Page 22 of House of Salt and Sorrows
His eyes grew hard with scorn, taking in her pink organza before answering. “He’s well, thank you.” He jangled one knee back and forth beneath his dark frock coat, clearly ready for the conversation to be over.
Camille seemed oblivious of his discomfort. “We have a grandfather clock he repaired last spring. Perhaps you rememberit?”
Edgar adjusted his spectacles, dismay etched across his features. “Yes. With the Thaumas octopus as a pendulum and the tentacles carved on the weights?”
She nodded. “The very one. As the hours pass, the arms lower on its prey.”
He twisted his fingers, knuckles sharp and white.
She smiled, apparently done with pleasantries. “I was just tracking down my sister. Our stepmother is waiting for us.”
“Of course, of course.” He bobbed his head, edging away even before removing his hat to say goodbye. As he did, the sunlight gleamed across his head.
His head of very fine pale blond hair.
“Wait!” I called after him, but he’d slipped through the crowds, all but fleeing from us.
Camille linked her arm through mine, pulling us toward the tea shop. “Such an odd little man.”
My heart rose with hope. “You thought so too?”
“It was as though he couldn’t get away from us fast enough.” Her laughter rang out over the marketplace. “But of course, not everyone is as keen to talk about the fall fishing as you are,Annaleigh.”
I trudged up the stairs, exhausted from the long afternoon on Astrea. After lunch, I’d wanted to race home and ask Papa if Edgar had ever approached him about an interest in Eulalie, but Morella had other plans. She whisked us from shop to shop, appraising the wares like a magpie in search of treasure.
I planned to drop off the purchases in my bedroom before searching for Papa, but as I walked down the hall, I spotted steamy air billowing from the bathroom. It smelled of lavender and honeysuckle, such a distinct scent I paused as memories of Elizabeth flooded my mind. She had a special blend of soap made in Astrea just for her. I hadn’t smelled it since the day her body was discovered. One of the Graces must have come across a bottle and decided to try it for themselves.
Sure enough, wet footprints led down the hallway toward their rooms, staining the carpet runner.
With a sigh, I followed them. They led past Honor’s and Mercy’s rooms and came to a stop outside Verity’s. She lay on the floor, sprawled out with her sketchbook and surrounded by colored pastels.
“You’re lucky I caught you and not Papa.”
Verity sat up, dropping a blue pastel. “What do you mean?”
“You didn’t towel off properly and left a watery mess in the hall. You know how much he loves that carpet.”
He and Mama had bought it on their honeymoon at a bazaar. Papa said he’d turned his back for a moment and a merchant had pounced, showing off his hand-knotted wares. Mama had wanted to buy a small one for her sitting room, but her Arpegian was so bad that when the rug arrived at Highmoor, it was fifty feet long. She’d loved to describe the look on Papa’s face as the runner rolled out longer and longer.
“I take baths at night. I’ve been in my room all afternoon. See?” Verity raised her hands, dry and smeared with colors.
“Who was it, then? Mercy or Honor? It’s still steaming.”
She shrugged. “They’re in the garden, tying ribbons on the flower bushes.”
I glanced back into the hallway. The footprints were still there, just barely. On closer inspection, they were too big to be Verity’s. “Were the triplets up here?”
“No.”
“Well, someone left wet footprints behind, and they lead straight to your room.”
Verity closed her sketchbook. “Not my room.” She gestured out toward the hallway, at the door directly across from hers.
Elizabeth’s.
“I know you pilfered her soap. The bathroom smelled like honeysuckle.”
“It wasn’t me.”
