Fiona (18 page)

I've finally reached the top and am rounding the corner into the servants' hallway when I hear it.

Her laugh. My mother's laugh. She's here.

I stand, frozen,
in the empty hallway, her laughter right in my ear. That full-throated laugh, the one that poured out of her whenever she was overwhelmed with joy. I can almost see her, her head thrown back, her eyes wide with delight.

And then it stops, and everything is so silent.

“NO!” I wail, stepping forward, straining to hear her again. The best music in the world. But it's gone.

Keira pops her head around the corner, startling me. “Fee?” she says, looking around the hall, clearly surprised to find me alone. “Are you okay?”

“She was just here,” I say, and the sound of my voice—so high-pitched and shaky—makes me cringe. There are new tears streaking down my cheeks, and I do my best to wipe them away. I can't imagine what a mess I must look like.

How unhinged.

“Do you want me to get somebody?” Keira asks. She's backed away from me the tiniest bit, and I don't blame her.

“No,” I say, because there's no one to get. “No, I'm fine. I was just . . . startled, that's all.”

She nods. “Okay,” she says quietly before backing away completely, until she disappears into her room.

I wipe away the tears and focus on breathing deeply and slowly, in and out.

That laughter couldn't have been in my head; it was too real. I reach out and trail my fingers along the corridor walls, as if searching for some type of tape recorder that I know isn't there. Sure enough, there's nothing, just blank white walls and silence.

But I know the laughter was real and that Blair had something to do with it.

Because she's trying to make me think I'm going crazy.

Of course. It all makes sense now. She's the one behind those strange noises at night. She's kept me sleepless, exhausted, so that I feel like I'm just drifting through the day. She's trying to drive me insane so that she can drive me away. Maybe she even figured out what really happened to my mom and is using that—my family genes—against me.

I hide myself in my room. It doesn't matter what I've figured out. She's already won. I pull out my small duffel bag and start packing it with my old clothes, the ones I brought with me from Mulespur. I don't want to take anything that isn't truly mine, which includes everything I brought back from that shopping trip. I don't want anything from this house. An image of Charlie's face floats into my mind, but I shove it away.

I finish packing and peek out into the hall, stupidly hopeful and foolishly terrified that I'll find my mother out there, waiting for me. But the hallway is clear. I throw my bag over my shoulder and head downstairs.

There are a few guests lingering in the entrance hall, including one couple enthusiastically making out in a corner, only half-hidden by the suit of armor. I duck my head and scurry out to Albert's apartment above the garage unnoticed.

I bang loudly on the door, and I hear him mutter and trip over something before he answers it. “What is it?” he asks. “What's wrong?” His white hair is a mess, standing straight up on one end. He's wearing striped pajamas, and I'm so startled to see him out of his uniform that I stare at him for a few extended moments before remembering what I'm doing here.

“Can you take me to the train station?” I ask him, doing my best to sound measured and rational.

“It's ten o'clock at night!” he says, looking down at my duffel bag and then back up at me. “There aren't any more trains tonight. Fee, what's going on?”

“Nothing,” I say. “Nothing important. Poppy's fine. I just have to go home.”

“Have you told Charlie?” he asks, and his voice is so kind that I almost start crying again.

I have to bite the inside of my lip before I answer. “No.”

He puts his hand on my shoulder. “Why don't you sleep on it? You can't go anywhere tonight anyway. If you wake up tomorrow and still want to leave, you can tell Mabel at breakfast, and we'll arrange to get you on the next train and flight home. Okay?”

I stare over my shoulder, out at the dark road winding away from us. I want so much to be free of this place.

He must see that want in my eyes, because he adds, “You don't want to leave without saying goodbye to Poppy, do you? That would make your absence even harder on the lass.”

I think of Poppy, and the guilt crushes down on top of me. “Of course not,” I whisper.

“Why don't you go to the kitchen and make some of that tea you like,” he says softly. “Then you can get some sleep. Things will look better in the morning.”

I nod, but in that instant, I feel a weight pressing down on
me, making my entire body heavy. Something shackling me to this place. I cannot escape.

“Sorry for waking you,” I mumble to Albert, turning to walk down his spiral staircase.

He says nothing, just watches me go as I hurry back to the house and to the kitchen for my tea.

I can make it one more night. That's all it is, I tell myself. One night. For Poppy.

