Page 96 of Her Dark Lies
“You’re right,” I sigh. “I’ll take Malcolm and go look for her.”
“I’m going to help.”
“No, it’s okay. I’ll find her.”
“I want to help, Claire.”
There’s no arguing with her when she’s like this.
“Fine. You take the upper floors of the house, I’ll go down to the main levels. I will tell you this. Pay attention to where you are. I got turned around earlier and ended up down by the crypt. It’s spooky as hell. Just...lay yourself some breadcrumbs so you don’t get lost. This place has a way of turning you around.”
“Don’t worry,” Katie says. “She’s around here somewhere. She’s just playing with you.”
“I hope so. I’ll text you if I find out anything.”
Malcolm peels himself off the wall and treads silently behind me as I head back to the central staircase.
“You haven’t seen my sister, have you?”
He shakes his head. “Last I heard, she was talking to Mr. and Mrs. Compton.”
“Yes, me too. She sent me a text. Oh, here’s another.”
A new text has come in from Harper’s number.
I have to talk to you. Meet me in the cottages. You don’t know him at all, Claire.
I write back:WTF, Harper?
A flurry of texts come now, each angrier than the last. One after the other after the other, a steady stream of viciousness from my only sister.
You don’t know him at all.
You don’t know what he’s capable of.
He doesn’t really love you.
He’s dangerous. You need to get out of here.
And then, one that makes me stop dead in my tracks.
Why don’t you ask him how she really died?
56
The Gray Lady
Disturbed, I rush downstairs. I will set Harper straight. She has been against Jack and me from the beginning, I’ve always sensed her displeasure at my choice of husband. It’s time we resolve this.
Footsteps behind me. My ever-present watcher follows at a respectful distance.
I’ve just turned the corner by the main stairwell to head into the west wing when a small strobe of lightning flashes, and I glance out the window to see a woman hurrying across the courtyard below. She is dressed in white, has long, dark hair. She disappears behind the trees. Darkness plunges around her, and then, the next flash of lightning, she is gone.
Was that Harper? It looks like her from behind, but what would she be doing rushing around in the rain with her hair wet and a weird white dress on? My sister loves her hair—I can’t imagine her out in this muck without an umbrella. Was it someone else? There are plenty of servants I haven’t met yet, this could be one coming late to work, or being sent on an errand.
Another thought strikes. The fort is supposedly haunted. Have I just seen the famed Gray Lady from the island’s history, rushing about in the rain, forever trying to escape her terrible fate?
The idea chills me to the bone and I shiver. Historically, young women really didn’t stand a chance, did they? They were so often treated as nothing more than chattel with a womb. Procreative property.
