“I am to go riding with Raven Sproule,” she said so abruptly that Emma glanced behind her to see who else was in the hallway. It was empty. Behind the closed doors of the bedrooms, very little seemed to be stirring. She turned back, found herself the focus of the intent green eyes. “After Dr. Grantham comes, of course. Mr. Sproule wants to take me to Sealey Head so that I can see the famous view that my guests there are enjoying; we will ride down to the beach from there.”
“Yes, miss,” Emma ventured, wondering.
“You were born here, weren’t you? You know everyone in Sealey Head.”
“Yes, miss.”
“So you would recognize a stranger come to town.”
Emma nodded. “Everybody would, miss. Especially the way they dress.”
“But perhaps this one might not be so gaudy.”
“Mr. Ridley Dow, miss?”
The eyes gazing at her withheld expression, but Emma felt a heartbeat’s worth of pause in the air, a blink that was suppressed. “You know him?”
“He was the stranger who came to town first.”
“Ah. No. Not Mr. Dow. Someone not so noticeable. That I might not recognize as not belonging here, but you would.”
Emma thought. “Oh,” she remembered suddenly. “You mean like Judd Cauley’s new cook.”
“Judd Cauley?”
“The innkeeper on Sealey Head, where your other friends stay. He was desperate for a cook. His other one, Mrs. Quinn, would have driven all the guests away, she was that bad. The entire town was watching to see what he could do about it. Everyone likes Judd Cauley; he’s just had some bad luck, until Mr. Dow came. That was the first of his changing luck. And then Mr. Pilchard came a few days ago, just in time for your guests.”
This time she did blink. “Pilchard?”
“I think that’s the right fish. Mrs. Haw told me about him, after she went to town to give her orders and pick up gossip.”
“H’m,” Miss Beryl said. Her gaze left Emma, refocused on something nebulous just beyond her. “It hardly seems likely,” she added after a moment. Neither comment seemed to require a reply. “Anyone else?”
“No one that springs to mind, miss.” She hesitated, asked before she lost courage, “Is Mr. Dow one of your party?”
The green eyes came back to her, wide and chilly. “Ridley Dow? I believe we occasionally meet. But no. Why, Emma?”
Because he’s lost in a mysterious world behind a door within this house, Emma thought, in case he’s a friend of yours. But nothing in Miranda Beryl’s expression suggested anything of the sort. Her own eyes dropped; her voice dwindled. “If there’s nothing else, miss, I’ll take Sophie’s tray down.”
Dr. Grantham was in the room when Emma returned later for Lady Eglantyne’s tray. Slipping unobtrusively to the bedside, she counted the number of bites taken: missing points on two toast triangles, the highest on the tiny mound of strawberries gone, a bleed of yellow into the egg white. Lady Eglantyne was sleeping now, her breath so light the coverlet scarcely moved. Emma picked up the tray, heard Dr. Grantham speak softly, echoing her own thoughts.
“I have no idea why she clings ... Were you ever very close? Is she staying alive for you?”
Miranda Beryl, gazing inscrutably down at Lady Eglantyne, looked as though she might emanate mist like an ice block at the question. She didn’t bother answering it, only said, “There’s nothing else you can try?”
“Against time? No. I haven’t a cure for that in my bag. She seems in no pain; that is the best we can hope for. Of course, if you wish, you could ask one of your Landringham physicians to visit her. I’ve done all that I can.”
“I’m sure they would tell me exactly that,” Miranda Beryl murmured. “So it seems we must wait.”
Emma eased out the door. There was little more life in the silent rooms around her; as yet no one had even sent a servant down for coffee. They would snore until noon, then all demand to be fed at once, like nestlings. She went down the hallway toward the stairs, then, on impulse, passed them. She turned a corner and then another, beyond the bedchambers, where a little peaked alcove held nothing but a dormer window and a linen closet.
She put the tray on the window seat and opened the door.
She had so little expectation of seeing anything but folded sheets and towels that she jumped at the sight of Ysabo. She stared, tongue-tied with relief. The princess, carrying the scrap bowl as usual at that time of the morning, had started as well, looking apprehensive, as though anything might have come at her out of the abruptly opening door.
Then she smiled tremulously and put her finger to the smile at the same time.
“I’m glad to see you,” she whispered.
“I’ve been trying so hard to find you! Is Mr. Dow—”
“He’s somewhere. He comes and goes; I never know—” She glanced behind her, then tried to speak even more softly than a whisper. “He shouldn’t have come, but he refuses to go. So far no one else has seen him.”
“What is he doing there? What is he looking for?”
“Mostly, the bell. And other things. Why we are all caught up in this strange life. Emma, I always thought it was odd, but no one else did, and now that someone has told me yes it is a spell, it is enchantment—now I’m terrified twice. Of it coming to an end. Or of it never ending.” She tried to smile again; her skin, always pale, seemed bluish, more whey than milk. “And above all, I am afraid for Ridley Dow. I wish he would go away. Then I think of him gone, no one to answer my questions, ever, and that is even more frightening.”
“Let him stay, then,” Emma said, more firmly than she felt. “Let him find his answers. This strange house has ruled your life long enough.”
“But it’s so dangerous for him,” the princess breathed.
“And for you?”
“So far, no. He is very careful around me. I think no one would notice him at other times; they’d think he belonged somewhere else in the house, or to some other part of the ritual.”
“Where is he now?”
Ysabo shook her head. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen him yet today. He said he wanted to study all the pieces of the ritual. That’s a lot of lives.”
“How can he?”
“He vanishes. He becomes invisible and watches. He’s magical, Emma. That’s how he recognizes magic.”
“I hope he’s magical enough,” Emma sighed, “for a house full of it. I’m so glad I found you again. I was terrified when he closed that door behind him. I thought the roof would fall in, or Aislinn House would disappear or something.”
“I know. So did I.” She glanced worriedly up at the lofty stones, then added, “I had better go. Maeve and my mother are waiting for me to try the wedding dress on. Aveline is taller than I; the sleeves and hem must be shortened.” She paused, her thin red brows peaked; she asked suddenly, “Do you know when the moon will be full? We never pay it much attention. It’s outside of our lives.”
Emma tried to remember; she hadn’t been paying attention lately, either. A thin, cold, tilted smile in the sky outside her own bedroom window emerged from behind a cloud in her memories. She said, “I think—”
What she thought was overwhelmed by a great tangle of sounds—thick wood clouting stone, a man shouting, the fierce yammer of crows growing louder and closer. She clapped her hands over her mouth. The princess had pulled the scrap bowl against her, hugging it hard, her white face turned toward the clamor. In the hall below, the familiar, echoing din from the great hall ceased.
The silence was abrupt, eerie, and it didn’t last long. In the next moment came the roar of men’s voices, swelling in fury to meet the harsh cawing of the crows.
A figure ran through the open door at the top of the tower and down the steps, pursued by a black cloud of birds. They were swooping, slashing with beaks and claws at the nebulous figure, who seemed oddly faceless and mostly formed of a long black cloak. Ysabo gasped. Emma, guessing what it must be, pushed a scream back into her throat. The knights’ shouting spilled ahead of them; boots pounded on stone steps; swords scraped the walls as they clamored up to deal with whatever had set the crows going.