Page 36 of House of Furies
“Anything of merit, how right you are, Colonel.” Mr. Morningside waved a folded piece of parchment back and forth as he wandered into the room. “This letter ought to clear young Louisa of any suspicion. The widow Eames was not robbed, and her correspondence suggests she had every intention of fleecing both you, Colonel Mayweather, and you, Mr. George Bremerton. If there are accusations to be flung about willy-nilly, it is not in her direction.” He paused when he reached Mrs. Haylam’s side, lazily finding my gaze and winking. “Unless of course you fancy her some enterprising young avenger of your honor, gentlemen?”
“Preposterous!” Colonel Mayweather half exploded with the word. He blinked hard, wringing out his hands and then his mustache. “Just... outrageous. To insult us and the widow in one breath—”
“The insult, I’m afraid, is hers to claim,” Mr. Morningsidesaid, handing the unfinished letter to the Colonel. “Read it yourself. I believe you will find evidence enough to quench the flames of injustice.”
Before the old man could even finish reading the letter, Mr. Morningside extended his hand toward me, the very picture of calm certitude. “Now, Louisa, I think you should remove yourself from the room. There is no need for you to endure these unfounded allegations any longer. You must be exhausted.”
It was not a request, that much I knew. I stood without thinking, with one last look at Lee. Never had I felt such a tearing of my desires. I had no interest in staying in the room, but I also dreaded whatever Mr. Morningside might say to me in private. Did he know I had his book? But now I was standing, halfway to a decision, and I could not linger there without seeming suspicious. I might blurt out to these men that they were going to die here, that the widow was just the beginning, but what love had I for them when moments earlier they were ready to send me to the constable and then, presumably, the gallows?
“My condolences to you all,” I said softly, dipping down into a curtsy. “She seemed a very...”
Mr. Morningside’s golden eyes flashed at me.
“... accomplished woman.”
With that, I was being swept out of the room by Mr. Morningside, buoyed on a tide I felt powerless to stop. Mrs. Haylam said one more word to the men about taking solace in the tea and then followed us. Neither of them laid a finger on me, butit didn’t matter; I felt the combined force of their urgency and something else... elation, perhaps. Excitement.
The door to the Red Room closed with a bang.
Mr. Morningside dusted off his hands, leaning against the one blank spot on the wall without a bird painting. “What an immensely tricky knot you nearly hanged yourself with there, Louisa,” Mr. Morningside said, eyes sparkling.
“And what? I should thank you for the rescue?” Tears were building, threatening to spill, hot and humiliating, down my cheeks. “Youlefther there for me to find, didn’t you? A woman is dead and all you care to do is play cruel jokes!”
His demeanor shifted, that excitement I felt previously evaporating like snow in a fire. Slowly, he looked away from me, over my shoulder and at Mrs. Haylam. “Please fetch the doctor. He needs to do his examination. I want the formalities with Mrs. Eames over quickly.”
Sighing, she turned back toward the Red Room, but then she hesitated. “That you let her speak to you in this manner...”
Mr. Morningside waved her concerns away, his golden eyes burning into the side of my face. I didn’t want to look at him, or at her. I simply wanted to be away from them both. Already I was calculating where I would go next—back to the hayloft, perhaps, to search the book for more clues and some way of breaking Mr. Morningside’s hold over me.
“She is but a buzzing fly. Allow Louisa her tantrum; it bothers me not.”
“If that is the case, a fly hardly warrants your parading around aboveground. I’ve not seen you in the house proper this much in years,” Mrs. Haylam replied, but her lips hardly moved, her face tight with frustration. When she was gone, I spun at once to run for the stairs.
“I should rather be the fly than the spider,” I spat, hurrying away. If I was an insect to him, then my presence must be offensive. And inconsequential.Let me go, I silently pleaded.I’m nothing and no one, so just let me go.
“Back to the hayloft, little fly?” he drawled. And followed.Damn it all, leave me alone!I did not give him the satisfaction of my anger. Instead I kept on, gaining the top step as he called more loudly after me. “How are you enjoying the book? Take a peek at page one hundred and fifty-five. I think you’ll find it most instructive.”
Of course he knew. I couldn’t let that stop me.
His rich voice carried down into the foyer as I ran, the words wrapping around me, tugging as surely as the horrible magic that tempted me to his green door, to the attic. It was as clear as if he were right behind me, though when I turned I saw he was yet at the top of the stairs. “The more you learn of me and this place, the more you will crave answers, and then, naturally, more answers. Disgust and curiosity are easy companions.”
He was wrong. He had to be wrong. I could overcome the temptation of my curiosity; I could overcome whatever I had to in order to flee this place.
“I’m not going to confiscate the book, and I would have told you all you wanted to know and more, but you did not come to see me...” The pout in his voice was unmistakable. “It hurts my feelings.”
Whatever man or creature or demon he was, I doubted there was even a beating heart in his chest to wound.
My hand was pressed against the front door when he called out one last time. This time it was not just in my head. “You won’t find what you’re looking for!”
I braced against the door, swiveling to glare up at him where he stood posed like a portrait subject on the staircase landing. He might have been young, or older than his looks betrayed. Whatever his age, there was no mistaking that he was the lord of the manor as he stood with a hand on each banister, chin tilted up, eyes gazing down on me as if I were his lowly subject.
“Then you have no reason to follow and trouble me further,” I said, barely raising my voice.
“It simply pains me to see you wasting your time.” He was right, of course. I knew what would happen if I made it to the end of the drive. More pain. More frustration.
He descended the stairs, coming at last to regard me from the middle of the foyer. I slid down against the door, squeezing my eyes shut.
“What happened to your feet?” I asked, letting out a choked laugh. “Did I simply imagine them strangely the last time we spoke?”
