Charlotte Markham and the House of Darkling (14 page)

“And what of Lily?” I asked. “Will she live happily ever after as well?”

Mr. Whatley pulled the cigar out of his mouth and smiled again. “Perhaps. But ever after is a very long time. Good luck to you, Mrs. Markham. It's your move.”

Duncan was suddenly at my side. Mr. Whatley disappeared into a tunnel that continued on deeper into the baths, the glowing end of his cigar sliding away with him into the gloom.

CHAPTER 11

The Stolen Sun

D
uncan led me to the entrance of the baths and watched as I walked up the stairs to the rest of the house. I passed by the library, rising four floors into the air, perpetual moonlight bathing the books in a soft blue glow. I could not hope to match Mr. Whatley unless I knew more about what I was involving myself with. I ran my fingers along the leather spines, and noticed a small stack of books next to the plush leather chair that Lily had been sitting in the first time we found her in the room. One of them was entitled
Dreams of Blackfield
. I closed the door to the library, took to her chair, and opened the book.

My eyes trailed over the lines of unintelligible calligraphy, and suddenly I was in Mr. Darrow's study. The man himself was slumped in his chair, quietly taking an impromptu afternoon nap. I found myself pushed toward him, nearly against my will, gliding across the room until I was at his side. He opened his eyes.

“Charlotte?”

“You can see me?”

“Yes, of course.” He rose from his chair and stood very close to me. I could feel his breath on my face. “I always see you here.” He touched my cheek with trembling fingers, and I sighed with relief.

“Mr. Darrow—”

“Henry. My name is Henry.”

“Henry.”

He pulled me against his body and kissed me deeply on the lips. I returned the gesture and ran my fingers through his golden hair. He pushed me against the wall and jolted me out of the reverie. I was back in the library.

“Oh dear.” I set the book on top of the pile, thought better of it, and set it back in my lap. Flushed with excitement, I had no idea how real my experience inside the book had been. What would happen the next time that we saw one another? It was difficult not to be attracted to Henry Darrow. He was very handsome, sensitive, and financially secure. Yet the attraction felt wrong, and it could not be blamed on the fact that Mr. Whatley had pointed it out. The dream of becoming the next Mrs. Darrow had begun the moment I met him, as had the loathsome idea of coming off like some sort of temptress, some fortune-seeking harpy who was using her position with the children to secure the good favor of her employer. I was not that woman; I refused to be, and so long as I could not be sure of my own intentions, I would refuse myself any happiness just to ensure that my actions were entirely pure and unquestionable.

I went through the other titles in Lily's collection:
Ode to the Balthazar, Eternal Death, Human Fashions,
and
Mysteries of The Ending
. I took this last one with the other I had just read and carried them upstairs to add to my growing collection. As I passed the boys' room, the door was open and I saw the children settling in beside their mother for another bedtime story. I was about to return to my own room, but Lily saw me standing in the hallway and gestured for me to sit down with them. She began to read:

The Stolen Sun

Once upon a time, there was a caravan of gypsies traveling through the countryside. The youngest member of the clan was a girl named Spada. She was as inquisitive as she was beautiful, and each time the caravan stopped to set up camp, she would start out into the surrounding woodlands to see what sorts of interesting things she could find. As the forests could be dangerous, her mother and father would have to go after her before she got lost and left behind, for winter was coming and the caravan had to make it over the mountains before the first frost.

One day, the gypsies set up camp after an especially long trip and Spada went into the forest in search of something to eat. Her parents were busy tending the horses, as they had briars caught in their hooves, and in no time at all she was as lost as she could be, wandering through the woods as the sun began to set. There was a chill in the air, and Spada, who was usually fearless in the face of everything, grew worried that she would be unable to find shelter for the night. No sooner had she almost given up than she found a magnificent house in a clearing.

It was ancient, made of rough, large stones and timber, but the windows were full of light and the smoke coming from the chimney was sweet with the smell of baking. She approached the house with little hesitation and pulled the rope next to the entryway. A short, squat man with curling whiskers answered the door and was more than happy to take in the lost gypsy girl.

“You may stay the night,” he said. “But you must stay the entire night, for the forest is dangerous and I'm certain your family would rather have you lost than dead.”

Spada found the sense in this, and agreed to spend the entire night in the strange little man's home. He led her through the house to a large dining room, where they dined on many succulent dishes, and to a room with high ceilings where she was given a comfortable bed. She quickly fell asleep beneath a pile of soft blankets.

The girl slept for quite some time, so long in fact that she was surprised upon waking to see that the sun had still not risen. Spada found this to be very strange, and she left her room to learn how much time had passed. She located the little man in a parlor with a great black fireplace and told him of her concern.

“But my dear,” he said, “you've been here but an hour. I suppose you've enjoyed it so much that it must have seemed longer.”

Spada found the sense in this and was about to return to her room when the little man invited her to a game of cards. No longer tired, the girl played with him for quite some time until they were both feeling hungry again, and the little man called for his servants to prepare the dining room once more. Spada and her new friend ate many succulent dishes, and when she asked to retire for the remainder of the evening, she was led to another bedroom altogether, with an even larger bed and pillows so delicate she felt as if her head were resting on air.

When she awoke Spada was certain she must have slept at least half the day away, but when she looked out the window she was dismayed to find that the sun had still failed to rise. She rushed through the great house and found the little man seated in a study filled with books and paintings. She told him of her concern.

“I agree that the night seems very long indeed,” he said. “But that is only because we have done so much in such a short time.”

