Beyond (Book Two of The Whispered Tales)

Chapter 4

She had dinner in silence and barely touched her food, even though Matilda gave her best, as usual. She heard her mumbling something about young girls watching their weight too much. Aunt Alice also sensed the girl's lethargy.

'What is it, dear? Is it something wrong? Are you feeling alright?'

Victoria tried to smile. 'I'm just tired... I wandered around a lot today.'

'Then get some rest. Matilda had the bath ready for you. And take a break from all that reading. You're doing a lot of reading for school as it is.'

Victoria nodded and got up from the table, skipping the dessert, even though the strawberry jam crepes looked delicious. Not even the bath lured her, even though Matilda had struggled to prepare a bath worthy of a queen, filled with soft and fragrant foam. She entered her room and threw herself on the bed, looking at the ceiling. To no avail. She got up and chose randomly a book from the shelf, thinking that reading at the pale lamplight would surely make her sleepy. But that was far from it, as the old woman in black kept coming back to her, again and again. She felt that something mystic was between them, linking them somehow, but she couldn't figure out what that was.

Her thoughts scattered when she heard someone calling her name. It was a woman's voice in a crisp and terse whisper. She went out the narrow hallway, but neither the aunt nor Matilda was in sight.

She tiptoed back to her room and looked out the window. All was still. No trace of the wind in the smothering night. The trees, the old walnut tree, and the swing all looked like gray marble statues in the moonlight. No crickets were chirping, no night birds were tweeting. It seemed to Victoria that she was looking at a painting of Aunt Alice's garden.

A thrill made her body shake. Stepping back from the rocky scenery out the window, she noticed the mirror. Something drew her closer. Silver sparkles were slitting it. For a moment, she thought they were lightning bolts and that the quiet night was getting ready for a storm. But the view outside was motionless. She gave her reflection a closer and shaky look. Yes, that was her face, clean, gentle and without that weird look in her eyes. But behind her reflection, things began to quiver. The window view grew murkier until it was replaced by something that looked like a mahogany chest of drawers, with an old doll leaning against a vase filled with dead flowers. Even the lamp light appeared to be more fragile in the mirror. And then she heard her voice again, this time much closer like someone had just whispered in her ear. She was sure it was coming from the other side of the mirror. With uneasy hands, the girl shut the two blinds and jumped into bed.

When she finally fell asleep, she dreamt of the house on top of the hill, and the mirror with the old woman's reflection, calling her name and drawing her closer and closer, with those long bony arms...

⃰

Victoria simply couldn't hide anymore. Something was troubling her and it was clear as daylight. She had lost her appetite; she didn't feel like reading or walking about. Her eyes were now engulfed in dark lines and her gaze was stuck on something only she could see. She twisted and turned under the nut tree, but her mind was elsewhere.

Aunt Alice and Matilda watched her worried from the summer kitchen doorsteps.

'What might have happened to her?' asked the aunt, racking her brains.

'Maybe she's in love,' answered Matilda, somewhat bitter. 'I hope it's not about that penniless boy. Boys like him know how to twist the minds of educated wealthy girls like Miss Victoria.'

'Oh, Matilda, that's not a bad thing... I'm more worried she's ill...'

'How could she have gotten ill? City lords come to our village to get better, not worse! Or perhaps it was the fresh air and finger-licking food that got her ill? Not likely! I'm telling you, Miss Alice, it's that boy. Who knows what he might have told her? I knew it since day one that this friendship was no good.'