The Castle and the Tomb by Angelrad

Part I

1. The Dream

I live in a castle with my father. That may sound very grand but I assure you, the opposite is true. It is quite stately and picturesque, though awfully drafty. There are rooms upon rooms that are shut, sealed in the state that my ancestors left them buried beneath and age's worth of dust. The main part of the house is situated near an old, solitary road that winds its narrow way through a thick swath of medieval forest at the foot of an even more solitary range of steep mountains. The road turns gracefully toward the castle, coyly revealing the parapets and the tall stone tower, until at last, it circles away, just as you catch a glimpse of the drawbridge. We lead a very quiet life there due, in part, to my father's poor health and also the remoteness of our home. It is at least ten miles to the nearest inhabited village, and I must be particular on the inhabited point as there is another village situated closer, but it is long since deserted and in a state of advanced decrepitude. It was once a thriving center of trade in the mountains, the stronghold of a very old and powerful family, long since lost to history. No one goes there now. Local legend says it is haunted. I had never given much credit to those stories, though I know now it might have saved me oceans of torment if I had been born with less skepticism.

As I have said, our lives were the product of enforced tranquility. My mother's family had abandoned this area long ago. Mother and father had rediscovered the castle while they were on their honeymoon tour. She had fallen for it, the deep shadowy forest and the romantic island of stone marooned within it. They had moved to the castle while my mother was still heavy with me but she died a few weeks after I was born. My nurse, whom since infancy I always referred to as Petite, was the female face I associated with the word mother. She was a large, round, saucy lady with laughing black eyes and a sharp tongue. She and my governess, Mademoiselle Eloise were the extent of our household. We had one close neighbor, Colonel Stave, nearly three leagues off. My father and he were great friends and I think the Colonel's step on the stairs is one I could distinguish from a hundred. We were very comfortable in our castle. I wanted for nothing and I'm sure Petite would vouchsafe I was a very spoiled child. Though my mother was dead, I suffered no great hardships. My childhood might have become one sunny, very happy blur in my memory but for one small incident that might seem trifling when I relate it, but was to have a very profound effect upon my later life.

My nursery was in the tower, which might seem an odd place to house a child but it was upon my own insistence. As a child, I had a mad affinity for all fairy tales. As I lived in a castle, I believed at least half of the stories might have actually happened under my roof and the other half might happen again if I were very, very good.

One crisp autumn evening when I was almost eight years old, a gust of sharp night air woke me. My bed was underneath a window, again at my insistence, that I might see the stars at night and wish on them. I reached for my blanket, and sitting up, noticed something was blocking my view of the stars. At the foot of my bed, a woman stood watching me. She was indescribably lovely, dressed all in filmy white. Her face was pale with sloping cheekbones and bright, avid blue eyes that darted over me hungrily. I cried out in surprise and she started toward me, murmuring softly.

"Hush, little one," she cooed. Her voice was hypnotic, soft and soothing but breathless with some overpowering excitement. She sank down next to me on my small bed and brushed the hair back from my face as she hummed softly. After a few moments, I forgot my alarm and relaxed back into drowsiness. On the cusp of sleep, I felt her lean over me.

"My only love," I heard her breathe at my ear. I felt her lips press against the skin behind my ear and then trail lower. My heart began to race but I found I could not move. Her head hovered over my heart. Her thick dark hair spilled over the white lawn of my nightgown and then suddenly, I felt a prick at my chest, like the sting of a bee but much sharper. I gasped and then overcoming my shock, screamed. She sprang away as lightly as a leaf in a gust of wind. I see her face, framed in my memory, beautiful and ardent in expression and then in the next instant, she was gone. I heard a scuffle in Petite's chamber. The nursery door flew open and Petite blustered in. I heard my own whimperings as a thing apart from me. My body would not respond to my own commands. My eyes were fastened on the empty expanse of the window. I was sure the woman had gone through it, though it was far too high for anyone to jump. I was sobbing as Petite pulled me into her arms. I stuttered out my fears but Petite told me I was only dreaming. Mademoiselle came and I heard them whispering. "She says someone was here. See the bed. Someone has sat just there. See the blanket. It is still warm. But how can it be?"

