Page 11 of The Secret of the Three Fates
My foot skidded as I took a step nearer to the circle of flame. Each of the candles had been set within a larger ring made of what looked to be coarse salt. I stooped down, running the substance between my fingers. I pinched a bit and held it near the flame before testing it on my tongue. Definitely salt.
I picked up a still-burning candle from where it’d been stuck to the bridge with its own wax, and began to explore my surroundings. Another of those strange flower symbols had been hastily scrawled on one of the columns in charcoal. I touched it gingerly, a bit of the carbony substance rubbing off onto my skin. Each of the bridge’s columns was marked with the same symbol. I counted quickly. There were twelve in total.
I sighed, leaning back against the railing.Where was Lucy?
Glancing back to the circle of candles, I realized another had been knocked over and extinguished in the salt, breaking the circle.Thirteencandles then. Not twelve as I’d first believed. I walked over, lifting the fallen candle. The wax was still soft and malleable. I certainly hadn’t knocked it over, but it had to have happened immediately before I arrived on the bridge.
At last my sleep-deprived brain placed the pieces together: a broken salt circle, an overturned candle. These were signs of astruggle. Then the splash I’d heard as I approached. With sickening certainty, I walked to the edge and peered into the water, knowing good and well what I’d find there.
A lifeless shape floated upon the surface. Bits of dark cloth billowed out from her body like a discarded doll. It was the same dark fabric that the mediums had been wearing during the séance.
Lucy.
It had to be her.
I shucked off my jacket, dropping it on the stone bridge, revolver along with it, and hastily slipped out of my shoes. Without a second of hesitation, I threw my legs over the side and dove into the water. The iciness hit me hard and fast. My heart stuttered at the sudden drop in temperature and I sucked in a pained breath. Lungs aching, I swam over to where she floated along the surface. The silk of my own gown stuck to my legs, making it hard to tread water. I only had a handful of minutes before the cold would drain my strength. I had to be quick getting her to shore or we’d both die here. I rolled her lifeless body over in the water to face the sky and kicked violently, struggling to keep the both of us afloat. My limbs grew heavy but I managed to wrangle my left arm around her chest, my hips pressed against her back.
I’d always been a strong swimmer; my mother had taught me when I was very small. Pushing hard against the lake, I moved us incrementally closer to the pebbled shore. The weight of her dress threatened to pull us both down. She couldn’t have been in the water long or else she’d have sunk like a stone.
Perhaps she was still alive and the air in her lungs had kept her afloat. I didn’t have time to check, I had to get her to the shore.
That’s it, Ruby, just a little farther.I could almost hear my mother as I fought against the pull of the lake.
Gasping for air, I finally reached the water’s edge. Droplets of churned-up water filled my lungs as I took in an accidental mouthful. I heaved her up onto the cold rocks, coughing and spitting out half the lake for my efforts.
I laid my cheek against her chest, listening for the faint thrum of her pulse. The crepe of her dress plastered wet against my skin. Nothing. My fingers went to her throat.
Still nothing.
Good God.
Lucy Campbell was dead.
I rocked back onto my bare feet, struggling to catch my breath and reorder my thoughts. Someone had killed her. They had to have. I looked around in the darkness, but it was still. There was no one around.
I slicked my short hair back from my face, and patted down her body. I wasn’t quite sure what I was seeking—a clue—an answer as to why she was killed? My hand felt something inside the pocket of her dress and I fumbled with the layers of drenched fabric, before finally pulling it out. I knew, before I even opened my own palm, what it was. I’d seen thousands of them during the four years I spent on the western front. An octagonal identification disc. I held it up in the eerie moonlight, turning it over. British for certain. Then I made out the name in the darkness:B. Lennox.
Lennox. That was the name of Mr. Owen’s nephew and before I could think twice upon the wisdom of my actions, I shoved it into the bodice of my dress and ran back to Manhurst.
IREACHED THEflags of the back terrace, panting heavily—my limbs numb from the cold and teeth chattering loud enough to drown out my own thoughts. The soles of my feet were bloodied, leaving ruddy smears across the stone.
The house was dark, most of the guests having gone to bed long before I set out to meet Lucy Campbell. I caught the edge ofmy toes on the frost-covered flags and toppled forward. I thrust my hands out to brace my fall, when I was caught by someone in the darkness.
“Good God, Miss Vaughn…” My body and mind were far too muddled to recognize the voice.
“You’re soaked and nearly blue… We must get you inside—” I blinked, looking up at Andrew Lennox’s eerily familiar face. In the darkness, he looked enough like Mr. Owen that he might have been his own son. Hell, he might have evenbeenMr. Owen in another lifetime.
Captain Lennox righted me, shifting his cane to better help me walk inside. “Come, let’s get you warmed by the fire. What in God’s name happened—you’re soaked to the bone.” His accent far broader than it had been earlier in the day.
“There’s… there’s… a body… b-b-by the lake. It’s the medium… Lucy… Lucy’s dead…”
Captain Lennox’s expression darkened as he shuffled me inside the castle—and for the briefest of instants, in the electric lights of Manhurst, I saw a flicker of fear in his eyes. But more than that—I had the strangest notion that he already knew my answer long before he voiced the question.
An hour and a half later, I was curled in a deep leather chair in the library, snugly wrapped in a woolen blanket. The fire danced in the hearth before me as I struggled to make sense of the evening. Had it only been this afternoon that I’d been here inquiring after illuminated manuscripts?
I stared into the flames, testing my stiff fingers against the heat of the fire licking up in the immense hearth. The needling sensation had finally stopped. That was good, at least. About theonlygood thing to happen this evening.
It was dangerous to do what I’d done. I knew that from the moment I leapt into the lake and yet I hadn’t stopped. Hadn’t paused to imagine all the thousands of ways it could have gone terriblywrong. Tucking my legs against my chest and sinking deeper into the armchair, I watched as Andrew Lennox spoke with another man deep in the shadows by the far bookcase. I could only imagine the other party to be the mysterious Mr. Sharpe, the owner of Manhurst Castle. Though to watch the two of them one would think their roles reversed, as Captain Lennox had been barking out orders ever since returning with Lucy Campbell’s body, while Sharpe stood meekly by, casting the occasional glance in my direction.
