And even then, in that month spent near Aaron, Vera had sensed there was something not quite right about this house. How could she explain it? It was a feeling that the entire structure existed as a shell for something other than a home.
For within its walls were thousands of curious objects. There were rooms filled with oddities from decades of travel. They showcased the gifts Aaron had been granted by friends, figures of import in fields as varied as archaeology, museum curation, and natural science.
Her brother had stocked these treasures, and now they were neglected, arranged only for display purposes, and on the face of it, Alexandra Hall dazzled with elegance while serving as a coffer for the spoils – however strange these were — of an intrepid life. But Vera was no fool.
Aaron once boasted of the fortunes he made as a private moneylender and his knack for investments. She’d heard him say that he would never strive to earn an income. And after he wed the peasant girl, Vera had imagined Aaron would cease to roam. He would sire children and fill this new home with the sound of laughter.
Mrs. Cleary, the housekeeper would serve tea and cakes to rosy cheeks, as all of them sat by the colonnades, and Aaron would open Alexandra Hall to his family and friends. Later in the afternoon, Auntie Vera would read books to the children by the willow trees, her forgiving gaze falling upon her half-breed nephew, or maybe a niece who had the decency to resemble Aaron; both children dressed in starched white clothing.
Alas, the last time Vera had imagined this scene, it was during her last visit, while Calista lay ill in her bed. Vera had been reduced to tears, her thoughts overrun by the endless sound of that garden fountain. She recalled how she had clamped her hands over her ears and wished for that noise to die.
Had the water’s rush reminded her of the inevitable passing of time? Perhaps like the ticking minutes she had lived? Or did its torrent evoke what she’d felt towards a brother who – while she had been barred from romantic love and happiness – had consumed everything life had given him, with abandon?
Yet her distress concealed much more— the secret torment of Aaron’s rebuff, the slights endured throughout her marriageable years, and the endless gossip she had suffered since her brother’s marriage. These memories, they had screamed at her and filled her with anger. But nothing, nothing had roared louder than that fountain whose ghastly mouth spewed waters with such force.
For deep in the fountain’s gurgling throat, Vera knew not how, but she sensed echoes of something worse.
Vera startled. She stared out from the parlour, suddenly alerted by the sharp noise arising from the entrance hall. It was the din of metal on marble tiles. Again, she heard it. It resembled the sound a spoon or another metal object might make when dropped.
“Who’s there?”
A fear that the parlour might not be as safe as she once thought overwhelmed Vera, and she rose from her seat. Her heart raced as she felt her way out towards the entrance hall, the lamp unsteady in her trembling hand.
“Is that you, Shannon?” Perhaps the maid had come out to check upon her. Vera stepped out of the parlour. She studied the floor and frowned. A tiny silver spoon gleamed on the tiles at her feet. Surprised, she lowered herself to pick it up. A violent blow struck her other hand and the lamp fell from her grip, shattering across the floor. Vera felt herself trip. She tumbled forward, landing on her palms with a gasp. The light had gone out. Only remained the moonlight seeping through the glass doors and into the entrance hall. Its beams shone onto another spoon that had caused Vera’s fall. Alarm seized her. She raised herself and ran to the staircase. She climbed the stairs without looking back. She would not remain another day in Alexandra Hall. She’d pack her bag tonight and ask the gardener to take her to Reading Town in the morning.
As she reached Calista’s portrait halfway up the stairs, Vera froze. She thought she saw the Greek girl grin back at her. There was something hard under her foot. Clinging to the banister, Vera reached for the object. Another damned spoon. And another…over there…on the previous step.
And below it, reaching out towards her, there was…
Vera tried to scream but her throat felt tight. She opened her mouth, but no sound came.
Chapter 2
Maurice Leroux
“YOU don’t let me find you, Maurice. Don’t let me find you. Because if I find you, you bet I’ll whip you so hard you won’t forget it.”
The woman he called mother spun upon her feet and strode back towards the kitchen.
“Maurice! You come out now.”
She opened the pantry cabinet, peered in. Did she not know, it was the last place where he would have hid? He’d rather get caught than be trapped in there. She slammed it shut.
“Where is he? Where has the little demon got to?”
Maurice’s heart leapt in his chest as he watched Therese’s stained clogs move past the kitchen table. Therese had nasty powers. She could change the manner in which she spoke at will. “Come out Maurice. Mummy won’t be mad.”
It always made him sick to the stomach to hear her take on that sweetened voice. If truth be known, he preferred it when she screamed at him.
Therese always went everywhere with her imaginary friends, women that you could count upon, women that never let you down and who, like Therese, fought their way into the world. There was no one else in the room, but she muttered bitter words
