The Lady in Yellow: A Victorian Gothic Romance (33 page)

Sixty-Three

S
he spent much of the winter in the Lady Chapel. Comforted by the stillness, warmed by the hundreds of candles that glowed wetly in the underwater light of the stained glass windows, she prayed.

The kind face of the Holy Virgin with her little Christ Child looked down from the altar. Why had Veronica been denied the promise implied in that most primal of images? Why did God allow Satan to contaminate His creation? Why did God allow the germ of evil to destroy it from within?

In a sometimes frozen daze of disbelief at what she’d gone through at Belden House, Veronica contemplated these questions and many others. And what had
she
become? Was she truly a nun, or merely an escapist? Her innocence had been her badge of purity, but it had been the purity of a child, a child who’d been raised in a convent at that. Was it possible to grow to adulthood without knowing evil? It seemed that consciousness of evil allowed it some egress into the soul, to stain, to taint, to corrupt… like the vampyre who, once seen, sees, and considers that acknowledgment, no matter how brief or unintended, an invitation.

Enveloped in smoke and candle fire, Veronica trembled. She felt as if she were at the dark leaden center of the world.

“Holy Virgin, please have mercy on me. Set my feet aright. Guide me away from the path that winds before me into...”

Where?

She didn't have the courage to name it.



It was a bright sunny day when Veronica stepped out of the cathedral to find Janet sitting under a dripping yew tree in the nuns’ graveyard. Busy watching a large crow flapping its wings at the top of a headstone, the maid didn't see Veronica come out.  Despite the snow and slush, Janet seemed quite at home on the bench, as if she’d been sitting there all day. 

“My goodness, Janet? What are you doing here?” Veronica asked.

At the sight of Veronica, Janet stood up. "Oh, Miss. Good day to you."

“How did you know I was in the cathedral?”

“The head nun told me where to find you.” Janet was flustered and kept looking at her wet shoes. “I came on behalf of Mr. Rafe.”

“You must be freezing. Come on. Let’s go inside. There’s a small sitting room where we won’t be disturbed.”

The crow swooped up to perch on a low branch and cawed loudly at Veronica's back as she hurried Janet through the side door of the abbey. At the end of the hallway was a cozy little room with a coal fire in the hearth. They sat in opposite wing chairs. Veronica was amazingly happy to see Janet who kept smiling and finally laughing as if she were amazingly happy as well.

“It’s so good to see you, Miss Everly. You do make a lovely nun, I must say, though Mr. Rafe was ever so upset you’d done it.”

“It’s not quite done yet,” Veronica said. “I still have a month before I commit to anything, and even then…”
What was she saying?
“What’s the latest news from Belden House?”

Janet grew flustered again. “Miss, I… Could you...? Well... Mr. Rafe..."

"Go on."

"I know it was wrong of me, but I read your letter. Though I don’t let on, I can read well enough. I found it blowing over the lawn where Mr. Rafe had dropped it, you see, before he stalked off into the woods like the doom was upon him. I was afraid of what he might do with that pistol of his. He doesn’t know I’ve come looking for you, Miss.” Janet looked up with pleading eyes, then glanced out the window where the bare trees swayed in the gusty winds. “All he does is ride. He saddles his favorite horse, that big, black charger, and rides out over the moors, not coming home until dawn. Like poor, mad Tristan he is. Lost his wits, I’d say. With all due respect.”

Remembering that wild horseman on the moor, Veronica shifted in her seat, drew her veil close around her shoulders. “Go on,” she said.

“Mrs. Twig, well, she recovered quick enough, but… It were up to me, Miss, to lock them in the tower. Her and poor little Jack. I can't tell which one is left…. I can’t bear it when they start howling. And Mr. Rafe, well, he’ll roam free. They can’t help what they are. Lady Sovay, well… Did you know that before she came to us her ladyship lived in France and those same things were going on there? Children being attacked by wolves and such? Then she brought it here, to England. And those books... those
Grand Alberts
... very old they are, Miss. From long ago, that family of hers worshipped the Devil. That’s how it came to them. Now the curse falls on us.” Janet looked around at the paintings of the saints on the walls. “I can see why you came here. To get away from it. But… Miss… there is a cure and I thought, if you don’t mind my saying, in that letter of yours… well... when a woman tries to act so cold, you know there’s a burning heart beneath.”

Veronica inhaled sharply. Was she so obvious?

“If you could come back to us and speak your heart…” Janet pleaded.

Veronica stood up and walked to the window, squeezing the rosary beads between her fingers.

“If I were to do such a thing, leave Saint Mary’s now, I could never come back here again.” She turned back to Janet. “I will
not
shoot Mrs. Twig and
never
a child. No, I will not. And I will
not
shoot Rafe de Grimston, even if he tears the entire world apart,” Veronica said. “Do you understand?”

