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My stomach turned to stone first. It weighed me down, anchoring me to the solitary chair in front of the window. I waited for the rest of my body to petrify, but instead, I seemed to grow, my shadow bleeding from my feet, slowly dragging itself across the room.
I couldn’t seem to make up my mind, and it was a painstaking affair. Every breath fought its way in through my teeth. Every exhale seemed a labour to expel. Perhaps my lungs had frozen, too, sometime during the hours I’d spent staring at the rope on the floor, coiled like a serpent. But it wouldn’t strike without my help—without my nimble fingers to twist it into the right shape.
What a strange thing.
How dull the rope seemed, a frayed pile on slats of old wood, glowing in a stream of dusty lamplight, not yet devoured by my flickering shadow. And yet, how tragic a device it could be with just a few twists and a knot and some high place to hang it from. How easily something so ordinary could be made a weapon.
Anything could, I supposed. That candlestick or that broken vase. The loft was full to the brim with items waiting for their time and their use, and what a use that could be—a grand entrance for them and an exit for me.
I almost smiled. Perhaps I would have if my cheeks weren’t so tired from faking them. What a chore and a bore and a devilish thing it was to pretend, especially for a woman grown, who felt more like a statue than a person. But it was a great deal easier to hide away and pretend to turn to stone than it was to face another day with people but alone.
The air felt brittle as if, trapped up here, it had aged and soured. It had gone unbreathed so long that it didn’t seem capable of sustaining life, inviting a silence so deep, I had almost convinced myself that I could hear my own shadow straining across the floorboards like some foul creature splintering its fingernails trying to crawl away from the light. Even the cobwebs in the corners were so heavy with dust that they stretched down the walls, no longer holding shape.
A slow exhale rattled through my lips, and abruptly, I stood, determined to stir the dreaded quiet. I unstuck my bare feet from the floor, whirled around, and slapped the window with both hands. My shuddering breath fogged the glass, a bead of condensation trailing down, drawing a line through the cloud. I pushed it open, shoved myself half out and gulped the night air, where it felt clean to breathe because the dust outside was far more dispersed than it was in a musty old attic.
There were sounds and shadows of life—fluttering shapes of bats and bugs and wind-tousled trees under a waning crescent moon—and they were far more welcome than my own.
Carefully, I ducked my head back in, my hair catching on the latch but only
for a playful tug. I pretended it was the night’s way of telling me to stay—to keep breathing its air and savouring its sounds. I stared through the opening as the wind gusted in. First, one great push of coldness that drew gooseflesh on my arms and nearly blew out my candle. Then, just a breath—an apology soft as a kiss—and the night stilled.
I turned from the world outside to the one within, where there was still a chair and a coiled rope among the crates and trunks and forgotten things—where there was still an opportunity.
But now, my fingers felt stiff from the cold, and the rope was no more pliable than before.
I abandoned them both, extinguishing the lamp and retrieving my chamberstick. I turned, cupping my hand around the tiny flame, dousing the room in shadow as I reached the ladder to begin my descent, but I left the window ajar.
Silently, I wished the rope really was a serpent. Perhaps then, it could find its own way out—slip through the window and fade into the night—and when I returned with this hollow feeling, there would no longer be a weapon to tempt me. There would be only a smudge and a line drawn in the dust, one that would be covered by more soon anyway.
Itook the steps two at a time when I heard the familiar knock, rounding the corner in time to intercept John before he admitted the visitor.
“Wait!” I waved from the landing. “Let me!”
The man turned, eyes darting, searching for the source of the voice, and when he saw me leaning over the railing, he blanched.
“B-But—” he sputtered as I hurried down the remaining steps.
“Please, let me. It’s Mr. Ramey,” I told him. “I know that knock.”
He found his voice at last. “But madam, you’re not properly dressed.”
A downward glance exposed the alleged impropriety. In my haste, I’d forgotten to fasten my robe—or even put it on correctly. One sleeve had fallen into the crook of my elbow, while the sash dragged on the floor. I raised my head again, flushing when I met John’s gaze, which bore a look that felt like a scolding.
Yanking the sleeve up onto my shoulder, I closed the garment over my nightgown with one hand and shooed him from the entryway with the other. “Never you mind. I’ll get the door please.”
Scratching his cheek, he opened his mouth like he had more to say but closed it again without a word. With a slight bow—and one last scrutinous glance—he sighed deeply and retreated.
I waited for another knock and flung the door open, revealing a surprised Sladen Ramey with one fist still hanging in the air. His eyes traveled up my figure with a mixture of disapproval and awe.
“Miss Lily, how … underdressed you are this morning.”