I must have fainted, for the next thing I can recall is the doctor ministering some hideous medicine that tasted of peppermint and made me sleep deeply the whole day through. For weeks afterward, I would not sleep alone. A candle was lit nightly and Petite and Mademoiselle took turns keeping watch over me.

Father took me aside some weeks later, assuring me that it must be some long delayed reaction to my own mother's absence, a dream, but I knew better. It had been far too real. I held my tongue and kept the image of the woman locked away in a dark corner of my mind.

2. The Guest

As happens to most things sequestered, that event ceased to become part of my perspective as it receded into my past. Hysteria failed to weave itself into my character. Ten years later, time revealed a shy, but sensible girl, not a great beauty, but proud and vain of what few attributes I did possess. My hair was blonde and curled nicely, my eyes were the same deep green as my mother's. Father was proud of my educational accomplishments, having administered them himself. I was a happy girl, though I was undoubtedly too sheltered. I had but few friends and longed for more. Sometimes the daughter or cousin of a neighbor would come to visit and stay for a few months to relieve my loneliness. Colonel Stave had a young niece, Alicia, that was planning to spend the summer of my eighteenth year and I eagerly looked forward to the day of her arrival.

Father came to breakfast that morning with a letter. His face was very grave. "Child, I must tell you something very sad. Alicia will not be coming to stay."

"But why?"

Father looked distinctly uncomfortable. "She has died, my dear. Last week. It happened quite suddenly."

"But how terrible! What has happened?"

Father skimmed through the letter. As his eyes ran over each line, his face became more pinched with worry.

"I cannot say, daughter, but I believe the Colonel has quite lost his wits. He raves. The sorrow of her passing must have been too much for him to bear."

"What does he say?"

Father folded the letter and put it in his pocket. He shook his head "Never mind, dear. The Colonel has gone away for awhile but I will go see him as soon as he returns. He will need a friend." He offered me his arm and a weak but encouraging smile. "Shall we take our walk now?"

We liked twilight best, for when the shadows in the forest turned a deeply fetching shade of indigo and the last wisps of sunlight gilded the tops of the trees, the castle was transformed into a fairy palace. I liked to hold the picture of it in my mind at night before I slept, for then it seemed possible that all the fanciful things in my imagination might break free and dance upon such an inviting stage, that anything might happen upon the morrow.

Mademoiselle and Petite joined us, hooking arms as they strolled. Father and I wandered ahead to inspect a stand of trees he meant to have cleared next spring. We had just reached the road when the distant clatter of carriage wheels made us all stop and stare.

The sound grew thunderous as the carriage drew closer. We all crept forward toward the road in expectation. As the clamor grew louder, the noises within it became more distinct. I could hear horses neighing, men shouting and then a scream ripped through the air and the source of the distress became visible to us. A wide black carriage and six burst came hurtling around the bend in the road, seemingly bent on ramming the castle itself. The scream came again, thinner and more hysterical. The cabin teetered on its housing and the horses twisted as the pressure on the reins became unbearable. I hid my eyes, waiting for the sound of a crash and when it came, it was more horrible than I could have imagined. There was a splintering sound and a great boom; the horses screeched; there were cries of pain and then silence. Mademoiselle gasped. Father and Petite began to run. I peeked through my fingers and saw them dashing toward a terrible sight. The carriage was upended, two wheels spun in midair. A horse thrashed upon the ground and four others galloped about huffing and rearing and baring their large teeth. A groom limped after them, blood trickling down his forehead and another, taller figure in black stooped near the overturned wheel.

"Lydia, come we need your help!"

Father was bent over a figure lying prostrate on the ground. It was a woman wrapped in a heavy cloak with a hood drawn over her head. To my horror, one side of the hood was dark with blood. I, unaccustomed to any kind of injury, swayed and felt queasy at the sight of it. Mademoiselle caught my elbow and bolstered me. Father sighed heavily. "Take her inside, Eloise and bring back some bandages."

I went away reluctantly. Almost immediately, I recovered, settling myself at the library window, which overlooked the road. From there I could see Petite cradling the woman in her arms. Father spoke to the man in the black hood, who gestured urgently at the road and the carriage. Father's faced reflected the man's distress. His shoulders rounded as he stood listening. The woman stirred at the sound of the man's voice. I could see her struggling to rise and Petite struggling to hold her fast. Father bent down to speak with the woman, reassuring her. A small white hand reached out and gripped Father's arm, at this she fell back into Petite's arms, succumbing to fatigue.