“But there’s no need to shoot.”

Veronica dismissed the remark as if she hadn’t heard it.

“What of Lady Sovay?” Veronica asked.

“She’s still out there….”

“Making others like herself. Stealing souls. How can I do anything about it?”

“Only
you
can, Miss. Only you. Don’t you see? Listen to your heart.” Putting her hand over her own heart, Janet held her gaze with a look of such urgency that Veronica felt selfish and mean.

“Oh, God in Heaven!” Veronica cried.

“Miss Everly!”

Veronica crossed herself, “Please forgive me, Lord. Oh, God!”

“Just come for a day, Miss. One day will do it. I’m frightened what Mr. Rafe will do to himself. I think the only thing keeping him from topping himself with that silver bullet is his hope that he might see you again. He’s afraid of losing the remaining twin to
her
as well. The twins let her out, and used those dolls to link up with her. Stuffed with the flowers of France, they were.
Her native soil.
That wicked part that’s in the children… that was why they wanted those dolls. To bond with their mother again. Mr. Rafe is always so kind. He didn’t know… But there’s no need for him to even think about suicide if only you’d come back with me. For one day. Just one little day. Please, Miss. As an act of charity. You must.”

Hearing about France reminded Veronica of an obstacle.

“What of the lady in France? Why doesn’t he invite her to stay at Belden House? What does Mr. de Grimston need me for when he can invite his mistress in, and even give her my rooms?”

Janet narrowed her eyes as if she had difficulty understanding what Veronica was saying. “What lady in France?”

“The one he goes to. The one who writes him those perfumed love letters that summon him to her side. She to whose side he went, leaving you and I alone to cope with disaster.”

Janet looked puzzled. “I don’t know of any lady in France. Unless you mean that old Coun
tess who rents the chateau for fêtes and things.”

“Old Countess?”

“Yes. I can’t recall her name, some fancy French thing. I can’t say it anyway. She’s been renting it for years. Mr. Rafe keeps her sweet because the money she pays him helps keep the place up.”

Veronica inwardly recoiled with embarrassment. A renter? Not a mistress at all.

“How old is she?” Veronica asked.

“From what I can gather by those ringlets and plumes she wears, I’d say she’s in her eighties by now.”

How very old!

Veronica breathed a sigh of remorse, putting her hands on her head as if to squeeze sense into it.
What a fool I’ve been. What a stupid fool.

“All right, Janet. If I can obtain permission from Reverend Mother, I’ll arrange for your stay here tonight, and go back with you tomorrow morning. But once we get there, I’m returning here before nightfall, and that’s final.”

*

Sixty-Four

V
eronica watched the winter landscape slide past the window of the train. It was a struggle to keep a sense of foreboding at bay. With each lurch of the train, a new wave of anxiety assailed her. The train stopped at so many stations en route that it dragged out the journey from Gloucestershire to three days. Passengers boarded, crowding the car, then got off long before she and Janet reached their destination.

A discarded news tabloid lay on the seat opposite. Hoping to focus her thoughts on something other than her troubles, Veronica picked it up.

Moors Murders Still Unsolved

Veronica glanced at Janet sitting on the opposite seat, gazing out the window, her mouth set in a tight line. Of course the maid knew the werewolves had rampaged again and wasn’t about to discuss it.

Veronica skimmed down the page:

Gang of Jack the Rippers Ravage
s the Yorkshire Countryside.

After six months of sheep mutilations, deer poaching, and the tragic deaths of a farm wife, a herdsman, and three children, Scotland Yard has been summoned to find the Moors Murderers
.

The random nature of these attacks has investigators baffled. Such carnage could only be the work of madmen.

Some locals continue to claim that it wasn’t men that done the deeds, but an increasingly large pack of white wolves that appears only when the moon is full. The wolves first appeared almost thirteen years ago, they say. Though it has been two and a half years since these wolves were last seen in the area, locals claim the manner of the killing is exactly that same as it was before, indicating that the wolves must have returned.

But since we all know that wolves are extinct, this report suggests peasant superstition and a cover up. Why anyone would protect a gang of homicidal louts is beyond the comprehension of any right-thinking Englishman…

She was going back into it, and it was much worse.

The rocking movement of the train lull
ed Veronica. By the end of the journey, she was too tired to notice they were being been followed by a bright full moon.



Veronica had hoped to arrive in the morning so she could leave before nightfall, but when the coach entered the grounds of Belden House, it was near twilight.

Belden House in the snow was a desolate sight. The wide garden was blasted white, the bare t
rees frozen with every twig on end as the wind blustered against them. Icicles hung from the gables and gutters, rooks hunched on the frost-encrusted rooftops, doves huddled in the dark windowsills. Though it was a new year, no joy encompassed Belden House, no cheer could overcome its dreary mournfulness.

