In Emma's bedchamber, atop her dressing table, lay a small, rectangular parcel over which a letter had been placed. It bore her name in bold, black ink, the letters looping confidently across the paper. Emma glided her thumb under the wax seal of the epistle, breaking it swiftly the while her heart pounded its excitement.
She had bethought the longhand of that belonging to a man's, masculine as it was in style, but it soon became apparent that this was not a missive from Winterly, but from Anna.
"My dear Emma — When I left you this afternoon, it was under strained conditions for which I am, not only to blame but, sincerely sorry for. I must beg your pardon and endeavor some small explanation as to, what you will likely consider, my unreasonable and impolitic behavior earlier to-day. I had no right to ask of you what I did, however, my motive in cautioning you stems from my intimate knowledge of the Winterlys and those of their ilk."
"Those of their ilk?" Emma's brows knit in consternation, but she read on.
"There is bad blood subsisting between that family and my own; and this, you will like as not suppose, can have nothing to do with you, but I assure you that it does. I am no gossipmonger, and I do not talk merely of scandal; but of murder. You must understand that you are involving yourself with a very ancient and cunning evil. You are in danger, my dear friend.
"Their family legacy is filled with atrocities, executed throughout the centuries, and it is we, my family, that have recorded every morbid detail of their existential turpitude. It is we that are the eternal remembrancers and, as such, the indelible stain of death still lingers on our immortal pages. I cannot, in all conscience, allow you to leave for Castle Winterly without first relaying this warning:
"Your 'friends' are not who, or even what, you think they are.
"You need only look in the newspapers to know that something malevolent has insinuated itself in London. You will, I am certain, think these the ravings of a mad and superstitious woman, but I think you far more perceptive than most. You, I believe, have sensed a minatory presence in you midst. It is why you sought me out, however unconsciously it was done. I will write no more as I dare not; not till we meet again. I imagine I have alarmed you quite enough. It is my fervent wish that you not go to Whitby, but, nevertheless, I cannot help thinking that you will. At all events, I have said all I can, the rest is in your hands; and I do think them very capable, despite the affront I caused you to-day.
"The gift that I had delivered with this letter serves two purposes: to convey my sincerest apology, but, namely, for you to wear as a safeguard."
"As safeguard against what?!" Emma stood and paced her room distractedly, releasing the pins from her hair. After some moments contemplation, she took up the letter again.
"Wear it every day; especially come nightfall. And, above all, keep your eyes open, even in sleep, and do read the book I gave you earlier. It was penned by a very knowledgable doctor who, in the seventeenth century, had first hand experience on those matters which you and I now share a common interest. The occult.
"I know that you speak German, but if you stumble across anything that requires clarification, please waste no time in writing to me. In fact, write me as often as you can, if only to assure an anxious friend that you are well.
"At the time of your reading this letter, I will have already left England, but, however, I do plan on returning soon. You may direct any future correspondence to the address of the building whence we first met. Those letters will always find me.
"I remain, dearest Emma, your ever dutiful friend, &c.
A."
Emma lowered herself onto the mattress and reread it carefully with a mixture of dread and incredulity. The flutterings in her chest, those that had stirred at the thought of Winterly's having written her a billet-doux, were now silent. There was now only the hollow echo of her disappointment as she refolded the letter and set it aside.
Who should she believe in? She had known the Winterlys a little longer than Anna, but the latter had seemed so sincere this afternoon, if a little unreasonable. If she was being honest with herself, it would be remiss of her not to admit that there was certainly a sinister quality to Winterly's persona; and an even darker aspect to Victoria's.
However, Anna was no less a stranger and seemed, to her, as mantled in secrecy as the Winterlys were. Perhaps even more so.
She remarked the time on her watch and rubbed at her weary eyes. Would that she had never come to this deuced city; and never met any of them! Without knowing what to do about the strange letter, she discarded it beside her and began unwrapping the brown paper that enclosed Anna's mysterious present.
It was a small, cedar box, with gilded rosebuds etched masterfully into the wooden lid, and the whole of it was no bigger than the size of her open hand. Within it, on a bed of red velveteen, lay a beautiful, little vial. It was a small, antique perfume bottle of rose-tinted, finished crystal that was entirely embowered in ornate, silver filigree of leaves and yet more sterling roses.
To the neck, either side of the stopper, was attached a long, argentine chain so that the vial might be worn as a necklace as well. It was of such excellent craftsmanship that Emma was sure its purchase must have lightened Anna's reticule by a considerable amount.
What on earth did she mean by giving away such a costly trinket; and to somebody in whose company she had spent very little time. First the German volume and now this!
With a troubled sigh, she lifted the stopper and brought the dabber to her nose to sniff at the delicate, little wand infused with the essence of wild roses. "Hawthorn," she said to herself.
It was a very lovely, warm fragrance and subtle enough to suit her taste perfectly. There was nothing worse than the overpowering perfumes that some of the most 'fashionable' old dames were wont to wear, she decided. Perhaps one's nose became less effective the older one got.
There was a little square of paper tied with silk around the neck of the bottle atop which a note had been written. That too was scrawled in Anna's distinctive hand. "Wear me!" it read.
