Page 18 of House of Salt and Sorrows
Verity’s eyes brightened, and the sketchbook was instantly forgotten. “They’re here now?”
“Come and see!” Rosalie tore down the corridor, shouting upstairs for Camille to come quick. She must have retreated to her room after her practice session. Ligeia raced after Rosalie, their footsteps heavy on the back stairs.
“We should go,” I said.
“Don’t forget about Eulalie’s handkerchief,” Verity said, skipping down the hall before I could stop her.
I blinked once before turning to snatch it up. When I left, the door slammed shut after me, as if pushed by unseen hands.
It was raining again, a cold downpour that chilled the air no matter how many fireplaces were lit. Raindrops raced down thewindows, blurring the view of the cliffs and waves below. The Blue Room smelled damp, with a faint trace of mildew.
Morella sat on the sofa nearest the fireplace, rubbing her back, an uncomfortable grimace drawn on her face. My heart went out to her. Planning and hosting such a large affair was trying even under the best circumstances. Doing so while pregnant must be exhausting. And the triplets had clearly run her ragged.
“Lenore, do you think you could find your father? I’m sure he’d enjoy seeing the shoes. My ankles have swollen something fierce with this storm.”
I grabbed a small tufted pouf hiding under the piano. “You should put your feet up, Morella. Mama had lots of problems with swelling during her pregnancies. She’d keep her feet elevated as much as she could.” I positioned the stool beneath her legs, trying to make her comfortable. “She also had a lotion made of kelp and linseed oil. We rubbed it into her ankles every morning before she got dressed.”
“Kelp and linseed oil,” she repeated, and offered a small smile of thanks.
I paused, sensing a way to both help her and make up for my outburst the morning after Eulalie’s funeral. “I could mix some up for you. It might help.”
“That would be very nice…. Has your gown arrived yet?”
It was the first time she’d shown any interest in what I was wearing to the ball. She was trying too, in her own way.
“Not yet. Camille and I have our final fittings on Wednesday. If you’re feeling up to it, maybe you’d like to come with us?”
Her eyes lit up. “I would enjoy that. We could get lunch in town, make a real afternoon of it. Remind me what color it is?”
“Sea green.”
She paused, thinking. “Your father mentioned something about a chest of Cecilia’s jewelry somewhere. Perhaps there would be something suitable for you. I remember seeing a portrait of her wearing green tourmalines.”
I knew exactly which painting she referred to. It hung in a study on the fourth floor where Mama had wedged a small writing desk into a sunny nook. On clear days, you could see all the way to the lighthouse. Papa hung the portrait there after her death.
“I would love something of hers for the ball. Camille would too, I’m certain.”
“And me!” Verity chimed in, eager to be included.
“Of course,” Morella said with a smile. “We’ll have to look through it.”
Mercy and Honor sprinted in, out of breath and sticky from their treats.
“Rosalie said the fairy shoes are here?” Mercy asked, immediately spotting the boxes.
We’d all taken to calling them fairy shoes. Though I knew they were only little leather slippers—beautifully dyed and styled leather slippers—we’d imbued them with a touch of magic. These shoes would be the beginning of our new start. Once we wore them, we couldn’t help but be different from who we were before.
Morella swatted at Mercy’s hands. “Wait for your father.”
“And me,” Camille said, bursting into the room with Papa.
We all piled around the sofa, giddy with anticipation.
“How do we know whom each box is for?” he asked.
“We each chose a different color,” Honor explained.
“Except us,” Rosalie said, speaking for the triplets. “Ours are a matching silver.”