Father helped the groom right the coach. The other man stood back, directing them with arms folded, a few low words issuing from under the black hood covering his features. Father brought the horses back, calming them until the groom could get them back into the traces. A few moments later, the groom unloaded a small trunk; the man in the hood stepped back into the carriage, and then the groom climbed up, gathered the reins and the carriage shot off as quickly as it had come.

As soon as it had disappeared, Father reached down and scooped up the inert figure on the ground. He made his way toward the castle. Petite and Mademoiselle followed, carrying the trunk between them

Father saw her installed in one of the rarely used guest rooms at the foot of the tower. Mademoiselle aired the linens while Petite dressed the woman's wounds and made her comfortable, though she did not recover consciousness. Once she was settled, I danced around Petite, begging admittance to the invalid's room, but Petite insisted we all leave introductions and questions until the morning.

"But what happened?" I asked. "Who is she? Why were they traveling with such haste?"

"Her name, I do not know," said Petite, settling back into her favorite chair near the hearth in the kitchen, clearly relishing the excitement. I pulled a stool close and sat at her feet, eager for the story. "But she whispered it to your father along with something else that seemed to vex her something awful. The man, I couldn't see his face but he gave me the shivers, all in black like that? and such a voice! It sounded like dead leaves blowing across someone's grave." Petite waved a hand in front of her face, eyes shut tight. She opened her eyes, made a sour face and went on. "And the little girl, she was so anxious to be on her way, despite her head, it was as if the devil himself were chasing her. Your father, bless the man, wouldn't hear of her going in that state. She's to stay with us for a month. Whatever errand they were about, the man and the groom have gone on to finish it. Your father promised her sanctuary until they reach her relatives and return with them to fetch her. There was something more about an urgent message, but I couldn't make that bit out. Your father may be able to enlighten us."

"But what is she like?"

"Oh she's a pretty thing, to be sure. I've never seen eyes like hers, like blue stars. And such a winsome way about her, so agreeable. I daresay you will like her, but you must give her plenty of time for rest, Miss. Injuries like that can be grievous if not attended to properly. You leave her be for now."

I promised I would. But my curiosity was piqued. The next morning I was up before sunrise. I crept down the hall to the guest room and listened at the door. At first it was quiet, but then I heard a small, pathetic sigh followed by a whisper. She was speaking to herself.

"Why must it be this way?' she asked the air. "Am I forever to be alone?"

Heartbreaking was her tone. As my nature was to please, I could not leave her so despondent. I had to comfort her. I tiptoed through the open door and peeked around the bed curtains. She lay propped up against pillows, a very pretty lace bed jacket over her shoulders. Her face was hidden in her white hands.

"I am here," I said in a small voice. "If you want me. I'd like to help if I can."

She went very still and then slowly lowered her fingers.

First, I saw her eyes, glittering but wary, and then I saw her face and my heart nearly ceased beating. I was struck dumb, my mouth agape. It could not be, I told myself. But it was, the face that had been so horrifically imprinted upon my brain so long ago now stared back at me.

3. Things Remembered

Her face was even more beautiful than anything my memory had supplied. Her eyes were wide, alight with what looked like recognition and wonder. She smiled and then shook her head.

"You will think I'm mad," she said. "But your face. I know your face. I saw it in a dream once."

"Yes," I breathed, coming to her side. "And I? I have seen yours? many years ago."

"But this is extraordinary. I cannot believe?" She struggled to sit up, her face strangely animated. "That vision of you has always haunted me. I remember, I was so afraid. I woke up in a strange place and there you were, as you are now. I thought you a princess in a tower. You were so lovely with your golden hair and your sweet smile. I was captivated. You hugged me to you and sang to me and I felt so peaceful. But then you screamed and I was frightened and then suddenly I was in my own bed again. But your face? I could never forget your face."

I reached tentatively for her hand. I had to be sure she was really there. It was soft and cool. I squeezed it, her smile widened and I felt myself utterly captivated.

