Page 7 of Bloodgrove

The old butler narrowed his eyes, and Will was certain the question had been impolite—even more so here than it would have been in the Capitol. The man wore a perfectly pressed suit, though his skin was pallid, his gait stiff, and the hair on his head sparse.

“We shall see how long you stay,” Will thought he heard him mutter.

Uneasily, he glanced over his shoulder at the pile of suitcases left forgotten beside the entrance. He had the distinct impression that the house itself, along with unseen eyes, had fixed its curiosity on them.

“Do not lose your way, Mr. Frank.”

Will hurried after him, up to the third floor and along a lengthy corridor. By the time they stopped before a door, he was breathless.

The hinges groaned as the double doors swung open. Near-total darkness greeted him, the room lit only by a faint lamp at the far end. Within its pool of light stood a tall chair, a hunched figure seated in it.

Will had spent hours studying the handwriting, and by now he was certain the duchess was not an old crone. The pen had swept across the paper with far too much confidence and clarity, without the slightest tremor or hesitation.

Yet now he faltered, his steps slowing as he crossed the vast room. Was this the ballroom? No—the room was in the wrong part of the house, too secluded for guests, though the absence of furniture allowed for little further speculation. He kept moving toward the figure in the chair.

A movement beside the chair brought him to a halt. A woman stepped out from behind its high back and bent toward the seated lady. Now only a few meters away, Will could make out a coat drawn tightly around the seated woman’s chest, covering every inch of skin from her gloved fingertips to its high collar. Only in her lap and around her feet, where the folds fell open, did white linen show through. He frowned at the sight of the nightgown.

“Your Grace, Mr. William Frank has arrived,” the butler announced.

The lady’s maid stepped back, and the light brushed the duchess’s face—or the place where her face ought to have been. A steel mask, wrought as delicately as the tracery adorning Bloodgrove’s buildings, encased her head.

Will froze, staring. Was that a crown? Filigreed ribs curved behind her head like a halo, and even the brace encircling her neck was intricately engraved and set with rubies.

Just in time, he remembered his manners and sank into a deep, dramatic bow, one hand pressed to his chest and the other extended as though he were an actor on a stage. He had not come here to judge, but to work.

“Your Grace, thank you for inviting me. It is an honor to undertake this work for you.” His long braid slipped over his shoulder like silver silk. He dared to raise his eyes, searching the shadows for some sign of a reaction.

A gloved hand motioned for him to rise.

“William Frank has succeeded in hollowing out a piece of his soul large enough for all of us to enter,” the duchess read aloud, her voice faintly distorted by the mask. Only then did he notice the newspaper she had produced from the folds of her coat. He was so taken aback by the soft music of her voice that he scarcely registered the words of the article that had marked the beginning of his downfall. “He shares with us his dream of sunrise over the sea, amid pink spray and white clouds. Mr. Frank does not strive for practicality or commercial appeal, but rather to make the visitor pause and marvel when the heart itself whispers ‘home’. Those are grand words, Mr. Frank.”

Almost imperceptibly, he shifted his weight from one leg to the other, relieving the foot that was missing its little toe.

“I strive to live up to them,” he replied, his voice rough after so many hours of silence. Praise like that could open every door for a young artist while, at the same time, becoming the executioner’s blade hanging above his neck.

His gaze traveled through the dark room; slowly, his eyes began to adjust to the lack of light. At the sight of the taxidermied beasts and the bulky stone table, he wrinkled his nose. He assumed they were an attempt to make the room appear more presentable and distract from how little furniture it actually contained.

Even so, the quotation gave him hope, for at the end of the world, where a year-old article was read aloud as though the next generation’s newest darling had not been praised only a month earlier, it would presumably take very little to impress.

“This is what the architecture of the future looks like,” she continued. “Can you give me that? Can you usher in a new age?”

“If Your Grace grants me sufficient freedom…” He slipped into the role of the self-assured artist as easily as into a pair of familiar gloves, concealing the uncertainty that had plagued him since the scandal. “May I ask how extensive you wish the renovation to be?”

The duchess made a small gesture toward the hall, but Will could not shake the impression that she lacked the strength for even that. The way she kept her elbow propped upon the armrest, barely lifting her hand…

“I see your disapproval.”

Will stiffened.

“Good. All of this is my father’s work, but I am now the head of this family, and I want to burn his rot and decay from these walls. Replace it with ‘pink spray and white clouds,’ should you wish.”

“If I may speak frankly, Your Grace…” Will’s gaze darted toward the lady’s maid, who watched him like a vulture. “But Bloodgrove does not strike me as a place where such a style would meet with approval. We could perhaps find something more…fitting.”

“You learned all that from a single carriage ride?” She laughed dryly. “Bloodgrove is a swamp. It is time we remind its people of that and bring the future even to our forgotten corner of the world. Break the old curses and bring the world to us.”

A faint smile touched his lips as a cautious spark of excitement kindled within him. He did not dare pass judgment upon the duchess, yet her lucid words seemed strangely at odds with her fragile appearance. He burned to see the face beneath that strange mask.

“I will demand a great deal from you. This is a commission unlike any you will ever receive again,” she continued. “The entire city will speak of our undertaking, and throughout your time here, you will represent my house. Are you prepared to give it everything you have?”