Page 98 of House of Roots and Ruin
No.
I’d have to do this myself.
“You’re still here,” a voice behind me muttered, and I did scream then, crying out in alarm and the sudden terrible notion that this doppelgänger had somehow worked his way out of the room before circling back to harm me.
But it was the young woman who had dressed me the morning of Alex’s proposal.
The young woman who was not a maid.
My eyes narrowed.
This was the girl Gerard had named his flowers after.
The girl who had filled Alex’s heart with scorn.
Gerard’s mistress.
“Why are you still here?” she asked.
“There’s someone in there,” I whispered, dragging her into the situation whether she wanted to come or not. “Constance.”
Her eyes widened. “You know my name?”
I ignored her surprise. “You need to help me. There’s an intruder in the house. I think it’s someone who was here the day of the dinner party, come back to…I don’t know…steal…something.” It sounded right, a wayward man using temporary jobs to scope out new locations for his heists.
“And you think he’s in there?” she murmured slowly. Her eyes flickered over the statues. “I don’t see anyone.”
“He’s hiding. Under the drops.”
“That seems rather far-fetched, don’t you think?”
“I saw him,” I insisted. “Go in and see for yourself.”
Constance’s face twisted. “I don’t…I wish I could.”
“Go,” I ordered, all but pushing her into the room.
With a muttered sigh, Constance reached for the light switch. The room remained dark. “See?” she said, turning back to me. “I can’t—”
“Look,” I pointed.
Sparkles of glass lay on the ground, all around her. The globes covering the gas lamps had been shattered. It was a wonder she’d not cut herself.
“Do you believe me now?” I hissed.
Constance swept her gaze over the room, now worried, and nodded.
“Open the drapes,” she mouthed.
On silent tiptoes, I made my way to the other side of the room and, after a moment of struggling within the folds of heavy curtains, pulled on a set of cords and flooded the space with moonlight.
The canvas drops glowed an eerie blue and I watched them for any telltale trace of movement.
The room was still.
I looked at the girl, at Gerard’s mistress, and shrugged.
Constance raised one pointer finger to her lips, a chilling echo of the gesture the young man had made just minutes before. Then she pointed to one of the statues and motioned to rip the sheet off. She glanced meaningfully at the statue by me.