"But that is how it was for me as well. You were in my room, and you looked as you are now. Only I was so frightened afterward." I did not add that I was still somewhat repelled and anxious but fascination tempered my fear.

"I must tell you," she confessed, her hand stroking my arm. "I cannot account for this coincidence and it frightens me. So much has happened?" She sighed and sank back against her pillows. The sun shone through a gap in the draperies and I could see her face, pale already, go whiter. She was exhausted and I felt immediate remorse for having taxed her strength.

"Forgive me," I said. "I'm keeping you from sleep. I will go."

She clutched my hand and tried to rise. "But you will return? I won't wake again and find you were a dream?"

"I will see you tomorrow, I promise you." I said, chuckling. She leaned back, relieved. "So much so," I added as I turned to go. "in fact, you will soon tire of me, I'm sure."

The smile slipped from her lovely face. "Never."

Her expression was so earnest, my own smile faltered. "I do hope that is true." I patted her thin, white hand. "Now I must leave you to rest and dream happy dreams."

"Yes," she agreed, though her hand seemed loath to release mine and that earnest expression had drooped and turned forlorn. "My dreams will be sweet now that I've seen your face again. Goodnight, my dear. Tomorrow cannot come too soon."

I left her reluctantly. I went to my room and made ready for sleep. My hands shook as I tied the ribbons on my nightgown and brushed my hair. She was rampaging through my head all the while and her face would not be banished, though I sat nearly the whole night awake with a book of fairy tales open on my lap.

The next morning, with a total lack of decorum that scandalized Mademoiselle, I raced through the halls down to breakfast. Father looked up from a book propped against the milk jug. He frowned at the hectic spots of color on my cheeks.

"She is feeling poorly this morning. You must be patient, Lydia."

But I was not patient. I paced and sighed, refusing to be distracted by the offer of games or gingerbread.

"I'm not a child anymore," I sniffed at Petite. She went away to the kitchen, shaking her head.

4. Her Habits

Viviane finally appeared after supper, much to the entire household's relief. She came on Petite's arm to join us in the library. She settled herself languidly on the sofa in front of the fire. I timidly approached but she took my hand and smiled so invitingly, my shyness immediately disappeared.

"I have so longed to see you," she said. Father smiled and took Mademoiselle and Petite off to the other end of the room where they sat reading, sewing and talking in hushed voices. We sat staring raptly at each other until we both noticed the silence at once and we laughed. I dipped my head, embarrassed at the unwonted rush of emotion that I felt. She brushed a strand of hair from my face.

"What is your name?" she asked sweetly.

I told her and inquired the same of her. We asked each other volumes of questions that night, she more than I, for most of my question met with coy silence. Her beautiful mouth would tighten, and then relax into a disarming smile. But her eyes would darken and I knew there were secrets she wanted to tell but could not. She would tell me small things, silly things, like her favorite flower or what kind of music suited her mood, but she revealed nothing of her past, her family or the strange circumstances that had brought her to us. But I did learn her name and a fact that seemed so miniscule, so inconsequential, I remembered nothing of it until it was almost too late.

"Viviane?"

"Yes, my love?" She never called me anything but 'my love.'

"May I see your lovely necklace?" I had admired the pretty gold amulet she wore on a long gold chain. It had many tiny inscriptions on it that I wanted to look at closely.

She turned her face away, but I thought I saw anger there. "I am sorry, my love," she said in a tight voice. "But I have sworn never to take it off. It is all I have left of my? well, of my former life."

"Is it your family crest, then?" I peered closer at the little golden thing. A tiny, beautifully worked dragon coiled around something smaller that I couldn't make out. Before I could see closer, she plucked the thing from her chest and dropped it inside her bodice.

She said in a heated tone, "You must promise me never, never to look at that again. I will not have you? I can't have it. You must not."

I was hurt, naturally and I drew away from her, afraid that I had offended, but she snatched my hand back and pressed it to her breast. "No, no, no! Do not think I wound you with intent, my love. I would no sooner bruise your gentle heart than my own! But you must promise never to ask me questions. I will tell you all I can, but further than that, you must not inquire."

