My fingers trailed over the piano keys, working out a series of notes. It was a complex piece, full of rapidly descending glides and swooping rhythms, requiring absolute concentration. Unfortunately, my mind was not wholly on the piece, and the sound made even me wince.
Papa had been gone for over a week. He didn’t immediately send word of his arrival, and an uneasy panic descended over Morella, certain the curse had struck. When we finally received a letter, she snatched it from the silver tray and raced upstairs to read his words in private.
She’d begun to show, a small swell in her stomach that quickly expanded into a round curve. The baby was growing too fast. We summoned a midwife from Astrea, and when she emerged from Morella’s bedroom, her face was grave with concern.
“Twins,” she said. “Active ones too.”
The midwife gave me a salve to rub into Morella’s belly twice a day and said she needed to rest as much as possible, keeping her feet elevated and her emotions in check.
After another run of wrong notes, I clunked to a finish and swatted at the sheet music, studying what I should have done.
A maid poked her head into the Blue Room.
“Miss Annaleigh?” she asked, and gave a small curtsy. “There’s a Mr. Edgar Morris here.”
My breath hitched. Edgar at Highmoor? “For me?”
“And Miss Camille.”
“I’ve not seen her since breakfast, but I believe she’s in her room.” Since the ball, she had ensconced herself behind closed doors, snapping at anyone who dared disturb her.
I pressed trembling fingers into my skirt. After the boat ride with Fisher, I’d written a dozen letters to Papa, trying to explain my suspicions and begging him to come home soon to help. They’d all ended up in the fire, reading like the musings of a madwoman. A letter wasn’t the way to go. How could mere words convey the dark feeling growing in my stomach?
“Miss Thaumas, hello,” Edgar said, entering the room. Once again, he was dressed in full black, still observing deepest mourning.
I turned on the bench, watching him take in the room post-mourning. The sconces made the mirrors sparkle, and even with the overcast morning, the room looked a great deal more cheerful than when he’d last seen it.
“Mr. Morris.”
Though it was the height of disrespect, I remained at the piano bench, too surprised to move. It was as though I was truly seeing him for the very first time, spotting details I’d never noticed before. A small scar slashed just above his upper lip, the same lips Eulalie must have kissed. And those were the hands Eulalie had undoubtedly grasped as he secretly proposed to her. Had she run her fingers through that pale blond hair? Taken off the tortoiseshell glasses to gaze into his squinting hazel eyes?
What secrets of hers did this man keep?
“Mr. Morris, what an unexpected surprise.” We heard Camille’s voice before she entered. Edgar still stood near the threshold, unsure of what he ought to be doing. “Annaleigh, have you sent for tea?”
I shook my head.
“That’s quite all right, Miss Thaumas, I don’t intend to stay long,” he stammered, holding his hand out as if to stop her.
“Martha?” Camille called out, overriding him. “Tell Cook we’ll need tea and perhaps a plate of those lemon cookies she made yesterday.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Have a seat, please, Mr. Morris. Annaleigh?”
“What?” I asked, stubbornly remaining on the bench.
“You’ll join us, yes?”
After a long pause, I stood. “Of course.”
Martha wheeled in a tea service. As eldest, Camille set to work readying everyone’s cups. Once we were served, she straightened, eyeing our guest. “What can we help you with today, Mr. Morris?”
He took a sip of the tea, fortifying himself for the conversation to come. “I wanted to apologize for my behavior in the marketplace. I fear I wasn’t wholly myself that day. It was such a surprise seeing you both out in public and looking so…” His jaw clenched. “Well…your faces reminded me of Eulalie. It caught me quite off guard. I also…I hoped to speak with you. About…that night.”
If Camille was surprised, she was far more skilled at hiding it than I.
“What about it?” she asked, stirring her tea so smoothly the spoon never once clinked.
He squirmed uncomfortably. “I suppose I can admit this now, but I was here…the night it happened.”
“I know,” I murmured, my voice so quiet I wasn’t wholly certain I’d spoken.
Edgar’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Eulalie told you about me?”
I shook my head. “The inscription, in the locket…”
He dabbed at his forehead with his handkerchief. Even it was black. “I was surprised to see it on her at the funeral. She never wore it in life. It was our secret.”
“She must have had it on when she fell, but I don’t think anyone ever noticed it…. The fishermen who found her read the engraving. If they hadn’t, I would never have known Eulalie was engaged.”
“Engaged!” Camille snorted. “Don’t be absurd. Eulalie wasn’t engaged.”
Edgar shifted to the edge of his seat, focusing his attention on me with an unnerving intensity. “How did you know it was me? We were so careful.”