Spada found the sense in this and was about to return to her room when the little man suggested that she join him in playing music. Coming from a family of musicians, the girl found this to be a very practical way to pass the time, and together they played and sang until their fingers hurt and their voices were raw. The little man called to his servants to prepare the dining room, and for the third time that evening Spada feasted on many delicious dishes. When they were finished the little man excused himself for a moment and left the girl alone in the company of his butler.

The servant, who always observed his master with a small measure of disdain, began speaking to the girl in a hushed whisper as soon as the little man had left. He warned her that she had been tricked, and that the little man had stolen the sun from the sky and hidden it somewhere in the house to keep her with him for one long, eternal night. Spada thanked the butler for telling her, but found that this information neither frightened nor upset her. In fact, all she could feel for the master of the house was sympathy and a little pity.

“He must be very lonely if he is willing to go to such lengths to keep me here,” she said. “If the sun is in the house, then I shall find it and prove to him that he does not need to use such tricks to make us friends.”

The little man returned to the dining room and escorted Spada to another fantastic bedroom, this one with a bed lined in lullabies. She slept very soundly, but when she awoke she did not go in search of the little man. Instead, she went through the house and examined every reflective surface in search of the sun. She peered into mirrors and silver goblets, golden doorknobs, and gilded cages, looking carefully for anything that contained the sparkle of daylight. When she had satisfied herself that every reflection in the house was natural, she found the little man waiting for her in the kitchen wearing a ridiculous chef's hat. Neither of them brought up the unending night. Instead they baked all of Spada's favorite pies and cakes and ate everything that they made until their stomachs were ready to burst.

In due time, the little man escorted her to a new bedroom with a plush, delicate bed lined with dreams. This time, before he left her he paused at the door and wished her a pleasant evening. She drifted off to sleep.

When she awoke, Spada set off into the house in search of every candle flame and burning fireplace that might contain the stolen sun. She peered into every gaslight that lined the hallways, and into every room with a blazing hearth, and when she was satisfied that she had examined every available source of firelight, she found the little man in an empty ballroom. He wore his best dancing shoes and seemed eager to teach her his favorite steps, but the look of defeat on Spada's face was enough for him to ask her what was wrong.

“I know that you have stolen the sun,” she said without any anger or accusation, much to the little man's surprise, “and I've been looking for it in every place I could think of. I was certain that if I could find and return it, you would see how you did not need to trick me to win over my friendship. I would have given it freely, and do still.”

The little man was very clever and usually good at anticipating every possible outcome of a situation, but Spada's declaration caught him off guard. His eyes glistened with tears more brightly than was possible, and Spada discovered that he had hidden the sun not in his house, but in his heart. So great was his affection for the gypsy girl that he could no longer keep it to himself. His chest welled with emotion, and as it did the ballroom filled with sunlight, which streamed out through the windows of the house and into the sky above the forest, calling to the gypsies still searching for the lost Spada.

When the girl's family arrived at the great house, they were invited into the ballroom, where everyone played music and danced and sang, and Spada never left the little man's side, not even when the sun had set and the first frost of winter licked across the earth. The mountains would wait until spring, for a true friendship was as rare as the sun in the sky.

“Was that a true story?” James yawned and lifted his head from his mother's shoulder as she finished. Lily closed the book and set it on the nightstand. Paul, who was wide awake, kept his head in her lap and stared quietly into space.

“Every story starts with a bit of truth, no matter how small,” she said.

“Then they probably changed the ending to make it happy,” said the boy as he stretched his arms over his head. “Her family wouldn't have been glad at all. The little man tried to steal her away.”

Their mother was becoming visibly uncomfortable. Children were supposed to fall asleep with a bedtime story.

“I suppose he must have been very lonely,” said Lily.

“Lots of people are lonely,” said Paul without moving. He blinked and sighed. “That doesn't make it all right to do something wrong.”

James sat up and reached over his mother to pick up the book of fairy tales. “Do you think they were all dead? Did the little man kill them?”

“Why would you say such a thing?” Lily asked with surprise that bordered on horror. “Winter was coming. They might have died if they went into the mountains. Perhaps he saved them.” She kissed him on the forehead and began to extricate herself from her sons. “Although that's a very interesting interpretation.”

She brushed the side of Paul's face, but stopped when he said: “Perhaps he was collecting the gypsies.” Her eyes flashed and revealed something secret, but it happened so fast that it was difficult to read. She kissed him on the cheek, and together we closed the door to the bedroom. We stood facing one another in the hallway, and Lily observed the books clutched under my arm.

“You returned to the library.”

“Yes, the books here are quite fascinating, as was the fairy tale.”

“Some stories are truer than we realize, and others less than we might wish,” she said.

A silence passed between us, unbroken until I lifted the books to keep them from slipping, minutely aware that I had tactfully placed my arm to hide the title of
Dreams of Blackfield
.

“I hope you don't mind that I've taken them?”

“Not at all. In fact I encourage your curiosity. The more you know about this place, the more comfortable you'll feel bringing the children.”

Moonlight came in through the window at the end of the hallway, broken up only by the shadows of the languid tentacles rising from the pond outside.

“Mr. Whatley asked to speak with me today.”

“Did he?” Lily's voice was unreadable. “Whatever for?”

“He wanted to know if I would continue to bring the children,” I said, leaving out the bargain I had struck with the master of Darkling. Lily waited for me to go on as I struggled to find the right words. “I said that I would, for now.”

“Splendid!”

“I'm not so sure that it is.” I tightened my grip on the books. “How much do you know about Mr. Whatley?”

“I believe that he's some kind of politician.”

“But what sort of man is he?”

“I should think you'd be aware by now that he's no man at all.”

“Yes, of course, but has he ever given you any reason to fear him?”

“We made a bargain, and whatever he might be, he keeps his promises.”

That did not answer my question.
I attempted a different tactic.