I opened my mouth to say something, but I stopped as the hair on the back of my neck stood up. The wind shifted in the trees, the sibilant sound overhead suddenly loud in my ears. Behind Robert’s shoulders, a handful of leaves on the path flew upward, kicked up by a spiral of wind.
“Here’s my advice, Mrs. Manders,” Robert said to me, his voice barely carrying against the wind and the rush of the leaves. “You’ve done well enough by marrying into this family, just as I did. The only difference is that you didn’t have to spend the next twenty-five years in misery with Alex for your pay. Now you’ve latched onto Dottie instead—a wise move. But there’s no future in it. Dottie won’t keep you past another few weeks. A smart girl like you would think ahead, take her pretty face and find another man to pay her bills—married or not.”
It was an outrageous speech, but I barely heard it. I stared over his shoulder at the path behind him, rooted to the spot, my blood gone cold.
Frances stood there, in the spot on the path where the leaves had kicked up. She wore her gray dress, her hair pinned up. The familiar loop of small pearls was around her throat. She watched us from the dark hollows of her eyes, her expression no longer calm, but somehow wretched with anger and despair. Her hands were loose at her sides, her buttoned boots still on the forest floor. Overhead, the wind blew the trees into a frenzy, but her hair and her dress did not move.
“Frances,” I said, the word taken from my lips on a cold breath of wind.
“What did you say?” Robert demanded.
I tore my gaze from Frances to answer him, to warn him, and I saw the twisted fury and pain in his expression. And then his hand was on me, his fingers digging into the soft flesh below my jaw. There was sick exhaustion in his eyes, disappointment that ate at him like acid. “Don’t you speak her name,” he said to me, his face so close to mine I could feel his breath, the soft and pitiful degenerate gone. “That name does not pass your lips. Do you hear me?”
I jerked back, startled. “I’m—I’m sorry—”
He pushed me, his hand shoving me backward in a single motion that snapped my head back and sent me stumbling. I nearly unbalanced into the camera and tripod, my feet seeking purchase on the uneven path. I righted myself with a wrench and felt a stab of pain through my back and up my side.
“That was a warning,” Robert said darkly. “I’ve half a mind to do more, but I’m too tired this morning. If you say her name again, whatever I do is your fault. Remember that.”
I put a hand to my face and looked past his shoulder, but Frances was gone. I stood shivering on the path, my breath burning in my throat, as he turned and walked away from me, unseeing, striding directly through the place where his daughter had stood not a minute before.
I stood on the path for a long time, the camera forgotten, until the sun was high overhead. When I stopped shaking, I gathered the camera and put it in its case. The leather felt like cold skin under my fingertips; I barely wanted to touch it, and I thought I might never use the camera again.
I folded the tripod and pressed my hands to my eyes. Ghosts, I thought. I am living with ghosts.
Eventually, I picked up the equipment and walked on shaking legs back to the house, getting myself together so that Dottie would not see my fear.
CHAPTER TWENTY
“I hope you haven’t wasted your time,” Colonel Mabry said. “I did warn you that this might be a futile exercise.”
We were in the small sitting room at the inn in Anningley, where a serving girl was laying out a tray of tea. It was early in the afternoon, a week after my encounter with Robert, and the taproom of the inn was deserted. Still, the colonel had taken a private room for us, which was furnished with a table, a few overstuffed chairs, and a mismatched cherry sideboard. Colonel Mabry was dressed in a three-piece suit of formal gray, his white shirt crisp, his tie knotted to perfection, and his distinguished hair brushed back from his temples. It was the immaculate appearance of a career military man.
I glanced at Martin, who had accompanied me. “I’m sure it won’t be a waste,” I said politely. “I appreciate everything you’ve done.”
Colonel Mabry grunted and gestured for me to sit. “I’ve received a copy of your husband’s file from the War Office,” he said. “It’s very slender, as I suspected it would be. I had them send it to me for you to look at, but I doubt there will be much in it of use.”
I sat on one of the chairs, fighting to keep my legs properly crossed as I sank into the cushions, and pulled off my gloves. “May I see it?”
Martin broke in as he claimed the chair beside mine. “Mrs. Manders is rather impatient, as you can imagine, sir,” he said. “I’m sure you’ve dealt with widows before.”