from fear. I remembered what Althea had said about bats, and I didnât relish the idea of any of the furry creatures swooping down on me. I moved on into the trees, curious to see the black marble tent again, wondering if it were as bizarre and sinister as I remembered.
I could smell the water now, smell moss and rotten logs and mud, and in the distance, through the trees, I could see the lake itself, its surface half obscured by veils of mist that swirled over it like ghostly white wraiths. I stumbled over a root and had to grab a low-hanging limb to keep from falling. What nonsense, I told myself, I should have waited until I was properly dressed to go exploring. I knew I should have turned back but I went on, trees thick on either side, only a few rays of moonlight seeping through the canopy of branches overhead. I could hear birds stirring in the boughs, and I kept thinking of bats, peering at every limb that might possibly harbor them.
Stepping out of the woods at last, I found myself on the shore of the lake. The mists were really heavier than I had imagined at first, a blanket of thick white vapor spreading, growing thicker. The water lapped at the shore, stirred by the evening breeze, and there was the sound of whispers. I stopped, momentarily paralyzed, and then I realized that it was only the combination of wind and water and rustling leaves that caused that curious sound. It was not unpleasant, rather like crooning, voices crooning to the night, whispering voices that lifted and blended together. There was nothing sinister about the sound, yet I felt a chill creeping over me. I fervently wished I had waited till daylight to come down here. This was sheer folly.â¦
My thoughts had been all about romance before, but now, naturally, I thought of the dinner conversation about intruders, remembering that Althea insisted she had seen prowlers on the grounds even after Paul had sent over the dogs. Pleasant thoughts, very cheerful at this particular moment. I remembered turning into the east wing, remembered the cold, clammy air and the dark form hovering in the doorway. I scolded myself mentally, trying to get hold of myself, but the sinister thoughts persisted as the mists spread and the water slapped gently at the muddy shoreline.
Fear welled up inside me, rising quickly, forcefully, and I stared at the lake, wondering what on earth had possessed me to leave the gardens and come down here. It was almost as though something had summoned me, I thought, and now I was surrounded by darkness and water and trees, at the mercy of the night. There was a moment of sheer panic, and then I managed to laugh at myself. I was acting exactly like one of my own heroines. This was Gordonwood, not a spooky estate, and I was a level-headed young woman taking an evening stroll, not a damsel in jeopardy. I had come to see the mausoleum of my own volition. I certainly hadnât been summoned by some sinister force outside my control. I wandered along the shore, the earlier apprehension gone now.
It was lovely, really. The water was black, a vast expanse of inky wetness undulating with tiny waves, the mist hanging over it in gently waving white veils. There was enough moonlight to guide my way, wavering beams pointing out the smooth, narrow curve of land between trees and water, an occasional log blocking the way. A frog croaked nearby, startling me, and there was a loud splash as it hopped off a log and plunged into the water. I wasnât exactly sure where the mausoleum stood, but I was sure to find it if I followed the shoreline. The mists were spreading, obscuring part of the land now, visible white vapors waving in front of me. Perhaps I should go back, I thought calmly. It really wasnât so important that I see the place tonight. Perhaps.â¦
I saw it ahead of me, sitting at the edge of the water, shrouded by mist. It was a vast black marble tent, but it looked like black silk, and the sides seemed to billow in the
I could smell the water now, smell moss and rotten logs and mud, and in the distance, through the trees, I could see the lake itself, its surface half obscured by veils of mist that swirled over it like ghostly white wraiths. I stumbled over a root and had to grab a low-hanging limb to keep from falling. What nonsense, I told myself, I should have waited until I was properly dressed to go exploring. I knew I should have turned back but I went on, trees thick on either side, only a few rays of moonlight seeping through the canopy of branches overhead. I could hear birds stirring in the boughs, and I kept thinking of bats, peering at every limb that might possibly harbor them.
Stepping out of the woods at last, I found myself on the shore of the lake. The mists were really heavier than I had imagined at first, a blanket of thick white vapor spreading, growing thicker. The water lapped at the shore, stirred by the evening breeze, and there was the sound of whispers. I stopped, momentarily paralyzed, and then I realized that it was only the combination of wind and water and rustling leaves that caused that curious sound. It was not unpleasant, rather like crooning, voices crooning to the night, whispering voices that lifted and blended together. There was nothing sinister about the sound, yet I felt a chill creeping over me. I fervently wished I had waited till daylight to come down here. This was sheer folly.â¦
My thoughts had been all about romance before, but now, naturally, I thought of the dinner conversation about intruders, remembering that Althea insisted she had seen prowlers on the grounds even after Paul had sent over the dogs. Pleasant thoughts, very cheerful at this particular moment. I remembered turning into the east wing, remembered the cold, clammy air and the dark form hovering in the doorway. I scolded myself mentally, trying to get hold of myself, but the sinister thoughts persisted as the mists spread and the water slapped gently at the muddy shoreline.
Fear welled up inside me, rising quickly, forcefully, and I stared at the lake, wondering what on earth had possessed me to leave the gardens and come down here. It was almost as though something had summoned me, I thought, and now I was surrounded by darkness and water and trees, at the mercy of the night. There was a moment of sheer panic, and then I managed to laugh at myself. I was acting exactly like one of my own heroines. This was Gordonwood, not a spooky estate, and I was a level-headed young woman taking an evening stroll, not a damsel in jeopardy. I had come to see the mausoleum of my own volition. I certainly hadnât been summoned by some sinister force outside my control. I wandered along the shore, the earlier apprehension gone now.
It was lovely, really. The water was black, a vast expanse of inky wetness undulating with tiny waves, the mist hanging over it in gently waving white veils. There was enough moonlight to guide my way, wavering beams pointing out the smooth, narrow curve of land between trees and water, an occasional log blocking the way. A frog croaked nearby, startling me, and there was a loud splash as it hopped off a log and plunged into the water. I wasnât exactly sure where the mausoleum stood, but I was sure to find it if I followed the shoreline. The mists were spreading, obscuring part of the land now, visible white vapors waving in front of me. Perhaps I should go back, I thought calmly. It really wasnât so important that I see the place tonight. Perhaps.â¦
I saw it ahead of me, sitting at the edge of the water, shrouded by mist. It was a vast black marble tent, but it looked like black silk, and the sides seemed to billow in the
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