at Tom’s, I gasped.
Again he’d drawn the house, but this time the tower filled the page. The stone
walls were etched with precision, and the conical roof appeared exactly as it was in reality. But what seized my attention was one of several windows high in the tower. Tom had drawn a face, a woman’s pale face against an obsidian blackness, tiny yet so detailed, I could feel her emotion.
The woman’s eyes were wide, and her mouth was open in a silent scream.
Chapter Eight
I needed to know more about Lavinia Allinson, dead wife and mother. Who was
she, and what were the circumstances of her death? Why did the boys seem to hold their father accountable? Did he truly have some hand in her death, or was it mere childish blame for a loss they couldn’t comprehend?
If so, I understood that feeling. After my father, infant brother, and two sisters died, I’d been illogically angry with my mum, as if she should have done something to save them. Weren’t adults supposed to be all-powerful and protect their children, even defying death itself? It had taken me a bit of time to shake off such foolishness, and then Mum had given me a real reason to resent her by bringing Roger Dwyer into our lives.
I considered who in this odd household might be willing to talk to me about the
Allinson family. I finally decided my best bet might be Smithers.
One afternoon, I stopped by the boys’ room to tell them to read for a while, only
to find both sprawled across their beds, sleeping like cherubs. An earlier tramp through nature that day had worn them out.
Downstairs, I wandered through several rooms, admiring paintings, antique
furniture, ornate lamps, and family heirlooms. I stopped to study a portrait of some long-dead Allinson whose handsome features remained alive in Sir Richard. Put the master of the house in a ruff and cape and he could pass for his ancestor.
“May I help you?” Smithers’s unexpected voice came from behind me.
I turned to face his unblinking gaze. “Actually, I was searching for you. I wanted to ask a few questions.” He didn’t reply, so I forged ahead. “I’m rather adrift here. I feel as if I’ve walked into the middle of a play and don’t know all the characters or what has transpired. It would help if I knew more of the circumstances surrounding Lavinia Allinson’s death. I know nothing other than that she has passed.”
“The circumstances need not concern you, nor should they affect your ability to
impart knowledge to the young masters.”
How did he talk without moving any facial muscles except his lips?
Extraordinary.
“I don’t mean to pry or indulge in idle gossip. My first responsibility is to the
twins, and I feel I can best reach them if I understand more about their loss.”
The man blinked slowly. “Next month will be the anniversary. Mrs. Allinson died
from a sudden fever. If you have further questions, I suggest you ask them of the master.”
He stepped aside, making it clear I should vacate the room. I walked past him,
feeling his eerie presence behind me, and continued on toward the rear of the house, thinking I’d take another quick walk before dealing with the boys again.
When I turned to say as much to Smithers, the butler had vanished.
“Sneaky as a cat,” I muttered.
It was a little too chilly to be outdoors without a coat, but I couldn’t bear to return to the house. Once inside, I might not be able to escape again. So I strode quickly down one garden path then another to get my blood rushing, and surveyed the detritus of the summer’s growth. Soon those crunchy stalks and flowers gone to seed would melt back into the earth. Barren winter would hold sway for many months of drenching rain and occasional spitting snow, and always the rushing wind over this barren northern land.
On my left, I passed an overgrown yew hedge. Curious to see what the garden on
the other side might be like, I walked the perimeter but found no entrance. The hedge was
Again he’d drawn the house, but this time the tower filled the page. The stone
walls were etched with precision, and the conical roof appeared exactly as it was in reality. But what seized my attention was one of several windows high in the tower. Tom had drawn a face, a woman’s pale face against an obsidian blackness, tiny yet so detailed, I could feel her emotion.
The woman’s eyes were wide, and her mouth was open in a silent scream.
Chapter Eight
I needed to know more about Lavinia Allinson, dead wife and mother. Who was
she, and what were the circumstances of her death? Why did the boys seem to hold their father accountable? Did he truly have some hand in her death, or was it mere childish blame for a loss they couldn’t comprehend?
If so, I understood that feeling. After my father, infant brother, and two sisters died, I’d been illogically angry with my mum, as if she should have done something to save them. Weren’t adults supposed to be all-powerful and protect their children, even defying death itself? It had taken me a bit of time to shake off such foolishness, and then Mum had given me a real reason to resent her by bringing Roger Dwyer into our lives.
I considered who in this odd household might be willing to talk to me about the
Allinson family. I finally decided my best bet might be Smithers.
One afternoon, I stopped by the boys’ room to tell them to read for a while, only
to find both sprawled across their beds, sleeping like cherubs. An earlier tramp through nature that day had worn them out.
Downstairs, I wandered through several rooms, admiring paintings, antique
furniture, ornate lamps, and family heirlooms. I stopped to study a portrait of some long-dead Allinson whose handsome features remained alive in Sir Richard. Put the master of the house in a ruff and cape and he could pass for his ancestor.
“May I help you?” Smithers’s unexpected voice came from behind me.
I turned to face his unblinking gaze. “Actually, I was searching for you. I wanted to ask a few questions.” He didn’t reply, so I forged ahead. “I’m rather adrift here. I feel as if I’ve walked into the middle of a play and don’t know all the characters or what has transpired. It would help if I knew more of the circumstances surrounding Lavinia Allinson’s death. I know nothing other than that she has passed.”
“The circumstances need not concern you, nor should they affect your ability to
impart knowledge to the young masters.”
How did he talk without moving any facial muscles except his lips?
Extraordinary.
“I don’t mean to pry or indulge in idle gossip. My first responsibility is to the
twins, and I feel I can best reach them if I understand more about their loss.”
The man blinked slowly. “Next month will be the anniversary. Mrs. Allinson died
from a sudden fever. If you have further questions, I suggest you ask them of the master.”
He stepped aside, making it clear I should vacate the room. I walked past him,
feeling his eerie presence behind me, and continued on toward the rear of the house, thinking I’d take another quick walk before dealing with the boys again.
When I turned to say as much to Smithers, the butler had vanished.
“Sneaky as a cat,” I muttered.
It was a little too chilly to be outdoors without a coat, but I couldn’t bear to return to the house. Once inside, I might not be able to escape again. So I strode quickly down one garden path then another to get my blood rushing, and surveyed the detritus of the summer’s growth. Soon those crunchy stalks and flowers gone to seed would melt back into the earth. Barren winter would hold sway for many months of drenching rain and occasional spitting snow, and always the rushing wind over this barren northern land.
On my left, I passed an overgrown yew hedge. Curious to see what the garden on
the other side might be like, I walked the perimeter but found no entrance. The hedge was
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