“Oh,yes! Grandmummy sent me up to tell you it’s best to pull your beds and lampsaway from the walls. A storm is coming, and the windows don't keep out thewater.”
Atthat moment, a clap of thunder burst from the sky. Crockett, again exhibitinghis penchant for overreaction, fell to the floor out of fear. The white glovehe had held since its discovery under Petrarch’s bed dropped at Kordelia’s feet.
“Myglove!” Kordelia knelt down and picked it up, nudging the frozen solicitor’sassistant out of the way. As she rose, she looked bemusedly at the collapsedCrockett. “Are you easily scared, Mr. Cook?” Her glazed stare took on a morefocused look. “If so, I may suggest you move out of this wing.”
“Whyis that, my dear?” Petrarch narrowed his gaze.
“Thisis the haunted wing.” She looked to the exposed beams suspended above them.“I’m sure you’ve heard of the ghosts around this house. Children from the localvillage come to see the river, but there are phantoms who occupy the darkcorners of the manor. They particularly like the folly.” Her musical voicelowered slightly. “I’ve heard screams in the night coming from your room, Mr.Cook.”
Crockett,now recovered, rose to his feet. He shivered as he looked upon Kordelia.
Petrarchcleared his throat. “My dear, I think the fantasy of the play is toying withyour imagination.”
Kordeliaturned, her eyes glittering. “Mr. Bluster, I’m young, but this house has taughtme that the truth is often much stranger than fiction.” Another peal of thundershook the windows. “I think the estate is very unhappy Grandfather hasn’t beenreturned to it yet. I know Grandmother is trying, but I think the house, theriver, the family needs there to be closure. There is no body, but there can bepeace.”
Aneerie silence settled. Crockett appraised the young girl with a wary eye. “Weshould…perhaps go get some lamps. Dark is coming quickly with the storm.”
Kordeliahad already left the room. Her voice rang like a bell from the hallway. “Thedark is already here.”
#
Whenthe storm broke and rain thrashed the windows of the house, the family andhouseguests settled into the main sitting room. Martha lit a number of candlesand started the fire so that, despite the gloom of the outdoors, the room tookon a festive air, the pinks and blues of the furniture and Beatrice’s absurd paintingglowing in the soft light. Corinthiana sat in the center of the couch, alone,Beatrice in her after-dinner fishbowl at her side. The aquatic creaturefloated, nearly lifeless, staring into the flames dancing in the fireplace.
Augustand Petrarch spoke of news from London, while Kordelia sat with her play scriptin the corner of the room. In keeping with her odd demeanor, she sat just outof the firelight, a slice of shadow cutting her off from the rest of thosegathered.
Crockettsat in a chair near Petrarch and August. He appeared to be listening to theirconversation but, in actuality, was ideating conversation topics to bring upwith Brontë, who was reading quietly on the smaller sofa. As he pondered askingher favorite shape of tea leaf,[11]he let his interest in the conversation of the two older gentlemen fadecompletely. In his reverie, he focused fully on Brontë, memorizing the lines ofher face as she looked downward at her book. She, however, had felt hisattention and looked up, her hazel eyes boring into him. He jumped slightly,mistaking the pounding coming from the front door for his own excitedheartbeat.
“Awrk!”Corinthiana exclaimed. “Thaaat must beee deeear Maaay or Robert Edwaaard. Theymust haaave gotten caaaught in theee storm.”
Itwas, in fact, both of the expected guests arrived at once. Martha showed theminto the sitting room, grunting and pointing at the odd pair then stomping offtoward the kitchen. Their arrival darkened the room—the storm outside suddenlyreaching into their pleasant, firelit existence in the form of the dripping,shadowy man and woman who joined the party.
MayHawsfeffer, the youngest daughter of Corinthiana, looked exactly as Crockettexpected, fully embracing her role as the rejected nun. She wore a black dressthat flowed down her thin body and came to her feet in a dense pool of fabric. Despitethe intense warmth of the day, she had wrapped her shoulders in a cape of blackfur which covered her pencil-thin neck. Her countenance was a mix of brightwhite and shadow, the bags under her eyes and the recesses of her hollow cheekscontrasting with the milky white skin that tightly wrapped her face. Smallspectacles flashed on her nose, like two search lamps going before the darktunnels of her small, beady eyes. She was an almost perfectly inverted image ofher sister. Whereas June carried an air of blonde, quaffed, pastel lightness, Mayoccupied a diametrical pole of frigid, brunette malfeasance.[12]
Hercompanion, Robert Edward Harrington, the unknown (until recently) second cousinof the deceased, was even more villainous in appearance. He also wore allblack, but his clothing was ominously contrasted with dark red in the form ofhis handkerchief, tie, and cape lining, which gave the impression that hisinsides were covered in blood. He appeared to be unkempt, a dense black-and-graybeard on his face merging with the wild silver locks of hair that tumbled ontohis shoulders. Crockett squinted, noting some peculiarities of his face, as ifparts of it were both too large and too small; it gave the impression that hehad been struck by a shovel or cooking pan which had scrambled its features sothat everything was marred and bent.
Corinthianarose and slowly crept toward the guests. Crockett observed that, even thoughshe had to go but a few yards, she proceeded with the same theatrical gait andwave she used when coming down the stairs.
“Mydeeears!” she cried as she tiptoed toward them, Beatrice’s bowl firmly in tow. “Ourpaaarty is aaat laaast compleeete.”
MayHawsfeffer didn’t move, but Robert Edward threw back his cape and slunk towardthe hostess, crying in a thick, continental accent, “Darling, Corinziana. Pleaseexcuse my tardiness.”
Heplanted what Crockett perceived as two very aggressive kisses on her cheeks,Corinthiana blushing profoundly.
“Hello,Mother,” May said coldly.
Crockettturned his attention to Petrarch, who, he noted, was shrewdly examining theexpressions of all those gathered. Crockett followed his glance