“I found the pocket watch she’d hidden, with the lock of hair. It wasn’t until you took your hat off in the marketplace that I realized you were a perfect match.”
“You found the watch?”
“What watch? Annaleigh, what is going on?”
For the first time during his visit, Edgar truly smiled. “I thought for certain it was lost to the Salt. I gave it to her in lieu of a ring.”
Camille’s mouth fell open. “A ring?”
I rubbed my forehead. “The night that Eulalie…she was leaving Highmoor to elope with Edgar.”
She burst out laughing. “Is this some sort of prank?”
Edgar shook his head.
“I don’t believe you. Eulalie was heir to Highmoor. She wouldn’t leave that. She had a responsibility here.”
“She didn’t want it. She never wanted it.”
He wasn’t lying. Papa had to all but drag her to visit the shipyards in Vasa and coerce her into studying ledgers and accounts. How many times had I sat at the piano and watched her fall asleep during one of Papa’s lectures on family history?
“Even if that’s true, she would never have married a lowly watchmaker’s apprentice. She wanted better things out of life.”
“Camille!”
She silenced me with a look as lethal as a dagger.
Edgar ignored her insult. “We were in love.”
Camille let out a laugh. “Then she wouldn’t have run away with you. She would have married you in a proper ceremony.”
“She was scared.”
“Of what?” she snapped.
He shrugged. “That’s what I hoped you might know. We were supposed to meet at the cliff walk at midnight. I waited for hours, but she never came. I decided to leave and planned to return in the morning. As I pushed my boat from under the cliffs…” He winced, swallowing back a sob. “I’ll never forget that sound as long as I live…. Like the slap of meat landing on the butcher’s block.” He wiped his forehead again, tears streaming down his face. “I can’t stop hearing it. It’s ringing in my ears even now. I fear it will drive me mad.”
“You saw her fall?” I asked, aghast. My eyes were wide, and the horror raced down my spine.
He nodded miserably. “I was paddling by the rocks when she struck them.” He blew his nose with a great honk. “I thought at first she’d slipped. It was dark, a new moon. Perhaps she couldn’t see the path. But when I looked up…there was a shadow peering over the cliffs. When it saw my boat, it jerked away, hiding in the brush.”
“A shadow!” I exclaimed.
Camille took a long sip of tea, seemingly unaffected by his tale of woe. “What then?”
Edgar looked away, his voice growing small. “I left.”
“You left our sister’s body on the rocks.” Her face was a terrifying mask of placidity.
“I didn’t know what to do. Nothing could have saved her. She was dead on impact. She had to be.”
Camille’s calm broke, her eyes flashing with rage. “You didn’t check?”
I put my hand out to steady her. “Camille, no one could have survived that fall. You know that.” I turned to Edgar. “You think she was pushed? By this shadow figure?”
“I do.”
“Was it a man? A woman? Did you see any features?”
“I couldn’t say. I was so close to the cliffs, and the waves were pushing my boat about. It was difficult to see. But I can’t forget the look in Eulalie’s eyes the last day I saw her alive. She was so frightened. She said she’d discovered something she wasn’t meant to and needed to escape. At the time, I thought it was simply dramatic fuel to start our getaway—she always had her nose in those tattered romance novels, you know—but now I wonder…” He removed his glasses and wiped them clean, once, twice, three times.
Camille’s mouth disappeared in a thin line, and I hardly recognized the look in her eyes.
“How dare you enter our home and suggest that our sister, for whom we are still mourning, was murdered!”
“Mourning?” He bristled, casting his arm around the room with disdain. “Yes, I can see all evidence of that. Fresh-cut flowers and lemon cookies. Polished mirrors and balls. How the cheeriness of that dress must lift your spirits from otherwise abject despair!”
“Get out!” She stood so quickly, her cup dropped to the floor. The spilled tea soaked into the plush weave of the rug, leaving a spot as red as a bloodstain.
“Annaleigh?” He turned to me, imploring. “You know something, you must!”
I dared to meet his pained eyes, but Camille stepped in front of me, blocking my view.
“Roland!” she shouted.
Edgar’s eyes widened. “Not him—no! Not him!”
Fisher burst into the room, obviously having heard the commotion. “Camille? Are you all right?”
“Oh, Fisher, thank Pontus!” she replied, racing over to him. “Please escort Mr. Morris from Highmoor. I’m afraid he’s upset us both terribly.”
Edgar grabbed my hands, his fingers slick and nervous. I went rigid at such an unexpected invasion.
Roland appeared, immediately springing to action. “Come with us, sir.” He grabbed at Edgar’s waist.
“Easy does it,” Fisher said, attempting to pull Edgar away.
“Get your hands off of me!” Edgar snapped. “Annaleigh!”
