“Of course. I didn’t realize the situation was permanent. Excuse me if I offended.”
“You’re excused.” Charles’ tone was clipped, and left no room for further response.
I worried we would stay that way for the remainder of dinner until Charles cleared his throat and carried on the conversation as if nothing had happened at all.
“Margaret and Abigail sent an invitation for dinner this afternoon, and since Camellia is refusing to see them, I thought maybe you would like to accompany me, Alice?”
“What of Catherine?” I asked.
“Nurse Gray says she isn’t ready for visiting,” Camellia said.
I kept my eyes on Charles, watching his response. Surely, he would have something to say on behalf of his wife. And surely, he would rather be visiting neighbors with her than with his sister-in-law.
But Charles said nothing. He continued to eat and, after a little while, looked up at me. “So, Alice? Would you like to come?”
I wanted to refuse him and stay by my sister’s side, but I also thought some time alone with Charles could be beneficial. Perhaps, away from the distressing atmosphere of the house, I could talk some sense into him. I could help him see that he was deserting his family to the control of outside forces, and it was high time he returned as the head of his household.
“Of course, Charles. If the lady of the house cannot go with you, then I would be happy to make the visit.”
“It isn’t that I cannot go,” Camellia said. “But rather that I would prefer to do anything else.”
Charles winced, and I stared at Camellia in awe, momentarily struck silent by the audacity of her words.
“I’m sorry, but I was speaking of my sister.”
Camellia’s mouth fell open, and she blinked several times before shaking her head. “Of course. I misheard you. Yes, of course.”
Once again, the air left the room, and our awkward trio finished dinner in perfect silence.
6
I couldn’t get in to see Catherine for the entirety of the next day.
“Nurse Gray isn’t allowing anyone in,” I said, standing in Charles’ doorway.
He didn’t look up from the letter he was writing as he answered. “Sometimes Catherine has better days than others. She had a nightmare last night, so today she is—”
“Incapable of speaking?” I asked. “I don’t understand what that has to do with her being able to leave her room, Charles. None of this is making any sense to me. What is going on?”
“Confused,” he said, setting down his pen and standing up. “Catherine is confused and it is hard to see her that way. So, Nurse Gray is tending to her in private.”
I tried to argue, but Charles ushered me from the room under the pretense of writing an important letter and did not open the door again until it was time to leave for dinner.
Camellia met us in the entryway, holding out a hat for Charles as we neared the door. “Enjoy your time.”
“You know we won’t,” Charles said with a smile.
Camellia wrinkled her nose and then turned to me, her smile slipping into a frown. I had not received a warm welcome from Hazel’s other aunt, and I did not think her feelings would change anytime soon. “Steer clear of the tea.”
“Thank you for the warning.”
With that, we climbed into the car and set off for the home of Margaret and Abigail Wilds.
The conversation from dinner the night before had prepared me slightly for what to expect, but I wasn’t sure any description could have done the Wilds sisters justice. Despite having the time and leisure all day to imagine what they would be like, I hadn’t even come close to the bizarre reality.
The ladies, it appeared, were doing their very best to live up to their name.
The house, a crumbling two-story brick home, must have been impressive once but now it looked ancient and neglected. Vines wove themselves between the bricks, leaving long cracks in the foundation of the home, some of which stretched nearly from the ground to the roof line. It appeared to me that one strong wind would blow the entire place over.
Pulling up to Catherine and Charles’ home the day before, I’d wondered whether they had a grounds person to keep up with the weeds and flower beds. I did not have to wonder such a thing with the Wilds’ home. It was quite apparent no one kept up with the grounds at all. The inhabitants’ method was to allow nature to reclaim what had always belonged to it. In a matter of years, the house would disappear into the moors.
“The inside is better,” Charles said, answering my unspoken question. “The Wilds live a contrary life, but they are nice people.”
“I’m sure,” I said, not sure of anything at all. “Shall we go in?”
Charles parked the car in the middle of the garden because there was no obvious driveway. He said the women didn’t own a car because they did not need one. I didn’t know how that could be possible, but before I could ask, the front door of the house opened.
For a second, there was only the dark doorway—the interior of the house plunged deep into shadow. Then, a woman stepped forward.
Followed by another.
The two women could have been mirror images of one another. They were both tall and thin, their frames draped in layers of fabric that had been patched and stitched together with an untrained hand. Having spent very little time practicing my embroidery skills, I still felt I could have done a much better job with the garments. Though, the uneven stitches were hardly the most important thing I noticed.
The women wore no shoes.
Or stockings.
They greeted us outside in their bare feet, and I looked down several times to confirm I was truly seeing what I thought I was seeing.
“Alice?” One of the women asked, dispelling my brief impression that the pair might be servants, rather than the ladies of the house. The speaker’s
