“You said you could help me.” She flickered. “You said you could help them.”
Again, the pause. Again her words. “I thought I heard something.” But this time Constance faded out, dropping the last line.
I glanced back toward the kitchen, ready for the sequence to start again.
But then she reappeared in the middle of the corridor, farther along it than she’d ever reached before. She had paused beside a bas-relief, anger marring her face.
“No. No. You said you could fix them,” she protested. “That’s not good enough!” I watched her hands rise, striking out at an unseen companion. Her shoulder jerked as though they’d hit back and her eyes grew round and fearful.
Constance’s form flickered with greater frequency now, nearly translucent even in her strongest moments, and I wondered if she was tiring. I’d never noticed Hanna struggle so—it certainly would have helped tip me off to her secret sooner if she had—but she’d also been dead for far longer than Constance.
“You must come and see—” She swiped at the stone mural, her hands disappearing into a cluster of flowers, and walked through the wall, leaving me behind.
I studied the artwork before me, certain there was a secret passage concealed behind it.
I brightened when I spotted the spiky leaves of an oleander plant.
Oleanders meant distrust, warning that you couldn’t always believe what your eyes told you.
With a smile, I pushed the little plaster blooms, and a hidden panel swung open.
The tunnel beyond was as black as a tomb.
I glanced back hopefully down the hall, praying for a candlestick or lantern, anything to help light my way. But there was nothing and as I hesitated, I could hear Constance’s voice echoing off the brick walls, growing fainter. I’d have to go in blind.
The door clicked shut behind me and I waved my hands about, trying to situate myself within the darkened space. The walls on either side of me were close and rough. In front, there was nothing but a void perforated with dusty cobwebs.
“You can’t keep doing this.”
Constance’s voice rang out as shrill as a siren. I followed after it.
The floor was uneven, riddled with unexpected dips that sent me stumbling into the walls. My hips ached, already sore with the promise of bruises to come, but I pressed on.
“She’ll never go along with it.”
Gradually, the passage sloped upward at such an angle I knew we were no longer on the first floor of the manor. But it didn’t feel as if we were on the second either.
“I’m going to tell her,” Constance warned, sounding closer now, though I still couldn’t see her. “I’m going to tell her tonight.”
I reached out, hoping to grab hold of her.
“You won’t get away with it,” she promised. “She’s going to find out everything.”
“Find out what?” I asked before crashing into something suddenly in front of me. Dazzling stars burst across my vision and my head spun.
“Stay away from me,” Constance hissed. “Get back.”
For a moment, I thought she had struck me, but then I felt a new brick wall. The passage must have come to a split. To my left I saw a faint glow of candlelight, limning the surface of the tunnel a dull gray. Constance was between the light and me, her wavering silhouette filling up the tight space.
“Stop it.”
She raised her hands in a defensive posture, backing away from me.
“Put those down,” she ordered. “You won’t hurt me. You can’t. They won’t live without me.”
Constance fell back with pained surprise, struggling against the unseen assailant. She clutched at her chest, a spot of red blooming across her bodice. She was struck again, her cries low and guttural.
“No. No, please. I didn’t mean it. I won’t…I promise—”
Her boots scuffled against the floor, thrashing and kicking. There was a moment I thought she might be able to escape the attack, but then she floundered, falling over. Her head struck the wall. She clutched at her neck and wet, rattling gasps filled the passage.
“No!” she screamed once, and I recognized the anguish and despair. It was the scream I’d heard in the kitchen.
Then she flickered out, gone.
I stood in frozen horror, unable to look away from the spot she’d just been.
Constance had been murdered, here in this very corridor.
But by who?
She’d indicated she and Gerard had had a falling-out. Had it become physical? He had his faults—many, many faults—but I couldn’t picture him taking a life. His hands created, fashioning growth out of nothing but soil and seeds.
It couldn’t have been him.
I pictured Dauphine’s expression the day after my engagement, when we’d talked about hiring a servant for me, when she’d flatly explained there were no maids in her house. She’d known then that Gerard had brought in another mistress. Had she discovered Constance’s whereabouts and gone after the girl?
I cringed, picturing a twisted, jealous glint in Dauphine’s eyes.
Yes. I could see all that play out again, with her at the helm.
The tunnel seemed suddenly darker and I could feel the weight of all of the stones and shadows around me. I imagined a deep rumble, the bricks shifting loose as the house shuddered. Everything would come collapsing down on me. I would be swallowed alive, trapped forever in the ruins of Chauntilalie.
I needed to get out of here. I needed to escape this darkness.
I fled down the corridor, chasing after the promise of candlelight.
I crashed through the partially open door, blinking in surprise at the unexpectedly cheerful surroundings.
Where was I?
Feeling ill, I turned about in a slow circle, taking in every detail with dull incomprehension.
It was a playroom.
The walls were painted a rich blue, like the night sky, with foiled stars pressed in deep.
A trio of rocking horses lined one wall, as if at the start of a race. Their painted eyes were wide and their mouths peeled back into grimaces around wooden bits. For a moment, I could almost hear their whinnies.
There were stuffed bears, rattles, and blocks.
Everything was in sets of three.
Clusters of pink candles burned, tall and bright, and filled the nursery with their pungent, familiar odor. A paper mobile hung in front of an ivy-covered window, little stars and moons spinning in slow circles, caught in a draft.
I tried peeking out the window, to give myself a sense of where exactly I was in the house, but the vines made for an effective cover and I couldn’t see beyond them.
An open door led to another room. A single candle lit the new space with a soft glow.
“What is this place?” I whispered, stepping over the threshold.
I froze when I realized I was not alone. A series of cribs lined one wall.
There were three of them.
And each crib was occupied by a small, mewing form.
There were babies here.
My head felt strange, as wobbly as a screw loose in a sheath too big. Whatever Constance had done when she’d stepped through me lingered, growing and festering like a gangrenous wound.
I reached out to one of the cribs, trying to steady myself, then peeked into the blanketed depths.
Light golden curls framed a tiny, beatific face. Slate-blue eyes stared drowsily up at me.