Page 44 of Betrayal from Beyond
“I do! Do you know his work?”
“No, but I met him very briefly, recently. I look forward to seeing the rest.”
“Oh, he had a great many more than we had room to use.” Lord Charles’s mouth twisted. “And I did have to forbid one piece that depicted our own good queen as the Queen of Sheba—atop a camel.” He shuddered. “That sort of attention, we have no need of.”
Kara laughed, and he took them on through and stopped to answer questions about a wood and metal frame being set up in one room. “It’s to be a bobbinet machine,” he told them. “A machine that crafts lace. An amazing invention, one that has stood the test of years, with only a few improvements to change the originally patented machine.” He glanced at Gyda. “I am in awe of the craftsmen who create beauty and function with their hands and hearts and the knowledge they hold. I am also a bit enamored of the inventors who create machines to imitate their work.”
“Tell them your idea for this display,” Gyda urged. “And how it came about.”
Her beau smiled at her. “One of the older tenants on my father’s home estate makes handmade lace. I’ve been fascinated by the process for years, and she very obligingly allowed meto watch her as she worked. How her fingers would fly as she would intersect, tie, and knot the threads on her pillow! I was enthralled, seeing her twist and mesh and weave. I was stunned, as a young man, when I heard there were machines that could perform the same functions. I could not imagine coming up with a design to replicate Mrs. Hastings’s work. It was one of the first machines I searched out as a young man. When we were talking about the idea behind this museum, I had the idea to place them both in this room, so that people may marvel over both creative processes. Mrs. Hastings has agreed to attend the opening gala and demonstrate her art, next to the machine.”
Lord Charles showed Kara and Harold the alcove adjoining the front room, where they would set up their work and interact with attendees when it was their turn to take a week in the space. It was also brightly lit from the square-facing windows. “It’s definitely large enough for us to fit two tables in here,” Kara told Harold.
“Two projects at once?” Lord Charles asked. “That will be a treat for us all.” He beckoned Harold to the windows. “Tell me about the project you’ll be working on while you are here? Perhaps passersby will peek in and see you at work—and then come to investigate.”
Harold began to tell him all about his Green Man automaton. As he answered Lord Charles’s questions, Kara wandered back to the main room and went to stand at the bow window. It looked out onto the square, with its green grass, statuary, and tall trees. A peaceful scene, with couples strolling and children at play under the watchful eyes of their nannies.
As she watched, though, a chill began to swirl around the base of her spine. Kara started to step back from the window, but something made her pause. She moved closer, instead, and scanned the park again.
What was it? Everything looked calm and routine.
There. A woman stood in the shadow of a towering tree. She had one hand on the trunk and her gaze fixed on the window where Kara stood.
Not a woman.
Petra Scot.
The familiar figure stared at her—then flashed a malice-filled grin.
“Gyda,” Kara croaked. She needed to know if her friend could see the woman as well. Her tone grew louder as panic set in. “Gyda!”
But her friend had gone to the back rooms to inspect some of the paintings that Ansel had already chosen to mount for their opening. “Kara?” she called. “What is it?”
“Come here, please! Now, Gyda!”
The figure had not moved. The open threat in her stare had not changed. Kara gasped for breath. Fear and shock hit her like a lightning strike to the top of her head, branching all through her body.
“Kara? What is it?” Harold slammed into her, his face full of concern. “What’s wrong?”
She looked down into his worried face and clutched him close. “I…I thought…”
She looked back toward the tree, but the woman was gone.
*
With small, carefulstrikes, Niall molded delicate petals, one after the other. He would need a great many of them to create a swell of meadowsweet to adorn Blundel’s gates.
Pausing a moment, he set down his tools and flexed his arm. He had tired it out earlier, hammering out crossbars that would both form the gate and provide structure to which he would attach the elements of the marshland theme. But these smallerstrokes he used now would let him get in a couple of more hours of work, as long as he stretched the arm.
He’d just picked up his hammer again when Kara came rushing into the forge. The surge of pleasure he felt drained away when he saw the strained expression on her face.
“What is it?” He threw the hammer down. “Are you well?”
“I don’t know,” she moaned, coming straight on until she burrowed in his arms. “I think perhaps I am losing my wits.”
He held her tight a moment before leading her over to the small table and chairs in the corner. He settled her, then poured her a glass of water from the pitcher that the maids kept fresh and cool. “Take a drink,” he ordered her.
She did as he asked.