Veronica felt strange going back inside. One wasn’t meant to go backwards. Life was a series of births, leaving womb after womb b
ehind until one left the womb of the earth for Heaven, or that other place whose fires burned too close by.

“I think this may be bad timing, Janet. I think the moon will be full tonight,” Veronica said. “I shall be forced to shoot him, won’t I? You’ve tricked me.”

“No, Miss. No. It’s the perfect time to help Mr. Rafe and the others as well. If it’s any reassurance, I’ve hidden the guns. After what I saw Mr. Rafe doing with his, I hid all the guns I could get my hands on.”

“Well, you’ve got enough faith for army, haven’t you? Too much in me, I’m afraid. Where is he?”

“Perhaps he's in his rooms. Do you want me to announce you?”

“No. I’ll go on my own.” Veronica went up the stairs.

First she wanted to look in on Jacqueline. The child’s bedroom was empty. She went up to the schoolroom. Jacqueline was there, looking out at the yew hedge, now a wall of snow-covered tapers. She was wearing a black dress; the white-blonde hair had grown long, almost to the middle of her back.

“Jacqueline, it’s me, Miss Everly.”

Jacqueline turned around. The pale green eyes were cold at first, then, at the sight of Veronica, they filled with tears.

“Miss Everly. You’ve come back!” She ran into Veronica’s arms.

Veronica stroked the child’s hair. “I’ve missed you. All of you.”

“We've missed you as well. Please stay with us, Miss Everly. Please don’t ever leave us again.”

Veronica thought it was best not tell Jacqueline her plans. “I must speak with your father, now. Go ahead and play and I shall see you later on. For tea.”

“I can’t play. Not alone. There’s nothing to do, and Papa says we can’t have another governess.”

“Well, run along to the drawing room and I’ll read to you. Your pick.
Beauty and the Beast
or something. All right?” Veronica said.

“Oh, yes, Miss Everly! I shall wait for you. But don’t leave it too late. The light fades fast in winter. It’s pitch dark by five o'clock. Mrs. Twig says.”

“Don’t worry,” said Veronica, rising to her feet. “I won’t be long.”

“It’s getting stronger every month, you know. Every year it will get stronger until I’m twelve. Then there will be no going back.”

“What do you mean?” Veronica asked.

Jacqueline ran out the door, leaving her china doll on the windowsill. Veronica didn't chase her. She knew the child well enough to respect her choice to run away.

As she gazed out at the yews, her hand glided toward the doll. She picked it up. It was quite grubby, as if Jacqueline hadn’t let go of it for weeks. She couldn’t forget how it had writhed in Mrs. Twig's hand that night in the kitchen. She put it back down so that it sat against the windowpane. Its fine muslin petticoat, ending in a froth of spider's web lace, enhanced the blondeness of its head, making it vaguely more substantial than a ghost.

Then the realization struck her.

“The curse must grow stronger with age,” she whispered. “It is firmly established at puberty. Before age twelve, it's possible she can be saved.”

Veronica steeled herself, ran out into the hallway, and knocked on Rafe’s door.

There was no answer.

She knocked again, harder.

“Rafe? Rafe! It’s me, Veronica.” She knocked again.

He wasn’t there.

Veronica pushed the door open and stepped inside. The room felt deserted. She checked Rafe’s bedchamber. The pistol that normally sat on the runner of red silk was gone.

Alert as a hunting dog, she wandered into the sitting room.

Bleak winter light streamed in through the tall conservatory windows, chilling the foliage black, infusing her heart with despair. She gazed up at the two portraits above the mantel and remembered the first time she’d seen Rafe and Sovay. Unknown, they had seemed so cultured, so civilized, so admirable. That impression was dashed now. Instead, they'd acquired a dark glamour that seemed, unexplainably, to increase their attractiveness, confusing Veronica more than ever.

Pulling away from the portraits, she wandered out to the passage with its tall Gothic windows. Through leaded panes tinted with frost, she looked down upon pure whiteness. Through bare trees, the solitary tomb was visible, the white masonry like a heap of snow, the angels on the rooftop dripping with icicles. Further away, up the slope, the ruined chapel was veiled under the crystalline swags of the yews.

Veronica hurried up the three steps to the landing, and faced the tower door. Mrs. Twig’s blood had been cleansed from the floor, but a streak of darkness remained. Skirting that direful place, she took the rest of the stairs up to the roof of the tower.

Veronica scanned the yard for a sign of Rafe, but saw only endless white. Perhaps he was behind the juniper hedge, in the Rock Garden, or in the other garden where the twins had trapped the deer, or deep inside the ruined chapel, waiting for the bell to toll. She thought she should go down and try to find him, but she stalled. It was painful to admit that she was frightened of him.

