The Face in the House

28

Now moving quieter than ever, and fearing that my beating heart may give me away (for the cellar is so quiet!) I took a lantern and searched the darkest corners for missed doorways, checked behind shelves for hidden hallways.

I jumped at a noise above me, and my heart nearly burst with the realization that someone was coming down the stairs. I was to be caught. In that moment of agitation, I scrambled behind a shelf in a previously-searched corner, and, quite by accident, slipped behind a false wall.

Here, it was perpetual night. In the dim glow of candlelight, I could see the silhouette of Mr. Allan, standing behind a desk, his back facing the secret door. He heard me enter, but did not turn.

"Edward, come see this," he said.

I crouched behind a shelf, out of sight, with a hand over my mouth. I could still see the man from my position, though I felt sure he couldn't see me. He turned around just as Mr. Poole entered.

"Come see this," Mr. Allan repeated, perhaps thinking his friend simply hadn't heard him the first time.

Mr. Poole joined him at the desk, where they observed something I could not see. They spoke strangely, in ways I will not attempt to transcribe.

I was astonished. They moved and spoke as if they were completely alone. They hadn't seen me at all. My face burned despite the chill of the cellar. This was past eavesdropping, beyond snooping. This was unpardonable.

Still, I had little choice but to sit and watch and listen. Once the fear of discovery wore off, and the embarrassment of spying on a private party receded, I was able to observe my surroundings.

It was a laboratory! I was certain of it, though I have only ever read of them in books. The shelf before me was full of instruments and vials and other strange objects. And the two men, who spoke with great animation, and of subjects most unknown to me, talked of an 'experiment.'

The rest of this encounter is difficult to describe. The memory of it feels like a nightmare, something my mind begs me to forget.

The two gentlemen went on about some new discovery, something that would 'certainly work at last!' or 'certainly be very close!' to whatever was their intended result. From my vantage point, I could not see everything, but I did notice a foul stench. An odor like rotting eggs, which grew stronger and stronger still.

Soon I saw a visible smoke or vapor, rising from the table. There was some activity, some grunt of alarm, but the smell became so powerful as to overwhelm me completely.

This is where my memory fails me.

I awoke in the dead of night, in my own bedchamber, to the now-familiar ecstasies of the mistress. I went to her, as is my routine and my duty. But my mind was elsewhere.

Now, back in my chamber, I write this entry, with great fear in my heart. One might choose to dismiss the event as a nightmare, concocted purely of my own, distressed mind. It would follow, then, that I believe my mind capable of such ill, evil ideas.

I am more inclined to side with my mother. . . Some witchcraft lies under foot.

***

Teddy looked up from the journal and looked around Rose's room. When she had first sat down to read, bright, late-afternoon light had spilled through the window behind the bed, the perfect reading lamp. Now, hours later, the room was washed in darkness.

It was easy to fall into Isabelle's world, though not all passages were quite as exciting as the last. She was a lonely girl, probably not much older than Teddy. She belonged to no one, it seemed, except for the memories of people far, far away. Her superstitious mother, her mysterious lover, both loved so dearly, yet so estranged. It made her sad to think about.