The third room’s door was half closed and I pushed it open fully, then jumped.
It was another storeroom, but its contents were not dry goods or salted meats. It was artwork.
Statues.
Life-sized and filling the room like an army, each covered in a pale protective drop cloth.
Alex had gone in there, I was certain of it. There was a difference here, the heavier feeling of another presence, another person. The air moved about to let a second body occupy its space.
“Alex?” I called out, my voice sounding too high.
What was he doing in here?
So late at night.
Standing.
Walking.
I sighed. “I know you’re in here.”
Somewhere deeper in the room, obscured by the sea of sheets, something stirred.
I took a step in, breathing in the scent of long-forgotten items and dust. “Alex, I know it’s you. Just come out. Come out and explain—”
Behind me, another sound, like someone had cleared their throat.
I studied the pair of statues on either side of the door suspiciously.
Was he hiding behind one of them?
Without warning, I whipped off the sheet, revealing a trio of winged angels, flying in a cluster of limbs and beatific smiles.
The second statue was a pair of cranes, their necks bent down at strange angles to study a small brass frog between their feet.
A soft sigh came from farther in the room.
“Alex, this isn’t funny.” My voice wasn’t as assured as I wished it was. A quaver of uncertainty reverberated my tone.
I sounded scared.
Standing on the threshold, I tried to rationalize this situation, this bizarre and bewildering predicament.
I’d seen Alex.
Walking.
But he couldn’t. I’d witnessed his struggles getting in and out of the chair, his reliance on Frederick. He couldn’t fake that.
Could he?
That was madness.
So it wasn’t Alex.
Then who?
I glanced about the storeroom, fear stealing its way across my heart like the icy creep of hoarfrost over a winter field.
There was that servant, the night of Dauphine’s dinner party. I’d seen him. Frederick had seen him. We’d both thought him Alex.
He was here again. Right now. Back at Chauntilalie and roaming the halls in the middle of the night and I’d cornered him.
A light hiss, like someone letting out a breath held for too long. The hairs on my arms rose. It sounded closer now. Didn’t it?
I bit the inside of my cheek. I had to act. I had to do something.
The young man in the hallway had been quite tall. On my own, I’d be nearly powerless against such a formidable opponent.
I needed help.
But if I went to find it, I’d risk losing him, letting him slip away.
I could scream—my voice joining the peacocks’ cries. The cries that still filled the air, unnoticed and unchecked.
No.
I’d have to do this myself.
“You’re still here,” a voice behind me muttered, and I did scream then, crying out in alarm and the sudden terrible notion that this doppelg?nger had somehow worked his way out of the room before circling back to harm me.
But it was the young woman who had dressed me the morning of Alex’s proposal.
The young woman who was not a maid.
My eyes narrowed.
This was the girl Gerard had named his flowers after.
The girl who had filled Alex’s heart with scorn.
Gerard’s mistress.
“Why are you still here?” she asked.
“There’s someone in there,” I whispered, dragging her into the situation whether she wanted to come or not. “Constance.”
Her eyes widened. “You know my name?”
I ignored her surprise. “You need to help me. There’s an intruder in the house. I think it’s someone who was here the day of the dinner party, come back to…I don’t know…steal…something.” It sounded right, a wayward man using temporary jobs to scope out new locations for his heists.
“And you think he’s in there?” she murmured slowly. Her eyes flickered over the statues. “I don’t see anyone.”
“He’s hiding. Under the drops.”
“That seems rather far-fetched, don’t you think?”
“I saw him,” I insisted. “Go in and see for yourself.”
Constance’s face twisted. “I don’t…I wish I could.”
“Go,” I ordered, all but pushing her into the room.
With a muttered sigh, Constance reached for the light switch. The room remained dark. “See?” she said, turning back to me. “I can’t—”
“Look,” I pointed.
Sparkles of glass lay on the ground, all around her. The globes covering the gas lamps had been shattered. It was a wonder she’d not cut herself.
“Do you believe me now?” I hissed.
Constance swept her gaze over the room, now worried, and nodded.
“Open the drapes,” she mouthed.
On silent tiptoes, I made my way to the other side of the room and, after a moment of struggling within the folds of heavy curtains, pulled on a set of cords and flooded the space with moonlight.
The canvas drops glowed an eerie blue and I watched them for any telltale trace of movement.
The room was still.
I looked at the girl, at Gerard’s mistress, and shrugged.
Constance raised one pointer finger to her lips, a chilling echo of the gesture the young man had made just minutes before. Then she pointed to one of the statues and motioned to rip the sheet off. She glanced meaningfully at the statue by me.
I nodded.
Raising my hand, I counted us down.
Three.
My stomach churned, feeling sick.
Two.
My palms were sweaty as I picked up the edge of the cover.
One.
I whipped my drop cloth away, revealing a marbled statue of more cherubs. Undeterred, I removed more cloths, sending dust soaring into the air, burning our eyes. Smaller pieces tipped over in our haste to uncover everything, falling to the floor and creating a terrible cacophony. Over and over we ripped off sheets, making our way toward the center of the room until…
Only a single statue remained.
It was tall, taller than me, and I could so easily envision someone hiding beneath the fabric. I squinted, almost certain I could see the folds rise and fall. Someone was there, breathing.
I was the one closest to it.
The mistress nodded at me, her eyes wide with fear.
I licked my lips, then pulled. The canvas cover sailed away, revealing a dark figure.
Constance screeched and I shouted and the figure remained silent.
And still.
Arina’s eyes, blank and bronzed, regarded us with an expression of mirth, as if she found our predicament amusing.
“He’s not…he’s not here,” I murmured, looking through the mess we’d made. He must have been there, hiding beneath the fallen covers or toppled metal urns. “Where is he?”
Constance scoured the room, her sharp eyes missing nothing. “You’re sure you saw someone?” I nodded. “In here?” she persisted.
“I…I thought I had.” My voice sounded childish and small.
She waited to speak for such a long moment that I was left wondering if she believed me at all.
“But you…”
I sensed she was struggling with something inside herself, weighing her options, deciding her next action.