I shook my head and pressed myself deeper into the chair to keep from being struck by Edgar’s flailing limbs. His cries turned to curses as he was manhandled from the room. After a moment of pandemonium in the hall, the front door slammed shut.
Fisher returned, his shirt pulled free, the sleeve torn. “What on earth happened in here? Who was that?”
“Eulalie’s fiancé, if you believe him. Which I don’t,” Camille said, retrieving her fallen cup.
Fisher took the chair Edgar had leapt from and accepted Camille’s offer of tea. “Should we alert the authorities? Did he harm either of you?”
“I doubt that’s necessary,” she replied. “He’ll probably do something extremely foolish and go to them himself.”
She glanced at me. “Are you all right, Annaleigh? You’ve gone all peaky.”
I felt rooted to the armchair, unable to move. I’d never seen someone in such a fit of grief and rage. “I’ll be fine, I just…Who do you think the shadow was?”
She snorted. “There was no shadow. Eulalie wasn’t pushed off the cliffs.” She sighed, toying with the teacup. “I can’t believe the nerve of that man. Lying to our faces.”
Fisher frowned, still putting threads together. “He lied? About a shadow?”
“About eloping with Eulalie. She would never have run away, especially not with him. She had so many other prospects, much better ones.”
Fisher took a loud slurp of the tea while picking up two cookies from the tray. Camille’s eyes tracked his movements. Without a word, she picked up a dessert plate and offered it to him.
His eyes crinkled into a smile. “I suppose my Hesperus manners aren’t fit for dining in the presence of such refined ladies now, eh?”
“I said nothing.”
He jostled her with a brotherly familiarity. “You didn’t need to, Camille. You never need to.”
My mind felt like an overturned container of honey. I wanted to join in their ribbing, but my thoughts were stuck on Edgar’s theory. I couldn’t drop it. “Did she ever mention seeing something she wasn’t supposed to? Overhearing something?”
Camille frowned, the light going out of her eyes. “No. And you know she confided in us about everything. That watchmaker realized he lost the best match of his life and is trying to worm his way into ours.”
“That’s a horrible thing to say. It’s clear he loved her.”
She laughed, a sharp, dry bark. “No one will ever just love us. That ball made it abundantly clear. If someone shows an interest, it’s for our money. For our position. For what they can get out of us.”
“You can’t believe that.”
“And I can’t believe you don’t. Edgar was just greedy enough to look past the curse.”
Fisher froze midbite, glancing between us, unsure of what to do. I waved him away, excusing him from the room. He shouldn’t have to witness the brewing fight. With a grateful smile, he put down his plate and ducked out.
“What?” she demanded once it was just us. “You think I’m wrong?”
I crossed to the piano and collected my music. “I certainly hope you are.”
Behind me, I heard her sniff. When I turned, her face had crumpled, and she was pushing back hot, angry tears.
“At least she had someone, I suppose. Even if he is such a sad little man, he’s still a man.”
After a beat, I set the music back down and joined her, the fight seeping from me.
“Oh, Camille. You’re going to find someone. You will, I know it.”
“How? It’s completely hopeless. I’m going to die an old maid, unloved, untouched. I’ve never even been kissed.” She dissolved into sobs.
I stroked her hair and listened to her complaints. In my heart, I knew she was right. Would there ever be a man brave enough to risk the whispers? I wished I could say the magic words to set everything right again, but I didn’t know where to start.
I stilled.
Magic words.
Magic words for a magic door. The door Fisher mentioned. Even if it was a silly tale, it would take Camille’s mind off her troubles. At least for an afternoon.
“Have you ever heard anything about Pontus’s door?”
Nose red and face splotchy, she wiped the corners of her eyes. “What are you talking about?”
“Fisher said somewhere on Salten there’s supposed to be a door for the gods. They use them to travel quickly about the kingdom. Far, far distances across the kingdom…” I trailed off meaningfully.
She frowned. “That sounds absurd.”
“Well, of course it does. But wouldn’t it be fun if it wasn’t? We could go anywhere we wanted. Do anything we wanted and be back before supper.”
Camille pushed aside a lock of hair. “Fisher thinks it’s real?”
“He told me about it.” I didn’t need to mention he’d also written it off as nonsense.
“Where’s it meant to be?”
I shrugged. “He didn’t know.”
Camille glanced at the grandfather clock, a soft smile growing across her face. She looked happier than I’d seen her in days. “The Graces will be getting out of lessons soon. I suppose we could see if they want to make it a scavenger hunt.”
I beamed. “I’ll find the triplets.”
As I entered the hall, I heard Camille snort from the couch. “Nineteen years old and on a treasure hunt for a magic door.” She glanced up at me. “At least the Graces will be excited.”