I frowned. Surely, at some point in our acquaintance, he’d seen me with so dishevelled an appearance. John, too, had served us long enough to have borne witness. Neither had any reason to act shocked, and I found their shared reaction a little offensive, even if it was meant in jest.
“Are you quite finished?” I asked. He turned away, rosy-cheeked, stuttering, and directing his gaze anywhere but my person. “Oh, just a gander? Is that all? Very well. A good morning to you then, sir.” I rolled my eyes and made to close the door.
“Wait! Miss Lily!”
I paused. “Yes? What d’you want?”
Recovered from his initial embarrassment, he drew himself up importantly and, with a theatric sweep of his arms, said, “I am here again to bask in the glory of your company.”
I closed the door another inch, but he slipped his hand in the way to stop me from securing it fully. I thinned my eyes. “I’m on my way to have breakfast with my family, and you’re interrupting.”
His face fell. “I must say, the shrewd look you’re giving me is rather unbecoming. You were so elegant when we met; I almost feel c
heated.”
I forced my lips into an apologetic smile. “Well, I’m terribly sorry to have shattered the illusion. You must be devastated. I completely understand if you never want to see me again.”
He grinned. “Come now, Lily, I said I felt cheated, not put off. If I’m being entirely honest, I think I could get used to this fresh-out-of-bed look.”
“Mr. Ramey! Your tireless persistence is terribly bothersome, and quite frankly, it ruins my mood to see you every day. So, if you don’t mind, kindly take your wares—” I gestured toward his belt with a flick of my wrist. “—and peddle them elsewhere.”
“Lily …”
“Look, there’s a brothel on the other side of town, and you’ve money. I’m sure they’d take you. I’m willing to bet they’d even stay with you ‘til morning for the right price.” When he didn’t back down, I added, “I should warn you, sir, I’m not above crushing a few fingers to get what I want, and presently, I would like nothing more than to shut this door in your face.”
“How discourteous of you.”
“Courtesy is reserved for gentlemen.”
But he was dismayingly accustomed to my taunts. He feigned disbelief. “How wicked you must think me! You’ve not even given me a chance to state my business.”
“If you’ve come to ask for my hand again, I must assure you that I’ve no intention of ever becoming Mrs. Sladen Ramey, and if you’ve no other objective than that, I would very much like for you to leave.”
“Lily, that’s unfair.” Folding his arms behind his back, he leaned forward, poked his head in the opening, and winked. “At least let me ask before you reject me.”
I recoiled, tsking. “Haven’t you some other business to attend?”
“At present, I do not, so if you’d be so kind …”
It injured me to yield to his advances, but I knew he wouldn’t leave until he asked. Immediately, I began plotting his defeat.
How should I deliver my answer today? The tearful rejection of a woman scorned, heartbr
roken and unwilling to love another? Or perhaps a shy young maiden unready to part with her family to become a bride?
The fun of it was to decide in the moment.
Sighing, I released the door, letting it ease open with a low groan. “Fine,” I said dully, careful not to betray my amusement. “Get it over with.”
It was his turn to roll his eyes. “Your enthusiasm is overwhelming.”
“Isn’t it always?”
Flashing me a reproachful look, he took a step back, placed a hand over his heart, and knelt on one knee. With a deep breath, he said, “Miss Lilith Howell, would you please do me the honour of becoming my wife?”
In the same way I changed my answers, Sladen always had new phrasing or a new posture or location. I wondered if each proposal was premeditated or if he let himself be guided by the moment as I did. Last week, the prospect of marrying me had been an ‘immense honour.’ I decided to take the downgrade as an insult.
I looked at his extended hand, then at his ardent expression, opting for something simple today, given that I was already late for breakfast.
“No,” I replied and shut the door in his face.
Isat at the table, opening the Herald as my sister ambled into the room. She took the seat opposite me without a word, nodding at Sophie and smiling a wide grin at little Colin, which he returned with a chunk of ham clenched in his teeth. I tutted and returned to the paper. Without looking up from it, I gave the page a shake to get Lily’s attention and asked, “Was that Sladen?”
She answered, “It was.”
“Did you invite him in?”
“No.”
I resisted the urge to chastise my sister and called for the maid. “Marie, would you please receive my guest? Lily’s tried to send him off again.”
No further explanation was needed. The young woman hurried through the door and returned a minute later with Sladen beside her. “A Mr. Ramey for you, sir,” she said and bowed.
Sophie and I stood to greet him, and when I gestured to the spot beside me, Marie pulled the chair out. “Welcome. Allow me to apologise for the state and behavior of my sister. Please sit.”
“The pleasure is mine, William.” Lily remained seated, and noticing, Sladen chuckled, took his own seat, and added, “I was merely receiving my usual rejection.”
