“Amelia,” I said. “Where is Amelia?” He was silent a moment, turning away from
me. I heard quiet voices. Then he was there again, so close to my face that I
could feel his warm breath on my cheek.
“Amelia is sleeping. When Thomas and John found the room, the door was open just
a bit and there was Amelia, lying on her side in an empty room, and she was
sleeping.”
“She was carrying a branch of candles,” I said, trying to find any sense at all
in what he had said. “Yes, the candles were there as well, no longer burning,
just there, lying beside her.”
“What happened to her?”
“Nothing happened, Andy,” Lawrence said, squeezing my hand again, like I was
some sort of brain-numbed invalid.
“She cried out.” I tried to pull myself up. “The door slammed shut, and she
cried out.”
“No, don’t move, it’s too soon.”
“Let me go,” I said, and forced him to move away as I pulled myself up. I was
lying on one of the sofas in the drawing room, a cream-colored throw covering me
to my waist. I swung my feet off the sofa and sat up straight. There were a lot
of people in the room, but only one of them a woman. I stared at her, and she
said after a pained moment, “I’m Mrs. Redbreast, the housekeeper, my lady. We
haven’t met yet, well, now we’re meeting, but it is rather strange this way.”
Strange, indeed.
There were John, Lawrence, and Lawrence’s valet Flynt, a man I detested with
every ounce of dislike in me. He had the flattest eyes I’ve ever seen, black and
opaque.
And another man, standing next to John. John said, “This is Boynton, my batman
in the army and now my valet.” This man looked hard and tough, his face darkly
tanned, the texture of leather. He was nearly as short as I was. Then he smiled,
and I saw the big space between his front two teeth, and despite what was
happening here, I smiled back. He was old enough to be my father and a good ten
years younger than my husband. The smile slid off my face.
I pulled the throw up closer and said, very slowly, very precisely, to the room
at large, “I have told you what happened. I heard Amelia cry out. When I could
not get the door open, I yelled to her that I was getting help. Even though I
fell over my feet when John came through the front doors, I wasn’t unconscious
for very long.”
“No, not long at all,” John said. He frowned at me, and there was something in
those nearly black eyes of his I didn’t like. Maybe it was pity. Yes, pity. If I’d
had a rock at hand, I would have thrown it at him.
He said, “The fact of the matter is, we got to that chamber very quickly. Uncle
Lawrence is telling you what happened. The door wasn’t locked. Amelia was
sleeping on the floor. She woke up and told us that she had seen the door open,
was curious because that door was always closed, and had gone inside. She
remembers you were in the corridor. Then she simply doesn’t remember anything
else. Nothing.”
“She cried out,” I said again. “And that door slammed in my face. It was locked.
I pulled and pushed at it, but it just wouldn’t open. I’m not insane or still
addled.” And I was tired of repeating the same thing over and over, particularly
since no one appeared to believe me.
“I’m sure that’s exactly what happened, my dear girl,” Lawrence said. “Now, we’re
expecting our local physician at any time. He will ensure that you are all right.”
I rose slowly. I felt only briefly dizzy, then it cleared. I was nearly back to
being myself again. “I don’t want a doctor. I want to see Amelia.”
“Certainly,” Lawrence said. “It is obvious you are very worried about her.
However, she is asleep again. She was so tired, she said.”
“Does any of this make sense to you? Why would Amelia be tired? And say she was