Twilight was sinking in, tingeing the landscape blue and violet. The sky was clear. It would freeze tonight. Deep in the house, the faint echo of the long case clock gonged the hour for tea, and she remembered her promise to Jacqueline.

A scream erupted in the birch wood.

Veronica looked out in time to see a white wolf fall upon a small animal and kill it. Then, as if she were coming out of trance, Jacqueline stood up, gasped a white rabbit by its long ears, and carried it to the house. Drops of bright blood followed her over the snow.

Veronica clung to the battlements, digging her fingers into the stone. The de Grimstons were past saving. And why was it up to her anyway? She had no power.

Stars began winking out.

A loud blast erupted from the Rock Garden.
It sounded like gunfire!

Veronica held her breath as s
shadowy figure broke through the juniper hedge into the yard. Tall, lumbering and brooding, she knew by the creature's blackness that it was Rafe.

The beast aimed a pistol at his heart, and roared.

Veronica's breath left her body. "Don't, don't!
"

She ran down the stairs two at a time. Bounding out onto the landing, she found Janet dutifully leaning against the open door of the tower holding a platter with the dead rabbit flopped across it. Utter weariness was etched upon her face, yet the maid was clearly determined to do what was required.

Looking furtively about, as if she were ashamed of being seen, Mrs. Twig gripped Jacqueline by the shoulders with long pointed fingers, and pushed her toward the tower door. Though they still looked human enough, their eyes were oddly de-focused in the way of beasts, both of them raising their hackles as if wary of their customary imprisonment.

Mrs. Twig sniffed the air, then leveled her gaze on Veronica. Reddish fur was already creeping up her neck. Veronica gasped and covered her face with her hands. After having been gone for several weeks, the de Grimstons now struck her as freakish, nightmarish, wrong. Belden House did not belong on earth. It was mad.

“Oh, Janet! Why did you send for me?” Veronica whispered sharply.

Janet gave her a blank look. Using the rabbit as bait, she stepped into the tower, luring Mrs. Twig and Jacqueline inside.

Veronica needed her pistol. Did she dare face the man she loved that night of all nights without it? Remembering the terrifying beast in the tower, the iron bars of the window twisted open, the brutal death of the farm woman and the possibility that Rafe might have killed her, Veronica ran across the landing to the passage that led to his rooms. Once inside, she paused again to look at his portrait. So handsome he was in the picture, so sound, so exactly as she wanted him to be. And Sovay: so powerful and accomplished in her sorcery. How could Veronica fight her alone?

Hoping to find the gun Rafe had
given her, the one loaded with three silver bullets, she rummaged through every drawer and wardrobe in his rooms.

She found nothing.

In desperation, she hurried to her old room. But for the moonlight streaming in through the windows, it was dark. So much had changed that it was difficult to believe she'd ever stayed here, had ever been happy in these rooms. Now, the hearth having been dead for weeks, it was as cold as a tomb.

Far off in the distance, the bell began to toll. Veronica froze for a moment, listening. Then, moving as if through heavy fog, she went out to the balcony and looked down into the yard.

The moon had risen above the bare trees, confusing light and shadows amorphously. It took several moments before she was able to discern the area of blackness that was Rafe.

He was standing at the dark, wintry hole of the wishing well. A light, like ectoplasm, rose up from the water. Roaring as if in pain, Rafe fell back. He lurched this way and that, struggling against the wolf spirit rising visibly within him. The gun flailed above his head. Had he loaded it with silver bullets? If so, were there any left?

Before she had time to finish the thought, Rafe was gone. The acid bright eyes of a wolf gazed out of the darkness. Is appalling shape grew denser and more real, then began to shimmer. Yowling, the creature writhed as if it were in the grip of agony. There was a flash, as of a spirit breaking free, and Rafe appeared, human again. Bent inward, swaying as if he doubted his state, he beat his head with his fists, lamenting. It did no good. He quickly shimmered from shape to shape. Amid wave upon wave of light, his jaws elongated, his ears perked up, and thick, black fur grew over his skin. Lifting his large clawed hands to the sky, he shrieked to the heavens, then shuddered, curling inward as if overcome with pain.

Where was the gun?

"Oh, what am I thinking?" Veronica cried, beating her head with her fists. She did not agree to kill him!

There was that sense of a tap on the shoulder again. Janet could have hidden the pistol somewhere in this room, where Veronica had left it. She slipped back inside, to the séance room, quickly lit some candles and looked around.

Working her way through the room, she came to the book cabinet with its etched glass doors. She tugged the latch. Locked. She rushed out to her old dressing table and felt in a drawer for a nail file. It was there.

As she picked the lock, the tune began softly humming in her head, so mysterious, so mesmerizing. It meant Sovay was coming. Soon the wolves would fill the world with their howling, and Rafe's transformation would be complete.