The Wrong Girl(9)

"Don't be afraid," Sylvia said with a squeeze of my arm.

"I'm not," I lied.

Our footfalls echoed throughout the cavernous space as we walked up the stairs and along a series of corridors that seemed to turn and turn again until I no longer knew whether I faced the front of the house or the back.

Sylvia stopped at a closed door. "This is your room."

"I'll never find my way out again. Or is that the point?"

"I see it'll take some time before you realize we're not going to harm you."

"You may not harm me, but you do intend to keep me prisoner here."

"This door will never be locked," she said, opening it. She said nothing about the front door and others leading outside, and I didn't ask. I suspect it would be something she wasn't allowed to discuss.

So who was forbidding her? The mysterious other person I was about to meet?

The bedroom was nothing at all like my attic one. Not only was it considerably larger and not covered in woolen hangings, but it was lavishly furnished. Paintings and tapestries hung on the walls, and the walls themselves were papered in a rich, deep burgundy. There was rather a lot of furniture, most of it beautifully made from dark wood, but it all looked comfortable, particularly the canopied bed with its swathes of crimson fabric covering the tester and cascading down the posts to form curtains.

"It's very grand," I said.

Sylvia fluffed up the cushion on one of the chairs. "We thought it appropriate for the daughter of an earl."

Would I be removed to the servants' quarters if they learned I was really plain Hannah Smith?

"It's a little chilly in here," she said. "Do you want the fire lit?"

"No. Don't trouble yourself."

The fireplace didn't look as if it had been lit in years. Perhaps it hadn't been. Perhaps I was the only visitor the room had ever seen. It did have the musty smell of a closed room, and the bedcovers and all the cushions looked crisp and new.

"Did you do these yourself?" I asked, indicating the embroidered cushions.

Sylvia smiled. "Yes. I painted most of the pictures too."

I studied the paintings. Some depicted ruins that resembled the ones I'd seen earlier, and others were of the lake or woods. They were a little dark and ethereal for my taste with stormy skies and an abundance of tangled vines, but they suited the house itself. "I hope you haven't removed them from your own room for me," I said.

"Oh no, I've done many more. They're in every room."

"You're very prolific."

"Oh, I meant every room that we inhabit. Most of Frakingham is empty. We don't need all of it."

"Who are 'we' exactly?"

She set the cushion down on the chair and arranged it just so, then rearranged it again. "Jack and me, of course, and Uncle August."

"Jack's father?"

"No."

"So he's Jack's uncle as well as yours?"

"Yes, of course. You do ask a lot of questions." She opened one of the cupboard doors. "There is a selection of gowns here, and jackets. They should all fit nicely as long as Jack was right."

I frowned. "Right about what?"

"Your measurements. He assured me he could tell your size just by looking at you."

"Jack first appeared at Windamere two weeks ago. Don't tell me you've had them all made since then based on the guess of someone who's only seen me a few times and at a distance?"

"Not all of them were made new. Some are altered ones of mine. I hope you don't mind. As to the fit...Jack's rarely wrong."

How irritating. "An expert on women's sizes, is he?"

She flashed me a mischievous grin. "I think you've made an impression on him. He almost smiled earlier, and when you get to know him better, you'll learn that he smiles rarely."

"I don't wish to get to know him. I wish to go home." It sounded petulant, but I didn't care. The Langley cousins might have been all solicitude toward me, but fear tightened my chest. Besides, I wanted to see Vi again. She must have been frantic with worry.

Sylvia turned suddenly and strode to the dressing table situated in the bay window. Her fingers lightly caressed the silver-capped perfume bottles, the combs, brushes and a silver candlestick and trinket boxes. It was as if she sought comfort in the familiar objects, or perhaps it was merely a way of avoiding eye contact with me. "You'll find unmentionables in the drawers."

I came up beside her and looked out the arch window. I could just see the lake and the ruins off to one side. Beyond that were wooded hills and little else. The village the cousins had spoken of must be in another direction. My soul thrilled at the sight of a new vista, so different from the one I had stared at every day for years. Yet I felt a stab of sorrow and the cold lump of unease too. I might never see the view over Windamere's park again.