I feel the sunlight
streaming into my room as I slowly struggle to pull myself out of a deep sleep. My limbs and eyelids feel heavy—too heavy. Judging by the intensity of the sun, I must have overslept by several hours. Why didn't anyone wake me? The whole staff must be busy recovering from the ball last night.

I groan, finally processing the pounding in my head.
What happened last night?

I open my eyes a crack to let them adjust to the sunlight and stretch my legs under the sheets, trying to bring some life into them.

As I wake up bit by bit, I feel something cool in my hand. Cool and sticky. I lift my hand up, and then I'm screaming.

It's a knife. I'm holding a knife, and there's blood all over it. And there's blood on my sheets, too, everywhere. I drop the
knife and draw my knees up, pulling myself into a crouch. I run my hands over my body, searching for the source of the blood. But there's nothing, not even a scratch. The blood staining my hand must have come from the knife.

Oh my God, what have I done?

My screams have dampened down to a whimper. All the servants must be up already, because no one has come to my door. No one can hear me.

I shove the knife underneath my mattress and rip the bloodstained sheets off the bed, stuffing them into my closet. That way, at least, the sight of them can't sicken me anymore. Then I grab a towel and hurry to the shower at the end of the hall. I need to get clean. Once I'm clean, I'll be able to think. I turn the hot water on full blast and watch as the red, red blood swirls down the drain. I scrub my hands and arms hard, erasing all traces of it. I'm sobbing now, my tears mixing with the hot water and the blood on the shower floor.

When my skin is finally scrubbed raw, I jump out of the shower and dry off, checking to make sure there's no trace of blood left on me. I have to figure out whose blood was on that knife. I have to find out what happened.

Oh, God, who did I hurt?

Back in my room, I throw on some clothes and run out again into the empty hallway and down the stairs. The kitchen
and dining room are empty, and all the breakfast things have been cleared.

I throw open the front door and see Alice approaching.

“Where have you been all morning?” she asks, breaking the silence between us for the first time in weeks. I shouldn't have expected anything about this day would be normal.

“Where is everyone?” I ask her, my voice rushed and frantic as I blink at her in the late morning sunshine. Nothing fits today—it hasn't been sunny here for weeks.

“Out at the stables,” Alice says, pulling me from my strange thoughts. “You better get out there.”

“Why? What happened?” Even my tongue feels heavy, and the words come out slow and slurred.

She shakes her head, her lips curling in disgust. At what, I can't tell. “Just get out there. Poppy needs you.”

Poppy.
I start running.

My hair is still wet, and it freezes in the startlingly cold air as I run toward a crowd of household staff standing outside the barn. Two of the kitchen girls hold each other and sob. Mabel stands apart from the group, watching me approach, and says nothing as I fly past her into the barn.

Poppy sits outside of Copperfield's stall, bent over something massive I can't clearly see, practically lying on it. My heart stops as I watch her completely still form, but then she moves,
running her hand down the thing in front of her, and I find that I'm gasping for air.
She's alive.
It wasn't her blood on that knife. She's okay, right here in front of me, healthy.

Before I can feel real relief, I sense someone approach and stand beside me. Gareth. His hand rests on my arm, warm and comforting. I look up at him. “I'm sorry,” he murmurs. “I don't know what happened.”

His words don't make sense until I turn again to Poppy and take in the whole scene.

Charlie sits beside Poppy, his arm around her shoulders, watching me as I slip from Gareth's hand and approach them. Poppy is keening, low moans and sobs pouring out of her, the sound of heartbreak, of unimaginable pain. I step forward again, and something squelches under my feet. The hay beneath me is soaked with blood. A wave of nausea hits me.

I swallow and look back up at the mound beneath Poppy's fingertips. The bristly, rust-colored hair. The long, silky mane. The elegant snout with those fiery brown eyes, now wide open and dull.

It's Copperfield. Copperfield has been killed.

Did I . . . did I
kill
Copperfield? How the hell . . . and if I
did
, why don't I remember any of it?

I sink down next to Poppy, my knees giving way underneath me.

Charlie is still watching me, and I raise my eyes slowly to his.

“She found him this morning,” he says softly.

“What happened?” I ask, my voice scratchy as it comes out of my throat.

He nods down at the horse, as if it should be obvious. But I can't look back down at the red mess beneath me, the one open and staring eye. “It looks like he was stabbed,” he whispers. “Gareth thinks it happened sometime last night, by the looks of him.”

