Page 100 of The Dravenhearst Brides
Eleanor stepped closer. Too close.
Leave me alone,Margot wailed, recoiling.
“It’s all in your head, dearie. Only you can stop it. I’ll save the rope for you, shall I?”
“No!” Margot snapped, thumping an arm down on the table.
Xander jumped beside her, where he was mopping up her spill.
Merrick lowered his newspaper again. “Margot?”
Heckin’ hells.Now she’d gone and done it. Both men stared at her, expectant.
“No, uh, no thank you,” she said, lowering her voice and her lashes. “Xander asked if I wanted a fresh cup of juice.”Lies, lies, lies.“I don’t.”
To his credit, Xander didn’t contradict her, merely inclined his head and resumed clearing the mess. But his lips puckered, and unease wafted off him in waves. Margot could taste it in the air; his fear was sour. Palpable.
He thinks I’m mad.She raised a hand to her forehead, eyes lifting skyward. Overhead, the centaurs silently screamed.Perhaps I am…going mad like my mother. Is it truly the house? Or is it just me?
It was, quite simply, the most terrifying thought yet.
By midday, Margot had taken to her bed. She could manage nothing more.
She needed to write to her father. It seemed pressing to tell him about the baby. If he was ailing, she wanted him to know. But the thought of lifting the pen, writing the words, feigning optimism…it was suddenly too much.
Her head throbbed. Her heart stuttered, heavy with exhaustion. It had happened this way before, in the Louisville townhouse. When the weight of living was simply too much to bear. When it was easier to reach for unconsciousness. To live there, safe in the in-between, where nothing was expected of her.
The balance was tipping, dragging her to a dark place. The dead outnumbered the living. She could feel them closing in.
Babette.
Eleanor.
Elijah.
Her mother.
She couldn’t…
She simplycouldn’t.
Margot dragged the blankets up to her chin, late October chill seeping into the room. She needed to tell Merrick to turn up the heat in this frigid house. Winter was coming.
A floorboard creaked in the corridor beyond her bedroom.
Margot’s head jerked up. She knew fear now, true fear. Knew enough to realize she should have felt it all along.
A whisper of skirts slithered outside her door, paused.
Margot tightened her grip on the blankets.
The knob turned in silence. Slow, teasingly slow.
The door cracked open. One by one, four translucent fingers gripped the edge.
No.Margot shrank back in bed. She didn’t want them to find her, but they slipped into the room anyway, Babette and Eleanor. They said nothing, only watched. Watched her shiver beneath the blankets. Watched her bury her head in the pillow, exhausted, defenseless. Watched her eyes flick to the bedside table.
It was right there—the laudanum, dusty with disuse. She hadn’t needed it in months, hadn’t wanted it. For so long, she’d wanted only Merrick. This life with him.