The sound of the door scraping open startled her, but it was only Milli come to investigate the mysterious parcel. "Who is it from?" she asked excitedly.
Her sister had already been divested of her gown and was now in her white nightshift and slippers, her golden hair loose about her shoulders, bearing a little taper as she hurried over to the bed to claim the space beside Emma.
Emma gently lifted the perfume bottle by its chain and held it out for her sister to inspect.
"It's beautiful!" Milli cried. "From Winterly?!" Her eyes lit up, hopefully.
"No. Anna sent it."
"From Anna?" Milli's fine brows winged in surprise, and with noticeable disappointment. "Oh." Then, as an afterthought, she mustered a tentative smile. "I had hoped it was from your Lord Winterly."
"Don't be silly, he is not my Lord Winterly."
Milli replied with a pointed look. "For a perceptive intellectual, Emma, you are sometimes incredibly hopeless at noticing what is right in front of your nose."
"Even if you are right, which I doubt very much, I am not altogether certain I should be encouraging his favor."
"Why ever not?!"
In answer, Emma handed her the letter Anna had written. Her sister scanned the page diligently, her brows rising and falling successively as she absorbed the implications therein. Finally, she handed it back. "Fiddle Faddle!" was all she said, her mouth pursed in disapprobation.
Emma bit her bottom lip to keep from laughing, but could not forbear shaking her head. "I had hoped for a lengthier opinion."
"I say, that there is Grub Street News, and your Mrs. Leblanc is turning out to be quite the loose fish. What does she mean by implying that you've sensed something? What have you sensed exactly?"
She glanced at her window and after a brief silence said, "I don't exactly know, but I have had ... very strange dreams. They seemed so real." They were real, but how was she to convey that to her sister without sounding like she belonged in the asylum.
Milli reclined back onto her elbows. "Well, I for one am not surprised, sister."
"No?"
"No, indeed! It's all those books you read," she said, facetiously. " Your imagination has finally run wild with you!"
Emma rolled her eyes and clucked her tongue with impatience. "Be serious. We hardly know the Winterlys, and Victoria, you must have noticed, does not care a fig for my society. Do you really think we ought to go to Yorkshire? Hadn't we rather stay here?"
"That is precisely why we must go! How is one to know anyone if one will not take the time to do so? We must think of this as an adventure."
"You would make an adventuress of me, but you know I am far too careful for that."
"You read nothing but novels about intrepid adventuresses. Do not you think it time you emulate some of your heroines?"
Emma could not deny that her little sister made a very good argument and she did consider Milli's wisdom as she removed her gown and presented her back to her sister, so that Milli could unfasten her stays.
"I cannot fault your logic, sister, but tell me this: why do you think Victoria shows such an interest in us? We are neither rich nor titled and they are both. How can it possibly benefit her to know us?"
Milli expelled a frustrated sigh. "It does you no credit," said she, pulling at the laces of Emma's corset, "to be constantly suspicious of people."
"One might argue that it does you no credit to be so trusting of everybody!" She allowed the corset to drop to the floor, stepped out of it, and then seated herself in front of the looking glass to braid her hair into a long plait.
"Oh! Emma, you suspect that everyone harbors ulterior motives, when it is far likelier that Victoria is merely being kind and, moreover, quite possibly enjoys my company." There was a warmth in her voice that bespoke her vexation. "Perhaps you do not get on at all how someone might actually take delight in my society without wanting something nefarious in return, just because you think I've more hair than wit; but I believe Victoria to be sincere in her regard for me!"
"That is outside of enough, Millicent!"
"And furthermore," Milli interposed, hotly, "I do not appreciated your attempt at trying to wheedle yourself out of going to Yorkshire. Stay here like an old maid, if that is your wish, but I will leave as planned." With her face suffused with choleric, she stood from where she'd been reposing on the bed and marched from the room, leaving Emma staring after her in disbelief.
There was nothing for it, she would allow her sister to becalm herself for the night and on the morrow, before breakfast, she would make atonement somehow. Though what exactly she was supposed to have said to get Milli in a miff, she didn't know, but a general apology would likely suffice and mollify her sister.
It seemed that her sister had made her mind up for her. She would go to Castle Winterly after all, for she would not be easy if she allowed Milli from her sight. If Anna was right, and the Winterlys were a danger, then all the more reason that she should go too.
Emma unscrewed the little stopper from her perfume bottle again and brushed the wand against the hollow of her neck. It truly was a lovely scent, but she wondered at Anna's lavishing her with gifts. She could not help but be mistrustful.
Was Milli right? Was Emma wrong to suspect Victoria? "No," she whispered, the word swallowed up by the silence of the room.
She was certain there was something terribly off about Victoria, and she had sensed that much even before Anna had written this letter. The question was, who exactly were the two women to each other; and who in God's name was Markus Winterly really?
She supposed she would soon find out. They would be leaving for Yorkshire in less than a sennight.
🌟Castle Winterly, here we come! Who would you rather be in a dark alley with? Victoria ... or Anna? Well, duh! Obviously it's the third choice: Winterly!🌟