fondly. “The wiring gets affected by the dampness in the house. It connects to the clay pits, you see. Promise me you’ll be very careful when using it, and never, ever go below this level. The mines are very unstable.”
She wanted to make it clear that there
had
been a woman in the elevator. It hadn’t just “decided” to go up.
As she opened her mouth, the little dog started barking and bounded toward the foyer. The door opened and Lucille walked in, wrapped in gloves and heavy woolens, and her eyes widened when she saw the dog.
“What is this thing doing here?” she asked curtly. “I thought that you—”
“Dear Lucille,” Thomas broke in happily. “It’s so good to see you!”
As he went to embrace her, she threw off her cape, preventing him. Then she regarded Edith with a cool eye.
“I see you made it, Edith,” she said, which was a rather strange thing to say. “How was London?”
“A blur. A dream,” Edith said, putting aside her concerns about the woman. Perhaps Lucille had engaged someone from the village to prepare the house for their homecoming. And truly, London
had
been a dream. Despite her father’s wealth and position, she had not traveled much. She and Thomas had seen many of the sights that had been in her book about England, just as depicted, and Thomas had seemed so happy revealing his country to her.
Thomas said happily, “We went to the Albert Hall, Lucille. A concert. So grand. So wonderful.”
Indeed, they had listened to a Chopin program, and Thomas had remarked that Lucille would have loved it. He had spoken often of his sister during their excursions, and Edith had been touched by his devotion to her. It had reminded her of Alan and Eunice, and she had felt a pang of homesickness. She occasionally caught herself talking about her father, and would cut herself short because she did not want Thomas to think she wasn’t happy. But Thomas had encouraged her to talk about him, reminding her that she was still grieving.
Lucille bristled a little. “I see. Well
I
went to the post office. Your machine parts are here from Birmingham. Two heavy crates. You’ll need Finlay to fetch them.” She spoke stiffly, clearly a bit jealous of their fine time. But one went on a honeymoon with one’s bride, not one’s sister. Surely Lucille understood that. Perhaps they could take a trip together, the two Sharpe sisters-in-law, while Thomas worked on his machine. It would be difficult to be parted from Thomas for even a few days, however.
Lucille cocked her head. “Edith? Is there something the matter with you?”
Thomas looked at Edith too. His warm glow dimmed a bit. “Give us a moment,” he told Lucille. “She’s a little shaken.”
Lucille hung up her winter things. “Goodness. Why is that?”
He shrugged. “She saw something. A shadow, a reflection. It frightened her.”
Lucille favored her with a condescending smile. “A shadow? Oh, darling, all that lives in this house are shadows and reflections and creaks and groans. So you’d better soothe that boundless imagination of yours from now on.”
Edith considered. She was tired and Allerdale Hall
was
filled with “shadows and reflections and creaks and groans.” After all, she had imagined that the woman had been having a cigarette, yet she smelled no smoke.
And as she turned her head, she caught her own reflection in another mirror, and she had to admit that despite presentable hair, she looked a sight: pallid complexion, dark circles beneath her eyes. She barely recognized herself.
She determined not to pursue it, at least not when they had just arrived home and she needed to create a bond with her new sister-in-law. However, the house was much more unsettling than she had expected, and she
would
have to rein in her imagination.
“I need a proper welcome, that is all,” she declared, embracing Lucille. “From this day forward, the house will contain nothing but friendship and love and warmth.”
From
She wanted to make it clear that there
had
been a woman in the elevator. It hadn’t just “decided” to go up.
As she opened her mouth, the little dog started barking and bounded toward the foyer. The door opened and Lucille walked in, wrapped in gloves and heavy woolens, and her eyes widened when she saw the dog.
“What is this thing doing here?” she asked curtly. “I thought that you—”
“Dear Lucille,” Thomas broke in happily. “It’s so good to see you!”
As he went to embrace her, she threw off her cape, preventing him. Then she regarded Edith with a cool eye.
“I see you made it, Edith,” she said, which was a rather strange thing to say. “How was London?”
“A blur. A dream,” Edith said, putting aside her concerns about the woman. Perhaps Lucille had engaged someone from the village to prepare the house for their homecoming. And truly, London
had
been a dream. Despite her father’s wealth and position, she had not traveled much. She and Thomas had seen many of the sights that had been in her book about England, just as depicted, and Thomas had seemed so happy revealing his country to her.
Thomas said happily, “We went to the Albert Hall, Lucille. A concert. So grand. So wonderful.”
Indeed, they had listened to a Chopin program, and Thomas had remarked that Lucille would have loved it. He had spoken often of his sister during their excursions, and Edith had been touched by his devotion to her. It had reminded her of Alan and Eunice, and she had felt a pang of homesickness. She occasionally caught herself talking about her father, and would cut herself short because she did not want Thomas to think she wasn’t happy. But Thomas had encouraged her to talk about him, reminding her that she was still grieving.
Lucille bristled a little. “I see. Well
I
went to the post office. Your machine parts are here from Birmingham. Two heavy crates. You’ll need Finlay to fetch them.” She spoke stiffly, clearly a bit jealous of their fine time. But one went on a honeymoon with one’s bride, not one’s sister. Surely Lucille understood that. Perhaps they could take a trip together, the two Sharpe sisters-in-law, while Thomas worked on his machine. It would be difficult to be parted from Thomas for even a few days, however.
Lucille cocked her head. “Edith? Is there something the matter with you?”
Thomas looked at Edith too. His warm glow dimmed a bit. “Give us a moment,” he told Lucille. “She’s a little shaken.”
Lucille hung up her winter things. “Goodness. Why is that?”
He shrugged. “She saw something. A shadow, a reflection. It frightened her.”
Lucille favored her with a condescending smile. “A shadow? Oh, darling, all that lives in this house are shadows and reflections and creaks and groans. So you’d better soothe that boundless imagination of yours from now on.”
Edith considered. She was tired and Allerdale Hall
was
filled with “shadows and reflections and creaks and groans.” After all, she had imagined that the woman had been having a cigarette, yet she smelled no smoke.
And as she turned her head, she caught her own reflection in another mirror, and she had to admit that despite presentable hair, she looked a sight: pallid complexion, dark circles beneath her eyes. She barely recognized herself.
She determined not to pursue it, at least not when they had just arrived home and she needed to create a bond with her new sister-in-law. However, the house was much more unsettling than she had expected, and she
would
have to rein in her imagination.
“I need a proper welcome, that is all,” she declared, embracing Lucille. “From this day forward, the house will contain nothing but friendship and love and warmth.”
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