Isee you got caught up in one of our thunderstorms.”
As I cross the threshold into the entryway, the rain still pouring outside, I nearly collide with Nathaniel.
I can’t stop a groan from escaping my lips.
I invited George to come in to escape the elements, but he shook his head no, opting instead for the comfort of the greenhouse. I can’t say I entirely blame him, considering the overall lack of warmth at Marbrisa. I’d rather be among plants than be the recipient of Nathaniel’s judgmental gaze.
“I was out for a stroll, exploring the property,” I reply, a shiver wracking my body. “I wanted to learn a bit more about my new home.”
“In this weather?”
“It’s not like I predicted the rainstorm.” The skirt of my dress sticks to my legs, the bodice plastered against me.
Nathaniel makes an impatient noise. He removes his jacket, draping it over my shoulders before I can protest.
It smells faintly of tobacco and spice, the fabric still warm from his body.
It’s the gentlemanly thing to do, of course, and I can’t fault him for it, but it irks me just the same to be in a position of taking favors from this man I dislike. Even if I am warmer now.
“Do you think that was wise?” Nathaniel asks me, his brow arched in that imperious manner of his. “I’d be worried about more than the weather, considering what happened yesterday.”
“Are you saying I’m in danger at Marbrisa? I thought it was only animals who had been targeted. Am I supposed to spend all day in my room?”
“No, not necessarily. But I’d be careful just the same. Asher has had a terrible time with the staff. The turnover is high, and he takes who he can get. It’s hard to know who you can trust. It’s likely one of the staff members is responsible for the goings-on at Marbrisa.”
“To what end? I’d think they’d want to keep their jobs above all else.”
“Is that what the gardener told you?”
“Were you spying on me?” I ask incredulously, surprised at the gall he has. Just because Asher is technically the custodian of my funds doesn’t give his friends the right to treat me as though I am under their care.
“Just happened to be glancing out the window when you and your friend went walking toward the maze.”
Anger fills me. I shrug off the jacket, thrusting it toward Nathaniel. It hangs between us before he takes it from me, his expression inscrutable.
“Yes, George was kind enough to show me the estate. He has a great deal of pride for the work he’s done in the gardens. Asher is lucky to have him.”
“I think Asher counts himself lucky he has any staff left given the superstitions surrounding this place.”
“Do you not believe in superstitions, Mr. Hayes?”
A ghost of a smile stretches across his face. “Why? Do you hope to scare me away?”
“Not at all. I just noticed that you seemed rather engrossed in conversation with the staff yesterday. I was surprised that a guest would have such concern over what happens at the estate.”
“I care about my friends. Asher has had a rough time of it lately.”
“Because of what’s happening at Marbrisa?”
“Among other things.”
“And my sister? Do you count her among your friends?”
“Carmen.”
My name echoes throughout the grand entryway.
We both turn.
Carolina stands at the top of the staircase.
“That’s my cue to leave,” Nathaniel murmurs, striding off in the opposite direction.
I stare after his retreating back, studying his mannerisms, the way he moves. Could he be the man I saw leaving the greenhouse? I wish I knew for sure.
He doesn’t seem like the sort of person who would be cowed by Carolina, especially considering how forward he’s been with me, so why bother to go to the trouble to leave? Is it merely simple dislike between them, or is there something more at play that I’m not privy to?
“You should be careful with the company you keep,” Carolina announces from her perch at the top of the staircase, a cigarette dangling from her red-lacquered fingertips.
I wince as I climb the steps to meet her, fully aware of how wet I am. The rain did its damage before we were able to make it to the house, and with each step I take, a trail of water follows me. My skirts are plastered to my legs, my hair soaked, my silk shoes no doubt ruined.
I shiver once more, regretting my impulse to return Nathaniel’s jacket to him.
Carolina, of course, looks stunning—not a hair out of place. It was like that when we were kids, too—if she ever broke a sweat, I never saw it.
She takes a drag of her cigarette.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I reply, unsure if she’s referring to my exploration with George, my interlude with Nathaniel, or some other sisterly slight I am unaware of. I stop when we’re nearly eye level at the top of the stairs. “You’ve hardly been around to be my guide. I haven’t seen you since that nasty business at dinner. Where did you go?”
“To my room.”
“You weren’t curious about what had happened?”
“No, I wasn’t.”
I don’t believe her for a second.
The fingers resting on her cigarette tremble slightly. For all her bravado, something has her unsettled. Just what is she hiding here?
Is it an affair or something more?
“I heard it isn’t the first time something like that has happened at Marbrisa.”
“It isn’t. I doubt it will be the last, either.” She throws the second part out like a challenge. “A woman was murdered here, you know.”