After that, her manner was more than charming. She laughed and coaxed me back to her side. Her affections were very demonstrative. She hugged, kissed and nuzzled me so, I was quite dazzled. At first, it made me uncomfortable. Her caresses would verge on the odious, but I could not find the power to extricate myself. I would attempt to pull away, but my thoughts would become so confused I forgot my objections and let her have her way. There were many times she would almost gloat over me, so extreme were her shows of fondness. She would say passionate yet unintelligible things like, "You are so warm, so sweet. I can almost feel light in your shadow." Or "Time is short now, my love. Soon." I would ask her what she meant by such utterings but she would shake her head and remind me of my promise.

On the whole, I was totally infatuated. But there were moments, apart from her and in her company, I would feel the same repulsion and fear I had felt for her in my dream as a child. She was often deliberately mysterious, though never in front of the others, hinting that there was something she would tell me soon. She never joined us for breakfast, but often emerged from her chamber at twilight, as listless and languid as if she had not slept at all. Her beauty never diminished, though, even when she was in the midst of the most mad and fervent ravings. She would walk with us outside, and in the violet light of the forest, her dark loveliness glowed. Her favorite walk was a tiring one, being all uphill to an open field that overlooked the ruined village. It was surprising because she did not choose to exert herself in any other instance. She never exceeded a slow graceful saunter, gliding through the landscape in a dreamy reverie.

One night, almost a week since she had come, she and I were alone on that hill when she pulled me to her, arms locked around my waist and said almost violently, "You will be mine. I swear it!"

The sudden change in mood and the vehemence of it frightened me. I turned back and began to walk fast toward the castle. I did not stop until I reached the kitchen garden, thinking I had left her far behind. But there she was, waiting for me, though her lethargic pace had never matched mine.

"There you are, my love," she said, and her voice was that soothing hum I both loved and hated. "Never run from me, dearest. I will always find you."

5. Mother's Room

I was visibly shaken, but again, she pacified my fears with a few soft words. She led me inside, commenting lightly about a Chinese cabinet Father kept in the hall. She often remarked on the furnishings, saying things actually belonged here or there. When we entered the drawing room, I was convinced my response had been silly and irrational. Her frenzied moods always subsided as quickly as they'd come, and there were many long evenings where our activities were quite normal and we spoke of trivial things. We laughed together and played games. But always a brooding melancholy was barely perceptible but certainly there, underneath her slow smiles.

We would take turns around the castle, walking so slowly that we barely crept along. Most of the furnishings were original and Viviane seemed taken with the lot. She would remark upon the portraits on the walls, all ancient ancestors who had once called this castle home. She would spend hours inspecting portrait after portrait. One evening, we found ourselves outside a tower room that was little used. She did not seem to want to enter but I pushed open the door before her objections became too vehement.

"It is too dusty, my love," she said, pouting prettily. "I want to go outside. The moon is full."

"A moment, Viviane. I have not been inside this room since I was very small. It was my mother's room." I kissed her cheek. "Please."

She relented. She liked it when I was as effusive as she.

"A moment only, my love. And then you must walk with me outside. The air in here is surely unwholesome and I fear for my health." She gave a delicate cough, and indeed, she did look much paler than she had only a day ago. She often blossomed in color and then faded just as quickly. I supposed it was the injury from the carriage accident, but she sometimes hinted at an old illness, though indirectly.

"I'll be quick," I said. "I just want to pull the draperies back so that we can see the moon."

I crossed the room and did this. I raised my candle to look around, filled with a certain melancholy that my mother's room always invoked. It was once a lovely room. An ornate bed, draped in white lace figured largely. I remembered playing underneath it as a child, pretending that I was hiding from my mother and that she would soon come to find me. Mother's portrait, draped in muslin, hung above the fireplace. I knew if I tugged upon it, the covering would fall, exposing a painted face that almost exactly mirrored my own. I could not look at it. I leaned my cheek against the cool windowpane. There was a beautiful view of the forest, the road and the mountains beyond. I motioned for Viviane to join me.

She sighed wearily but came to me and clasped my hand. "This is a lonely place. I have always thought this."

I laughed. "Always?"

She gave a tiny shrug and then leaned her head on my shoulder, burying her face in my hair. Inhaling roughly, she whispered. "So lovely. Like honey. It even smells like honey."