“There's a knife missing from the kitchen,” Mabel says from behind me. “A butcher's knife.”

I blink, dizzy.

“Who would have done something like this?” Blair asks, and it's only then that I realize she's there, sitting on the other side of Charlie. She's staring right at me. “What kind of monster would kill a child's horse?”

“Someone with a lot of determination,” Albert says, making me jump. “Whoever did this stuck a knife right into his neck and wrenched it. Takes a lot of strength to do that.”

I look back at him, my eyes wide. I think I'm going to be sick.

“Where have
you
been?” Blair turns to me and asks. “We haven't seen you all morning.”

“I—I overslept,” I say, trying to stop the bile rising up my throat.

Charlie's looking at me now, his brow furrowed. Concerned about me? Or suspicious?

I spin on my heel and run for the door, making it just outside the barn before I start dry heaving into the bushes.

Did I . . . did I actually get up in the middle of the night and . . . and kill Copperfield?

There's a hand on my back, and I look up to see Gareth standing over me. I straighten my shoulders, but his hand stays on the small of my back, anchoring me. “I'm sorry,” I say. “I just . . .”

“I know,” he says softly. “It's hard to take.”

“Did you hear anything last night?”

He nods. “I heard Copperfield—he was whinnying like hell.”

I close my eyes, shuddering.

“I hurried over here, saw someone running out of the barn.”

“Who?” I ask, opening my eyes.

He shakes his head. “I don't know. Didn't get a good look. But I think it was a woman. She was running into the castle, and then I came straight here and found Copperfield thrashing on the ground. So I shot him in the head.”

“You
what
?” I ask.

“Couldn't leave him in pain like that,” he says, surprised. “It was the only thing I could do for him.”

I rub my forehead, which only seems to inflame the headache I woke up with. “Right. Of course,” I say.

“Fee,” Gareth says, stepping even closer to me, his hand warm on my back. “Are you sure you're okay?”

I've no idea how to answer him, but before I can try to scramble for something to say, Charlie's voice hits me. “Fiona?”

He's standing in the barn's threshold, watching us, a stony look stamped on his face. Gareth pulls his hand away from my back, but not before I see Charlie notice it.

Charlie looks back up at me, his expression unreadable. “We need to get Poppy out of here,” he says.

I nod, taking a deep breath before walking past him and back inside the barn. I crouch down beside Poppy, who is still making that horrible keening sound that I don't think I'll ever be able to forget.

I place my hands on her shoulders. “Come on, Poppy,” I whisper. “We need to get you home and into a nice hot shower.”

She doesn't seem to hear me, and she won't meet my eyes.

“Poppy?” Charlie says from behind me.

She doesn't move.

Charlie taps my shoulder, and I move out of his way. He leans down and wraps his arms around Poppy, lifting her up. She slings her arms around his neck as he puts his arm under her knees and carries her out of the barn. “Take care of him,” he tells Gareth, his voice sharp, nodding back at the horse.

I trail after Charlie and Poppy and start the shower for her. She doesn't let go of Charlie until he places her on her feet gently, clothes and all, under the hot water.

For a few moments, she just stands there, letting the water pour over her. Just like I did this morning.

I shiver. We both had to wash Copperfield's blood off today.

She lifts up her left arm so she can watch the dark red blood stream off it. I grab her other hand and hold on, so that she knows someone is there with her.

She steps out from under the stream of water and looks at me.

“He was my horse,” she says, her voice broken.

“I know.”

“I loved him so much.”

“I know.”

“Why does everyone keep leaving me?” She begins sobbing: huge, choking sobs that shake her entire frame. She sinks to the floor and wraps her arms around her knees, the water streaming over her and mixing with her tears.

There's nothing to say, so I just sit there with her, outside the shower, holding her hand tight, and wait for her sobs to subside. Charlie sits beside me, his head in his hands.

Suddenly, he reaches over and gently takes my free hand in his. His fingers wrap securely over mine, the heat from
them sparking a flame that shoots right up my arm, spreading through my entire body.

I told myself I was done. I should be gone by now, on a plane back to Texas. But right now I can't imagine being anywhere else. I squeeze his hand for a moment, just once.

He squeezes back. And we sit there on the floor, the three of us, broken and shocked. But together. A family.