It’s such a Carolina thing to say that for a moment, I don’t react. When we were children, she was always like this—telling me stories to scare me at night. Maybe it’s to be expected of older siblings—perhaps they exist to give the younger ones a hard time, to make sure we’re prepared for whatever the world throws our way, or it’s simply a perverse joy in having someone to push around.
“Are you going to tell me ghost stories now? I’m no longer six years old and afraid of the dark.”
Carolina laughs, the sound unnaturally loud in the stillness of the house. It’s like the size of the estate swallows its inhabitants, minimizing their impact, forcing its residents to confront their mortality with the inescapable fact that long after we are ash and dust, these walls will still stand.
“You never got it, did you?” Carolina takes another drag of her cigarette. “The most fun happens in the dark.”
“Maybe we have different definitions of fun.”
“No doubt we do. You could do with a little fun, little sister.”
“Who was the woman?” I ask, ignoring the dig falsely cloaked in well-meaning advice.
“Anna Barnes. The mistress of the house. Her husband built this whole estate as a testament to their love. And then he killed her.”
Anna Barnes.
Murder? How did her marriage turn bad so quickly? To go from building an estate like this out of love to murder is a horrific leap.
Carolina flings Anna’s name out carelessly, as though she has no fear of ghosts or their wrath, as though there’s no power in saying the woman’s name, those letters strung together giving her a sort of permanence.
“How do you know?”
I’m still not ready to give up the story I’ve built up in my mind, the romance between Anna and Robert I imagined when I was in the maze. I don’t want to believe that something so terrible could happen here, but even as I try to discount it, the truth of the matter slides into place like a puzzle piece. Everyone has told me about the superstitions that Marbrisa is haunted. I might not believe in ghosts per se, but it’s easy to believe that if something as terrible as murder happened here, it would leave a mark.
Carolina shrugs. “Everyone talks about it if you go to the right places.”
“And what places are those?”
Where do you go, big sister?
“The fun ones. The ones that would shock and scandalize you. Miami is more than this boring old house, you know. You should get out some time. Live a little. Before you wake up one day and realize you’ve missed out on everything.”
“I saw you.”
I didn’t intend to say it, didn’t intend to prove her words by acting scandalized by what I witnessed, but it’s impossible for me to keep the quiet condemnation from my voice, because we’re too far set in the roles we have played for so long. Carolina is the outrageous one, frequently pushing the bounds of propriety and then some, and I’m constantly torn between envy and censure.
Carolina pauses, the cigarette hovering in midair as she levels me with a stare, the amusement in her eyes replaced with steel.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do. Leaving the greenhouse yesterday. With that man.”
Carolina closes the distance between us, gripping my arm, shaking me, so quickly I can barely register the moment, her hold surprisingly strong for a woman who moves so languidly all the time.
“You’re mistaken.”
The ash from her cigarette dangles off the edge, hitting my bare arm.
I wince, struggling to free myself from her hold, but Carolina only moves closer.
“Don’t follow me around. You won’t like what you see, little sister.”
“You’re playing with fire,” I warn.
“You have no idea what you’re inserting yourself into. You’ve only been here a day. You know nothing about what it’s like here. You have no idea what being married is like. Especially to a man like Asher. It’s so easy to judge when you’ve spent your life being coddled by our parents, when your every need has been taken care of. It’s easy to judge when you’ve lived a child’s life with a child’s responsibilities and concerns.”
“It’s not like that now, is it?” I shoot back. “I was left with a funeral to arrange in Havana, affairs to settle. I’m the one who doesn’t have a place to go, doesn’t have a family, doesn’t have anything but your husband’s good graces to fall back on. You have all this. Why would you risk your future, jeopardize everything? If Asher finds out you’re cheating on him—”
“Are you threatening me? What—are you going to tell Asher about what you saw?”
“No, of course not,” I reply, truly appalled that she would think me capable of such a thing. “You’re my sister. I won’t tell Asher, but you should stop what you’re doing. Do you really think it’s wise carrying on with someone in the same house where you live with your husband, under his very nose? If I saw you, who else could have?”
“What are you, my conscience now?”
“No, but I am worried about you.”
Now that we’re closer, I can just make out the faint dark smudges under her eyes.
“Are you alright?” I ask, careful to keep my voice low lest someone overhear us. “You don’t seem like yourself.”
“How would you know?” she counters. “We haven’t seen each other in six years.”
“Why does it always have to be like this between us? You’re my sister and I love you.”
“Let’s not pretend that we’ve ever been close or that we’ve ever seen eye to eye on things. You’re here because you have nowhere else to go.”
Her words sting for the truth in them because she’s right—I have nowhere else to go.
“Marbrisa isn’t your home. It will never be your home,” Carolina continued.
“As you so accurately pointed out, I didn’t exactly have anywhere else to go. So for now it must be.”
“You could have stayed in Havana.”
