The restlessness. The greed. The great struggle for more.” He rubbed a hand over the top of his head. “I wrote an opera about him, you know.
About Faust.” He picked up his fork and speared another piece of meat. I watched him, waiting for more, as he chewed thoroughly, then picked up his drink and took a long swallow.
“But what does Faust have to do with Mozart?” I finally asked, impatient.
He shook his head. “No, no. Faust has nothing to do with Mozart.”
His gaze settled on me, weighted with significance. “Just as you have nothing to do with Mozart.”
He turned back to his dinner, clearly dismissing me, and I was left with nothing but confusion.
L
The crowd of guests was infuriating. I doubted I would ever have a chance to find Henry alone with all of these guests around. After dinner we all sat in the drawing room and enjoyed a short recital by Herr and Frau Spohr, who played a violin and harp duet—an original composition by Herr Spohr. After the music, Mr. Brandon found me and asked me to be his partner for a game of whist with Sylvia and his father. My mind was not on the game, though. I was only thinking of how I needed to make my escape to India, and how I needed to speak to Henry, and how every time I looked for him he was occupied with one guest or another. Half the time Miss St. Claire was at his side. And more than once I caught Mrs.
Delafield staring at me in a warning way. As if I was going to repeat my 122
mistakes of the night before, when I had tried to flirt. I felt scrutinized, and unhappy, and frustrated. And then I could not find Henry at all, and my plan to get his help seemed doomed to fail before it even began, and I could not bear to stay in that drawing room one minute longer.
Disappointment accompanied me up the stairs when all the guests dispersed for the night. I had spent the whole day trying for one simple thing—a chance to speak with Henry alone. Now it was night time, and another day here had passed without advancing my plot of earning my trip to India.
Alice was waiting for me in my room, but I was not ready to go to bed. I had to accomplish something this day. I asked her, “If one wished to go outside at night, without being seen, how might one accomplish that?”
A startled look passed over her face. “You are not thinking of going outside, miss. Not at night.”
She said it like a statement rather than a question. “Perhaps I am thinking of it. Why should I not?”
A hint of fear shadowed her eyes. “Ah, no, miss, you mustn’t. Not a soul ventures out at night in these parts. Everyone knows to beware of Linger’s ghost.” She looked at me more closely. “You must have heard of Linger’s Ghost, miss.”
I shook my head. I did not believe in ghost stories, and I thought Alice would have grown out of them by now as well.
“He travels the moors on horseback at night, miss, especially on the nights of a full moon. If you see him, you must hurry and hide yourself, and if you’re out on the moors, with nowhere to hide. . . .” She shook her head, her hand creeping to her throat. She squeezed it, as if trying to strangle the idea of a supernatural meeting on the moors at night.
A shiver ran through me, and I took a step away from her. “I do not believe in ghosts.”
Shaking a finger at me, she said in a low voice, “You needn’t believe in something for it to be real, miss.”
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J u l i a n n e D o n a l D s o n We stared at each other for a long moment, neither of us giving an inch. I sighed. “I only want to go down to the beach. I promised my brother a seashell that I find under the light of the moon. I have no plans to go to the moors at all.”
Her eyes widened. “The beach? At night?” Her voice cracked. She pressed her lips tightly closed and shook her head. “No. It is unwise. You shouldn’t go, miss. You should never go to the beach at night.”
I clenched my fists, feeling my frustration burn into anger. “But I want to go to the beach and find a seashell for my brother. That does not seem like too much to ask.”
“I cannot help you, miss. I am sorry.” She bent her head and stood before me in an attitude of such humility that I could not be angry with her.
I sat on my bed with a sigh of defeat. “You may go, Alice.”
“Do you not want my help undressing?”
I shook my head. “No. Thank you.”
She opened the door and slipped out of the room before I could say another word. I looked from the closed door to the closed window, feeling the stir of restlessness grow greater within me. I had to leave this room.
My hand crept to my neck as a strangling sensation took hold of me.
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Chapter 15
I waited and watched the clock hands turn until ten minutes had passed since Alice left me. Then I picked up a candle, opened my door, and ventured out into the halls of Blackmoore.
It turned out that I did not need Alice’s help to slip out of the house unnoticed, although I would have appreciated it. I found a back stairway used by the servants. I was wearing a cloak and nobody saw me. Then it was just a matter of finding a window that I could open, because the doors would not do. A window was necessary for this kind of escape.
The only thing I did not bargain on was the rose bushes planted directly underneath the window. A thorn scratched my hand when I jumped from the windowsill.
I shook off the sting of the scratch and crept around the corner of the house until I was facing the ocean. Drawing in a deep breath, I closed my eyes and let the sound of the waves and the chill of the air wash over me.
After several moments, I felt free of the restlessness that plagued me inside and set about finding a way down to the beach.
The house was perched on a cliff overlooking the sea. But surely there would be some way to access the beach from the estate. I was grateful for the bright moon—just a few days from being full—for lighting my way.
When I found the steep stone steps leading down the face of the cliff, I 125
J u l i a n n e D o n a l D s o n did not pause. This was what adventures were about—the rush of the leap, the elation of the landing. This was what my soul needed on this night of frustration and caged dreams.
I counted two hundred seventy-six stone steps until my feet touched sand. By then my legs shook from the effort of the climb down the cliff, and I waited a moment to catch my breath and really take in the scene before me.
The moon shone a silver ribbon across the water. A cold wind blew, and I wrapped my cloak more tightly around myself. I looked to the right and the left, seeing the lights of Robin Hood’s Bay probably a mile away. I wondered what Alice had against going to the beach at night and why she thought it was something she had to warn me against. I walked toward the water and leaned down to touch it. It was frigid and foaming and curling up on the sand. I dragged my fingers through the wet sand until I had a handful of small shells. Closing my fingers, I dipped my hand in the water, shaking it back and forth to try to rinse off the sand. My hand was almost numb after a moment of that, and I stood and thrust the shells into the pocket of my cloak, wiping my hand off at the same time.
Then I stood with my head tipped back and regarded the moon and the stars and the ocean stretching out into forever. This very water could carry me away to India. It could carry me away from all of my troubles here. If it weren’t for that bargain with my mother, I could . . .
A splashing sound caught my attention. I stepped forward, then back in alarm. Something was in the water. Right in front of me. Coming toward me, in fact. Something large enough to make those splashes. Too large to be a fish. I racked my brain for another explanation. A dolphin? A shark? What else might be coming toward me?
I thought of Alice’s fear, and I wondered for a brief moment if I had misjudged her. Perhaps there really was something dangerous in these waters. Perhaps there was something here to be truly frightened of.
Perhaps . . .
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The something stopped splashing, and emerged directly in the path of moonlight that lit up the water like a silver ribbon.