I sensed the onset of one of her queer moods and hurried to distract her. Fortunately, a flicker of white moving across the grounds below caught her eye and she straightened.

"Who is that?" She pointed to the shadowy figure hastening toward the trees.

"Oh that," I said. "It is only Mademoiselle."

Viviane frowned. "Odd. Where does she go at this hour?"

I sat down upon the step next to the bed. "Did I not tell you? I suppose I wanted to keep it from you. I'm sorry. It's only that the idea of illness always seems to disturb you so. Mademoiselle has gone to visit the Woodsman. His eldest daughter has been taken ill. Such a shame. She was a charming girl... but a strange fever has taken hold. It is very serious. She's been fading day by day. They do not think she will last the night. I did not know her well, but I feel terrible for her father. He is a good man. I might have died but for him. He helped me once when I was lost in the forest."

Viviane looked up sharply. "Did he?" Her frown deepened. "I am sorry then." She turned her back to me. I thought I heard her whisper, "Not yet," but I could not be sure. Her shoulders shuddered and then trembled. I heard her breath gutter and then she whispered again, words much too low to understand

A thrilling uneasiness, much like the feeling of walking the rainslick parapet when I was a child, settled over me. I touched her shoulder, craving contact, I knew not why. "Shall we go outside for our walk now?" I asked brightly.

Her spine slowly aligned and her shoulders stiffened. I noticed how much taller than me she really was. She nearly towered over me. "No." The word was bitten off and hurled like a stone. Her head twisted round to look at me. I nearly gasped. Her pale skin was livid, almost mottled and her eyes? her beautiful eyes so horribly transformed.

I backed away, utterly terrified. It could not be true. But her eyes... They had gone completely white with tiny pinpricks of red where the iris should be.

I started and stood but lost my footing. She came toward me. My hands went leaden at my sides though I wanted to shield my eyes with them. My legs felt hollow and weak. I could not look away from her. I gripped the counterpane on the bed, trying to right myself but it slid down, as did I and I fell hard against the floor, striking my head against the bed. The room's dark colors dissolved into that inexplicable moonlit whiteness and then everything else faded too.

6. A Very Strange Agony

I can only remember my heart, like a tiny fluttering bird, a thing apart from me but locked in my breast, beating at the door to get out, get away. And then, as if an iron hand were seizing it, it suddenly quieted and cowered. Warmth flooded through me and then a searing heat that was somehow also too cold, freezing cold; after that, darkness.

Ages passed. I rose to consciousness, slipping out of a state much deeper than sleep. Before I opened my eyes, like thistledown clinging to my skirt, something like a dream clung to my waking self, softly calling my attention. I lay very still, listening and I heard a voice over and over in my mind, a familiar voice that I could not place. It whispered plaintively, Lydia, you must go. Leave this place. Find the tomb?

"Tomb? But where," I asked, my own voice sounding rusty and too loud. "Where should I go?"

"My love?"

The tomb, Lydia. You must see what I could not.

"My love, open your eyes."

"I? don't understand," I stammered and, though I wished to commune further with the voice, my eyes snapped open of their own accord. Viviane's lovely but blurry face filled my vision. Her eyes went very wide and she pulled in a sharp, tight breath before pulling me into her arms.

"Oh, my love, my little love. I was so very worried."

I sat up and Viviane let me go. Disoriented, I pushed her away from me. I was in my room, lying on my own bed. Viviane sat beside me; my father hovered near the door.

"Lydia, dear," Father said, his voice strained, "how are you feeling now? You've given us all such a fright."

"How did I get here?"

Father drew closer, frowning. "You don't remember?"

Viviane let out a muffled sob, covering her mouth with agitated white hands. "I told you she would be confused. Her head, she hit it very hard."

Indeed, pain throbbed at the base of my skull. "I fell."

"Down the stairs, yes. You tripped, my love."

But that could not be. There was more to it... but I had fallen. That much was true. Viviane, though she reached for my hand, avoided my gaze. She would not look me in the eye.

Her eyes.

I remembered? and shuddered, extracting my hand from hers with some difficulty. "But you and I? we were in my mother's room!"