“With what money? Your husband controls my inheritance.”
“You must have a plan, then, for getting the money. I’ve never known you to not have one.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Oh, come on, ever since you were a child, things have always worked out for you. You’ve always had a talent for getting what you want.”
For a moment, I’m so surprised I can’t formulate a response. The way she described me is exactly what I would have said about her.
“I do not always get what I want.”
She rolls her eyes. “Please. Our parents could never say no to you.”
“They never said no to you, either.”
“They never said no to me because I wore them down. It’s not the same thing. You were always their favorite.”
“I was not.”
“You were. You always did everything they said. You were the easy one.”
“You could have been ‘easy.’ You chose not to be.”
She laughs. “Is that how it is for you? Do you just tell yourself you have to behave a certain way, follow a certain set of rules, and everything just works out?”
“It’s easier than the alternative—doing whatever you want, damn the consequences.”
“What if I could convince Asher to turn over your inheritance? Would you go then?”
The eagerness with which she suggests me leaving Miami stings, but the freedom offered is certainly appealing.
“Could you convince Asher?” I retort. “Given what I saw last night, it hardly seems as though the two of you are close.”
“He’s my husband. And he’s a man. Trust me.”
There’s bravado in her words, but the uncertainty in her eyes belies her confidence.
“Carolina—”
I take a step forward. The wet sole of my shoe slips on the marble staircase.
I open my mouth to scream, my arms flailing behind me to regain my balance, to brace myself from falling.
It’s too late, though. I’m already leaning backward—
Carolina reaches out, her hand grabbing my shoulder, her fingers digging into my skin, her nails sharp against my flesh.
For a moment, I hover where I am, suspended between standing and falling, and then I reach out, taking hold of my sister, using her to steady myself.
My arms wrap around her, my heart pounding, and there’s an instant when I think that Carolina is going to push me away, but instead she holds on tightly.
I glance back over my shoulder at the long staircase, a little dizzy at the sight of all the steps beneath me. If I’d fallen, I could have broken my neck.
A woman stands down the hall, her back to us as though she’s leaving, the hem of her dark dress visible, the curve of her waist, and then she’s gone, and we’re alone again once more.
I open the door to my room, still unsettled by the business on the staircase.
When I enter the room, my gaze immediately drifts to the painting of Anna Barnes. It’s more than a little disturbing to think that I’m sleeping in the same bedroom as the image of a murdered woman.
What happened to her? Carolina said that Anna’s husband killed her, but my sister has never been the most reliable source of information. Is that fact, rumor, or conjecture?
I still.
A sound emanates from the wall closest to the painting.
It’s a faint thump, like muffled footsteps.
I walk over to the wall.
Silence.
The walls are papered in silk, a pattern of vines and flowers throughout. The vines are a deep mossy green like the ones growing on the stones in Marbrisa. The flowers are a crimson red. The paper is slightly faded, as though it’s original to the house; the reddish color has run in some places from the elements.
I never noticed before, but up close they sort of look like bloodstains smeared against the silk panels.
I blink, staring back at the wallpaper.
They’re flowers once more.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I mutter to myself. It’s the lack of sleep that’s getting to me, the weight of all the grief that’s been heaped upon me these past few weeks.
There’s another thump, even fainter than before.
I place my ear to the wall.
Nothing.
I pull back.
Maybe it was the pipes. I can only imagine what the bones must be like in a house like this. By all accounts, it isn’t that old, if George was right and it was built right around the end of the Great War, but there’s something about the place that makes it feel older—the architecture, perhaps, that harkens back to a style centuries ago; the sensation that you are suspended in time and space, that in crossing the threshold to Marbrisa you have suddenly left 1941 for an earlier era.
I turn away, feeling more than a little silly that I was suspicious of the noise. I glance back at the painting of Anna Barnes. It’s terrible what happened to her, but the tensions in this house aren’t the result of a ghost, and a ghost didn’t kill that peacock.
One of the maids has clearly been in my room, the tangled sheets I left on top of the bed this morning neatly made. There’s something resting on my comforter.
I walk over to the bed, staring down at the object lying there.
It’s a necklace made of two twisted figures encrusted in jewels.
I pick it up and run my fingers over the stones.
It’s a unique piece, custom, by the look of it, and undoubtedly expensive.
Is it Carolina’s? If so, I’ve never seen her wear it. It certainly isn’t a family heirloom. Perhaps it’s a gift, a peace offering of sorts, but considering our showdown on the staircase, that seems unlikely, too.
If it is a peace offering, it’s a strange one.
The two figures almost look like—
Snakes.
The necklace is slightly damp to the touch, the metal cold against my skin. There’s a distinctive smell coming off it, one that it takes me a moment to identify, a salty tang in the air.
It smells like the sea.