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“I… I do not know. Perhaps it will. Or perhaps it might change things for the better, might make her look at the world differently. I have often thought that for her to be in other rooms, which are brighter, fresh, might be better for her. I find the deep green walls in her rooms oppressive, and then, there is a scent to those rooms – an odd scent, like rodents, or illness, and I cannot but wonder if being immersed in it makes her worse. But no physician has ever suggested that a change would help, so perhaps that is my own wishful thinking.”
“I suppose that we will find out. Either she will hold to that promise, or she won’t, and we will know that within weeks, I suspect. But… please stay near me, until we are sure of her choices. I am ashamed to admit that I fear her.”
Iris felt her cheeks flush at the admission, but they had promised no secrets between them, and she would tell him only the truth. He bent to kiss her, a soft kiss, full of longing, and heartache. She melted into it, only for it to be interrupted by a tap at the door.
They drew apart, and Leon rose, even as the voice came to them.
“Your meal, my Lord.”
He opened the door, and a maid brought in a large tray, laden with food and drink. She set it down on the table, curtsied, and left. Leon locked the door behind her.
“Iris, for now, eat, and then rest – we will see what behaviour dinner brings, with Mother present as well. I will hope for the best.”
>>>
Two weeks passed, as May became June, and Spring gave way to Summer. Outside, the world was beautiful, bountiful. Iris wanted to be happy, wanted to share that with Leon, but every day brought more misery.
Despite the fact that Iris played for Maggie, always with Leon at her side, Maggie’s hatred of her never waned. Every time they were in the same room, Maggie would hiss at her, or speak up, telling her to leave, calling her a witch, or worse. After each encounter, Iris was left shaking, the fear that Maggie would shift from words back to physical actions never far away. And towards the end of the second week, that fear began to seem more justified.
A number of times, Maggie stopped beside her, and reached out a hand, only to pull it back with a hiss of frustration. Iris suspected that, without the promise, Maggie would have attempted to pull her into a fall, or to trip her, or to hit her. At the dinner table, Maggie would meet Iris’ eyes, then rather violently stab her meat with her table knife. The message was abundantly clear.
How long would it be, Iris wondered, before Maggie’s desire to harm her overrode the thin strand of rationality which kept Maggie bound by that promise?
Iris went about her days with care, in Leon’s company as much as possible. She rode out with him to meet their tenant farmers, sat with him as he met with his estate manager, and began to learn as much as she could about this place which was her home. It made her feel stronger to be more connected to it, to understand more of the workings of the house.
She spent more time with the Housekeeper and Cook, until they relaxed enough in her company to occasionally tell her stories of the past, of how Maggie had been, before the madness began to take her. Hearing those stories, her heart broke for Leon, all over again.
One evening, as they sat down to dinner, a knock came at the front door. Everyone looked up, startled. No one ever came to visit, and the messengers who brought mail or supplies generally only ever arrived in the early part of the day. Maggie flinched back in her chair, as if afraid, and Iris wondered what she was thinking, what monsters her mind had populated the world with, behind that knock on the door.
A footman soon came into the dining room, the correspondence tray in his hand.
“A messenger has brought this, my Lord. I have sent him to the kitchens to be fed.”
Iris looked on as Leon picked up the sealed missive, and opened it, the flakes of red wax dropping from it onto the table. He read in silence for a moment, as everyone else watched him, then looked up.
“Grandmother is coming to visit us, next week, Mother.”
“My mother? How peculiar. She hasn’t been here for three years.”
Maggie was frowning, and Iris got the impression that she was attempting to remember who her grandmother was. Then her expression tightened, and she hissed.
“Grandmother? I don’t like her. She hates me.” Maggie’s eyes turned to Iris. “I like her even less than I like you, witch. Leon, tell her not to come.”
“Maggie, I will not. She is our grandmother, and if she wants to visit us, she can.”
Maggie hissed again, but with a glance at her mother, left it at that. Iris firmly repressed the bubble of hysterical laughter which rose in her throat. It seemed that Lady Neelsham was going to provide her some respite after all – just not in the way that either of them had considered, at the time of their conversation in London.
Chapter Thirteen
Preparations were made for Lady Neelsham’s arrival, and Leon watched with some horror as Maggie teetered ever closer to complete madness, and to breaking her promise. Her health was fading faster every day, her skin marked by lesions, and her body racked by coughing, but she still wandered about the house, with poor Mrs Withercombe trailing after her, doing her best to protect her from harm.
In his darkest moments, he considered the fact that death was coming for her, and coming fast, but he pushed those thoughts away – there would be time enough to deal with that when it happened.
Twice, as they set about the business of the house, Maggie followed them, and almost reached out to hit at Iris – each time, Leon spoke her name, clearly and firmly, and she jerked back, as if she had not been aware of what she was doing. He had the sickening feeling that it was only a matter of time – a short time – until his voice would not stop her. He would simply have to stay vigilant.
On the day that Lady Neelsham was expected, in mid-afternoon he stood in the hallway, near the landing of the main stairs. He, with Iris by his side, had just finished inspecting the rooms prepared for Lady Neelsham, accompanied by the Housekeeper. Maggie had trailed after them, muttering to herself all the while, and Mrs Withercombe had trailed after her, looking more worn and exhausted than Leon had ever seen her. It was, he thought, a rather comical sight, that procession – at least it would have been had Maggie’s state not been so terrible.
“Everything appears to be in order Mrs Jermyn. I will trust that you can adapt, if Lady Neelsham brings more staff with her than we expected.”
