. I think these were safe rooms during war times. An old house like this has seen a great deal of history.”

“Just think of all the souls who've spent time here!”

Mrs. Twig stopped short, then pulled out her keys.

“Here is the Great Hall. We only open it for special occasions... holidays, entertaining distinguished guests, the occasional ball.”

“Ball! I’ve never been to a ball.”

“Lady Sovay used to hold them once a year, in May, when the gardens are at their height. These doors have be
en closed ever since... she left us. Large rooms can be quite drafty, you know.”

The double doors swung open into a vast, vaulted chamber with a long row of windows along the eastern wall. The fireplace took up one corner of the room with a hood of sculpted white marble tapering to the ceiling. There were three cobwebbed chandeliers, a polished oak floor covered with an Oriental carpet, and a long feasting table set with silver candle branches dulled by drips of hardened wax, and
a dusty centerpiece of dead, dried flowers.

“Of course, for a ball, the table would be set aside and the carpets taken up. This floor is magnificent for dancing,” Mrs. Twig said, lapsing into deep thought.

Veronica could just picture the ladies in colorful gowns and silk slippers waltzing down the polished floor, carried along in the arms of ardent young gentlemen. Would she ever experience such a thing?

Ms. Twig looked sadly up at the dusty chandeliers. “I'm sorry, Miss Everly. I have neglected to have Janet clean in here. It's been closed up for so long."

Veronica couldn't help but empathize. "Of course, Mrs. Twig. I completely understand why you might want to avoid reminders of your terrible loss."

"Thank you, Miss Everly." Mrs. Twig smiled as if to lighten the mood, yet her voice was wistful. "Its as dusty as Miss Havisham’s wedding table.”

Veronica smiled at the comparison to an eccentric character in a work by Charles Dickens. “Not quite
that
bad,” she said.

Mrs. Twig gave Veronica a quick look that reminded her of Sister Victorine sneaking the wine into her room.

“Don’t tell anyone, Miss Everly, but when my duties are over for the day, I read novels.”

“Oh, so do I.” Veronica whispered. “We are kindred spirits, you and I.”

Mrs. Twig shot Veronica a glance that suggested she wouldn’t go that far. Feeling put in her place, Veronica sighed. “It is a lovely room, even with the dust.”

“There should not be
any
dust.” Mrs. Twig closed the doors and locked them tight. “But it's my fault. Come upstairs, Miss Everly.”

Wondering if she would ever be able to tell when Mrs. Twig was being serious or not, Veronica followed her up a side stair.  At the top was a corridor rather darker than the one downstairs due to all the doors to the rooms being closed. The blue walls contributed to the dimness, giving off no light, but rather evoking the underwater atmosphere of a dream. A series of large portraits hung along the walls, of unusually good-looking ancestors posing in their carved and gilded frames like actors on a stage. The hallway curved to the left into a wide vestibule with an eight-pointed star configured in the tiles of the floor. Where was Mrs. Twig taking her?

Veronica paused before a floor length window looking out at the tops of the trees. She was wondering how much higher they were going to go, when Mrs. Twig called out.

“Here, Miss Everly.”

Mrs. Twig was opening a carved wooden door in the far corner. Veronica hurried over.

“Welcome to the library.”

The doors opened into a lofty, medieval space. Bookshelves lined the walls, others stood freely in several rows across the floor. Books rested on tables, or were stacked on the floor as if the librarian had been called away from her sorting. Veronica moved through three separate alcoves, marveling at the white, domed ceilings, at the cast iron chandeliers hanging from each center. The windows were tall and narrow and bright.

“This looks older than the rest of the house,” Veronica said.

Mrs. Twig gazed lovingly around the rooms.

“More ancestors on the walls, as well?” Veronica asked, indicating an enormous portrait of a gentleman in Tudor period garb.

“Those are not Mr. Rafe’s ancestors. They came with the house. This room was added in fourteen hundred and something.”

"Before the invention of the printing press?"

"I suppose you're right. There are cabinets of handwritten manuscripts, illuminated Bibles, all sorts of antiquated volumes hiding away in here."

Veronica began wandering down an aisle of books.

There was a shelf crammed with large folios of sheet music. Turning around, Veronica was faced with spines of white leather embossed with red or purple titles and gold leaf. Most of the titles were in Latin, others in German or French. She tipped one out.

Le Dragon Rouge

“
The Red Dragon
,” she whispered. “Satan!" The subtitle:
Ou l’art de commander les esprits Celeste
curled below a flat, gold-rimmed picture of the Beast.

"On the art of commanding Heavenly spirits," she whispered the translation. "Heavenly?"

Touching her silver crucifix, Veronica pushed the book back into its place as if it burned her.

“I see,” she breathed. “Quite astonishing.”

She hoped the de Grimstons did not study such things. But why keep these books at all? Why allow them to stay in the house? Perhaps they were worth a lot of money. Still, such things should be destroyed lest devils come popping out from between the pages with their sulfurous fumes and seductions and false guises. Mother Superior would have had them burned.

Quelling her distress, Veronica went back around the corner to find Mrs. Twig waiting at the door.

“Who were they, Mrs. Twig? The family that stocked this library, I mean?”

“You will have to discover that for yourself. The library is full of records and family trees and such. Nothing as interesting as Mr. Dickens though, I’m afraid.”

Veronica smiled. “Well, I can hardly be bothered venturing in then, can I?”

Mrs. Twig wagged her finger. “Is that any way for a school mistress to talk? You should never cease learning, Miss Everly.”

“Of course.”

With a little bow, Mrs. Twig closed the library doors. 

"Come."

Mrs. Twig took Veronica down two flights of stairs to a hallway that led back to a long gallery. Veronica ran her hands over the polished balustrade and looked down at the ground floor. There was the front door where she
had first entered Belden House and the vestibule. Mrs. Twig had taken her full circle.

"Was the library on the fourth floor, Mrs. Twig?" Veronica asked.