We both glanced Lily’s way, and although I knew she was listening, she refused to meet either gaze.
“How many is that now?” I asked to harass her. Her deliberate show of indifference annoyed me … or perhaps it was her complete disregard for traditions or propriety. In fairness, nearly everything about my sister irritated me, but at present, it was most notably her refusal to accept a perfectly kind and capable man like Sladen.
He smirked, eyeing Lily when he answered. “Honestly, I’ve lost count.”
She snorted from across the table, and I cleared my throat to suppress a chuckle. She could never resist the bait for long.
“It’s a wonder you’ve not given up yet, Mr. Ramey,” she said. “Your persistence is impressive if nothing else.”
“Persistence gets results,” he countered.
Although his voice held the playful cadence of a joke, she met it with dismissal. “Persistence is merely an inability to accept defeat in this case.”
“Ignore her,” I said before either could speak again. Our harassment had to have its limits, or she’d retaliate with a vengeance. To change the subject, I asked my sister, “Were you up the loft last night?”
Her returning silence surprised me. When I glanced up to see if she’d heard, she was facing me, but her eyes were focused on the wall above my head.
“This morning.”
“Why?”
A soft smile touched her lips as she poured herself tea, and her eyes lowered to meet mine. “Making friends.” She flicked her brows. “There’re all sorts up there you know. Bats and spiders and snakes.” She raised her teacup, breathed in the steam rising from it. Then her voice dropped, her gaze drifting again. “I’m rather fond of snakes.”
I huffed, returning to the paper as the kitchen staff entered to place new dishes on the table. After they’d gone and Lily and Sladen had been served, it was Colin who broke the silence.
“Aunt Lily, I’m going to visit Uncle Jacque today!” he said, beaming at her.
“Tomorrow,” I corrected from behind the paper.
My son didn’t skip a beat. “Yes, tomorrow!” Excitedly, he bounced and scooted his chair closer to Lily’s, nearly impaling himself on the corner of the table.
“Colin, sit still,” I told him. He acted as if he didn’t hear me, but when Lily hunched down to meet him face to face, his seat scraped to a stop.
“Sorry,” he murmured, immediately responding to his aunt’s disciplinary expression.
“Not to me,” she said, her voice ringing out softly despite the firm set of her jaw. But then, she relaxed her brow and rubbed his back. “Your father’s suggestion came from a place of worry; he doesn’t want you injured. You understand that, don’t you?” It always surprised me how mild she could be when she spoke to him.
Sheepishly, the boy said, “I do.”
“And next time, you’ll listen and take it into consideration, isn’t that right?” She smiled, and nodding, he grinned back, picking up his utensil again.
“Your ability to inspire obedience in him is astounding as always.” I didn’t intend for my voice to come out as cynically as it did, but I didn’t offer an apology, nor did I acknowledge Lily’s returning stare. I lifted the paper higher, though it may as well have been a blank page. I’d already read most of it, but it served as an easy barrier. She may have
been mild with children, but that wasn’t the case for adults, including (if not especially) me.
Her voice was low but lighthearted. “I had a lot of practise inspiring obedience in you when we were young.”
“There’s a difference between inspiring and manipulating.”
Lily sipped her tea. “You were rather an impressionable child, weren’t you?”
I folded the corner of the paper down so she could see me roll my eyes, but she took it as an opening and wasted no time.
“Liam, do you remember when Father returned?”
This time, I lowered the paper altogether. No one had called me Liam in years, and that surprised me more than her question. Our eyes met briefly before I ducked behind my shield again. “Which time?”
“The last time.”
I swallowed. “I hardly think that’s an appropriate conversation to have over breakfast,” I muttered, though Colin didn’t appear to be listening. He was thoroughly inspecting his beans as he ate them individually speared on one prong of his fork.
“You’ve already finished,” she pointed out.
I turned the page. I’d spent long enough on the last section; she’d know I couldn’t still be reading it. “Yes, I remember. You used to call me Liam all the time then.”
“Everyone did. I think we should start again. It suits you better.” She turned to Sladen. “Don’t you think, Mr. Ramey?”
“It’s a child’s name, Lily,” I said before he had a chance to answer. “We aren’t children anymore.”
She smiled thinly as the maid approached to remove her empty plate.
“More tea for you, ma’am?”
Lily shook her head.
Sophie noticed my sister’s dead stare and excused herself and our son. “Viens, mon fils,” she said to Colin. “We must go and prepare for the journey tomorrow.”
He considered the three beans left on his plate, seeming reluctant, but he didn't
object. “Ah oui, Maman,” he mumbled and climbed down from his chair.