Delicate eyebrows climbed a fraction. "My poor love," she tutted. "We were on the stairs and you tripped. You fell. You were unconscious for so long. I screamed and your father came and carried you here."

I shook my head but seeing my determined expression, Father quickly added his verifications. He had found me crumpled at the foot of the stairs. And then, lashes lowering, conscious of my Father behind her, she added, "The stairs were steep and dark. You wanted to show me your mother's room. But you seemed anxious, upset. You were going too fast. I tried to stop you?"

Had I dreamed all of it? It was so vivid. And familiar. It felt just like the dream I had when I was a child, all too real and the common factor in both was Viviane.

"I don't believe it." But I pronounced this halfheartedly, my voice lamentably weak. I pulled at Viviane's sleeve until I caught and held her violet gaze. I whispered so that Father would not catch my words. "You know it's not true, Viviane."

Viviane swallowed hard. "What truth would you have from me, my love?" she asked thickly. "I give you all that I can."

"Lydia," Father interrupted, unaware of our whispered exchange. "Mademoiselle will bring you some broth and a cold compress. I think you should rest now until the doctor arrives. I must send for him." He kissed me on the forehead and then left me in Viviane's care, charging her to keep me calm. We waited until we were alone, gazes still locked.

"Why?" I pleaded.

Her hand threaded itself through my hair, absently stroking it before tenderly cupping the sore place at the back of my head. "The time is very near when you shall know everything. You will think me cruel, very selfish, but love is always selfish; the more ardent the more selfish. There is no such word as indifference in my apathetic nature." She pulled me closer until her face was inches from mine. The wild bird in my breast began to flap its wings. I bit my lip so that my breath might not come too fast. She saw this and a greedy, hooded look stole over her face. "I love you," she said. "I have no choice."

Her hand caressed my check. Hot talons in my chest clawed at my breath, pulled it back down, not allowing it to escape. I wanted to declare myself, to drop at her feet, to abandon any thoughts of reason. She smiled, but it twisted slightly on her lips. She stilled, listening. Her hand dropped and she sank back with a resigned sigh. "But then, I have never had the pleasure of deciding my fate."

The next moment, Petite bustled in, bringing with her the clattering, motherly, strident sounds of officiousness. I started breathing again. "Oh my girl, you are pale," Petite exclaimed. "Your father told me of your fall. I've said you shouldn't be charging around like an infantryman the way you do. A real lady has no need for such exercise." She set down a laden tray on the table near my bed. "No matter. I've brought a poultice, and one for you, too Miss Viviane. While these horrible pestilential airs are about, we must be vigilant. One bad turn can bring on another. And rest, you both should rest. You must go right to bed."

Petite's admonitions buffeted my ears. I scarcely heard her, my heart beat so loudly.

I had read romances, of course. Mademoiselle has scores of such books indiscriminately tucked beside my fairy tales on the nursery bookshelves. The heroines always speak of being seized by great emotion, of palpitating hearts and fainting spells. Until that moment, I had no understanding of the meaning behind the words. Though I had been fascinated by Viviane before, now my thoughts were in rebellion, my body immobile, held utterly still by a strange paroxysm of mysterious need. Viviane, smiling demurely, looked at her hands in her lap. She would not look at me, though I knew this would give me the release I craved.

"Viviane?" I whispered.

"Here, my girl." Petite said and pushed a foul-smelling linen wrapped bundle under Viviane's nose. "I'll see you to your chamber, Miss. Master wants you both hale and hearty again by breakfast. Come."

A single dim candle guttered on the mantel. Petite lit another from this and waited patiently. Viviane unfolded herself from the bed beside me. Her lithe figure cast a willowy shadow on the nursery wall. She held out her hand for Petite as if it were a royal favor. Petite took it, bid me goodnight and they turned toward the door.

"Don't leave me alone."

My voice sounded pathetically small. Viviane glanced back, her eyes glittering.

"Oh Luv," Petite said. "Don't be frightened. Mademoiselle will come sit with you when she returns. I've already left word."

"I'll come to you tomorrow," Viviane promised and then she laughed, a rich, musical laugh. "Or sooner? We shall see."

They left, the echo of Viviane's laughter ringing in the silence.

Tbc?