Her Kind
Chapter 8
I awoke in the dark, with a strange sense of familiarity. I was in my bed, dressed in my nightgown. The memory of the graveyard still felt fresh, like mere seconds had passed, and yet here I was, in the safety of my own room. I did not recall returning, indeed that had not been my intent. Her. I remembered seeing her. Her feral eyes had met mine. Did she bring me here?
I rushed out of bed to the door, only to find it locked. I never lock my bedroom door. I did not know the key for it existed. No matter. I had my secret passage.
Through the musty old walkway, I began. The house was quiet. It must still be the wee hours of the morning, with the dawn still hours away. No one and nothing stirred within. It was no matter, though. I would not find my answer here. I left, once again, headed towards the graveyard.
It felt different. I could not explain it. Everything was as I remembered it being, silent, silhouetted in dark relief, and yet something about if was different. I went to the mausoleum. It stood still, like everything else, the door firmly in place. There was no raven, no life of any kind other than my own. It was only on the walk back that I realized, despite the dead of night, I wasn’t cold.
It could not have been a dream. I refused to believe it. I am not mad, nor was anyone in my family ever given to madness. I had walked out of the Hall that night, I had gone to the graveyard one last time, and I had seen her, much altered. I know this to be true. I make my way back to my room, and somehow, I have the presence of mind to fall back to sleep. When I wake, I feel refreshed. I feel like I have never felt before, like there is new blood rushing through my veins. I feel like I have color now, not pale, like my lungs now breathe a different air. It’s exhilarating. I jump out of my bed with vigor, only to find that still, as it was during the night, my bedroom door remains locked.
But this will not stand. I shake the door, I bang my fist upon it. Someone will come, someone will hear me. I will not scurry in the passage way, I will make noise and they will contend with me.
It works. I hear the clang of a set of keys on the other side of the door and seconds later, Mrs. Orton pushes through, her face wide in wonder.
“Gracious me. Praise the Lord. You are awake.”
She clutches her hands to her mouth, like in mid prayer.
“Of course I am awake. It is morning. Why has my door been locked.”
“Dear me, my sweet girl, you must go back to bed,” she says, as she reaches out her arm to steer me hither.
“I will not. You will answer my question.”
The poor old woman looked forlorn. She wrings her hands as she stares at the floor.
“They found you, nearly froze to death. Some of the maids, they said they saw you. Said you looked…”
And so overcome with emotion was dear Mrs. Orton she needed to stop.
I will give pause here, if you will forgive me for doing so, for I must take the time to give due to this creature here. She stayed while so many others, including Miss Castor, did not. For so long, I took this for granted, as I did that day. But there was real affection there. It was small, so small someone like myself, so starved for the emotion, could not recognize it. Perhaps this was, at least in part, due to our difference in station, or likely, because I did not show her even an ounce of the ardor I had given to Miss Castor. At the time I thought her display simply shock. Now I see how foolish I was. Mrs. Orton, if there is a heaven, it is reserved for gentle, kind spirits such as yourself.
What had happened was this. Like Mrs. Orton had said, I had been found outside the house. There had been a knock on the door, late at night that had awoken one of the maids. She had opened it to find me, laying on the frozen ground. She called through the house, awakening, among others, my father, the Burkmores, Mrs. Orton, and Miss Lyle. I was carried to my bedroom, where a fire was lit, and many blankets called for. A servant was dispatched to town to go fetch the doctor, though many feared the worst. I was cold to the touch, as if my body had turned to ice, and neither the fire nor the blankets seemed to warm me.
By the time the doctor arrived, they all believed me dead. A quarrel rang out between my father and the Burkemores. As to what it concerned, no one was willing to tell me. Despite the instances I had passed, the doctor prevailed in examining me. He felt my skin, noting it was cold, and my pallor had that paleness which one sees on the freshly dead. But the good doctor still decided to take my pulse, and when he did, he proclaimed to everyone.
“By God, her heart is still beating.”
I remained like this for several days. Slowly, the pallor returned to my cheeks, though I was, as always, still pale. The beat the doctor had heard got stronger, day by day, but I did not rise. In the meantime, a narrative was conjured.
Somnambulism. I had walked in my sleep outside the house, and once there, had awoken with a fright, which had caused me to bang loudly on the front door, desperate to get back in. It was this fright, accompanied by the cold, that had caused me to faint, the shock being more than I could bear. And so I remained, until my mind thawed, or some such similar notion.
This seemed to suffice for the men, and so it was left at that. It was in my best interests to let them continue to think so. I did not dare tell the truth, and in faith, I myself was at a loss for how I came to be at that door.
It was decided that my bedroom door would be locked at night. No matter. I knew how to make my escape, but I bided my time. I cannot explain it; I had a desire to stay. Even with my upcoming nuptials, I remained calm. This change in me was noted.
“You seem different, my dear,” the elder Burkmore commented “Splendid to see. After such a fright would cause many a young lady such as yourself to go inward, but you. There is a sparkle in your eyes, I dare say,”
“Yes, she is much changed,” said the younger Mr Burkmore.
“For the better, I take it?”
My betrothed smiled politely.
I began walking among grounds a great deal more. I would rise early, be dressed before Ms Lyell would come to retrieve me, and off I would go. My appetite was much changed. I ate little, but drank more. I started to enjoy wine. I still remained silent at dinners, but now it was because I did not choose to speak. I paid little attention to what the men said around me.
“To think, my dear, in a few short weeks you will be a bride.”
I looked up to see the elder Burkmore talking to me.
“And Elliot a groom,” I added.
“Indeed. I remember my own wedding day. My dear wife, how she glowed.”
“How long has it been since your wife passed, sir?”
“It’s been 12 years. Elliot was young. It was quite the shock for him, as you can imagine. Or perhaps not. I’m told you have no memory of your mother.”
“This is true. My father has neglected to tell me much of anything about her.”
At this, the room went silent. I looked pointedly at my father, as did the Burkmores, after a while.
“What is there to say?”
At this, I laughed a little. A hard sound, I know, one that sounded almost foreign in my throat.
“And what is so humorous, may I ask?” asked my father.
“Sir,” I say, “You must know how callous you must sound. This was the woman you were married to, who bore you a child, and you have nothing to say? Perhaps you may tell me about your wedding day, seeing as we are so close to my own?”
My father looked cross, and here Elliot spoke.
“It’s a very natural request, I think. Seeing as the woman is not here to tell it herself, you must fill in.”
He did sulk, my father. It could easily be seen, and after great difficulty, for it was clear he did not wish to answer, he spoke.
“We were married in Gretna Green*.”
At this, the elder Burkmore burst into laughter.
“And by an anvil priest**, no doubt.’
After, when he looked at me, he did clear his throat, look down at his meal, and stopped laughing.
Didn't know about anvil priests! Fun fact
She's changed!The spirit in the graveyard has given her strength.