Sophie stooped to kiss my cheek as she passed, ushering Colin in front of her. The boy peeked around his mother to wave at Lily, and as soon as the door closed behind them, I dropped the newspaper, flattening it on the table and, at last, admitting my defeat.
“Go on then,” I said, training my eyes on Lily’s face.
“You’re not gonna hide anymore?”
“I’ve been holding it too long.”
“And what should I be going on about, Liam?”
“Whatever it is you’ve chosen to debate with me this morning.” She stared back silently, but the slight curl to her lips hinted that she already knew exactly what she wanted to say. I sighed. “Well, it always ends up at the same place, so we may as well skip the pleasantries. We’re going to talk about how you’re jealous of my son.”
She tilted her head. “Jealous?”
“Colin gets to remember every bit of his childhood, and we don’t,” I said. Still, she remained stoic. Nothing in her expression changed to reveal her thoughts. “Is that where this is going, Lily?”
“Should we move this to the parlour?” Sladen suggested, but I waved him away, my gaze locked with my sister’s.
“Here’s fine.”
Lily matched the intensity of my stare, but her voice was unemotional when she finally responded. “You’re not wrong.” She propped her elbows up on the edge of the table and rested her chin on her hands. “I am a little envious of it.”
“A little?” I scoffed. “You haven’t shut up about it for months, but it’s only bothering you a little?” I had no patience for it anymore. It was the same conversation on a different day, and her uncaring attitude frustrated me to no end. “Well, we don’t get to remember. It’s as simple as that.” I leaned back in my chair, folding my hands behind my head. “Besides, there’s nothing to remember. I don’t understand your obsession with this after all these years.”
“Just because we can’t recall it doesn’t mean the time didn’t pass. Something happened. Don’t you want to know what?”
“No.”
“Liam …”
“Look, you’re right. Time has passed. So, move on.”
Her voice shot up, her face at last producing an honest expression. “It was a year out of our lives!”
“One year? Ha!” I threw my arms down, slapping my thighs in jest. Sladen shot me a cautionary look, but I persisted, unwilling to submit to Lily so easily. “That’s practically no time at all. It’s been twenty since then, and we’ve got on fine. It doesn’t matter anymore.”
“It does matter!” She lurched forward, bringing a fist down hard on the table, rattling our cups on their saucers. Sladen touched her shoulder, and glancing at his hand, she exhaled loudly and sat back again. But I’d already pushed her over the line, and the bite didn’t leave her voice. “People are born in minutes and die in seconds. A lot can happen in a day, let alone a year.”
Don’t give in, William. Don’t admit defeat.
“Well, we’re clearly not missing anything. Our lives haven’t been hindered by—”
“What if we’ve lost something important, and we just don’t realise it?”
“It still doesn’t matter because we don’t know.”
“Yes, but …”
It was the tone of her voice.
It was that small, pitiful, pleading voice.
I bowed my head so I wouldn’t have to see the expression that accompanied it because I knew it would shake my resolve. But when she said my name, my gaze automatically lifted to her face, and I saw a fresh sheen of moisture in her eyes.
“But Liam … don’t we owe it to ourselves to try?” Her voice hitched slightly. “I just want to talk. That’s all.”
I gulped, unsure if I should believe the emotion on her face was genuine. My sister was a very accomplished liar and, therefore, exceptionally good at inspiring obedience in me.
Don’t do it, William.
But my voice betrayed the warning in my head. “Fine,” I muttered. “What d’you want to say?”
I picked up the paper again, embarrassed by my concession, but with a sudden fervor, she flung herself over the table and slapped her hand down the centre of it, tearing the page.
“Don’t! Don’t you hide from me, Liam! Oh, don’t give me that look; you’ve already finished it. You’d already read the whole bloody paper before I even came downstairs.”
Gritting my teeth, I sucked in a long breath through my nose and exhaled just as slowly, laying the two halves of the newspaper on top of each other. I waited for her to return to her seat, staring at her coldly for a few seconds, watching her hardness shed the longer I drew out my response. Her hands started to move anxiously, one thumb kneading the back of the other hand. It was a habit of hers, tracing an absent pattern as if easing a pain that lingered there in the space between her thumb and forefinger, but I knew as soon as she started, it would calm her.
Now was the time to surrender.
“Have it your way. Go on,” I prompted. Then, with a little reluctance: “I’ll listen.”
But the moment I agreed, she relaxed into her seat, and I watched a smile build on her face with displeasure. There was no need for her to keep up her passionate act once she’d chained me to the conversation by the moral obligation of my agreement.
“You certainly recovered quickly just now,” I said. “You couldn’t pretend a little longer?”
She wiped her eyes, and her smile only grew. “I always did win the arguments when we were children.”
I sneered right back. “Did you? I can’t remember.”
