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Lord and Lady Harker greeted them at the brightly colored, glass paned door with gracious smiles. Through the doorway, Valerie noticed the servants scurrying with trays in hand, and a string quartet and laughter spilled out of the drawing room and rang in her ears.
“Ah, Mr. Vertigo and Mrs. Vertigo, how wonderful to see you this evening! We are grateful for your presence,” Cecilia Harker chirped with a shrill laugh that did not reach her eyes, pushing her tongue into the gap in her front teeth. Valerie returned the smile as the gentlemen huddled and exchanged nods in the corner. “How kind of you, Lady Harker. We’re honored to be invited to your marvelous home.”
As they silently walked through the long hall, Valerie silently studied her hostess. The dress was of indigo velvet brocade, the extravagant ruffled sleeves and boning on each seam gave Cecilia Harker a refined, tasteful look. Ribbon sashes and beadwork adorned its bodice, but it was the rhinestone brooch that really stood out against her jeweled chest. Her hair was softly pulled to the back of her head in a neat bun, dressed with feathers. She flipped open her large silk satin fan as she introduced Valerie to other guests. Gentlemen were sitting smoking at lounges at the far end of the room and the patch of smoke made it difficult to tell apart the faces.
“Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention? I would like to introduce a dear friend of mine, Lady Vertigo, who has graced us with her presence this evening. Mrs. Vertigo, please allow me to present to you the esteemed guests who have honored my home tonight. Lady Vertigo, these are my dear friends, Lady Catherine and Lady Amelia,” Cecilia Harker said with a forced smile.
She placed a shaky smile on her lips and bobbed a curtsy before speaking. “Thank you, Mrs. Harker, for your warm welcome. I am most pleased to meet you,” she turned to the ladies who looked up and down at her from their seats. An awareness of being scrutinized through smoke and whispered about dawned upon Valerie. A shiver ran through her spine as other guests left their seats and approached the table. Lady Amalia reminded her of a goat. Lady Catherine resembled a smallpox victim.
Cecilia Harker turned on her heels and gestured at a young man with a garish suit. “First, we have the dashing Lord Frederick, a renowned poet and a true connoisseur of the arts. I am most certain that his words can weave magic and transport you to distant lands.”
Rose blotches appeared on Lord Frederick’s cheeks, and he tried to look like he was fixing his cufflinks. He bowed slightly, opening his mouth to greet Valerie, but Mrs. Harker had already moved on to her next guest.
“Next, we have Lady Evelyn, a dear friend of mine, a woman of impeccable taste and a patroness of various charitable causes in our town and the surrounding area. Her passion for philanthropy knows no bounds.”
Lady Evelyn smiled behind her fan which covered her mouth, so Valerie was not sure if what she saw was indeed a sincere one. She suspected she made careful notes of her appearance as the woman’s eyes wandered over her. Her brows knitted together.
“Please allow me to introduce you to Sir Edward. One of the most distinguished scholars of our little town and a man of great intellect. We all consider ourselves lucky to have the opportunity to listen to his enlightening insights and knowledge.”
A middle-aged man stepped forward with a smile, his grizzled hair shimmering under the refracted light from the crystals on the chandelier like iridescent feathers. Valerie gave a curt curtsy before turning to the last guest Mrs. Harker was pointing to.
“Lastly, we have Miss Karnstein. The renowned heiress of Karnstein estate and who graciously joined us a couple days ago due to the unfortunate snowfall. Nevertheless, we are ecstatic to find ourselves a friend in these marooned times.”
Miss Karnstein idly extended her hand, and she shook it gently. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” she said. Her labored breathing moved the tight, golden curls from her face. Despite her engaging smile, Valerie knew that she must have been sick, for her sallow complexion and dropped shoulders gave her a gaunt, skeletal look. Her maid probably tried her best to make her look presentable yet the dark shadows under her eyes gave her away. Her dark crimson bodice rose and fell in waves, accentuating her sickly pallor. Yet, there was a spark of energy in her eyes, a familiar understanding, like a welcome. There were no signs of flight in those eyes, bright and possessive, that Valerie felt like she had met the woman before. Something about her touch, the quality of her immense glance made Valerie shiver in equal dread and thrill. She was tall but not gaunt, it was almost comforting.
“Very pleased to meet you, Miss Karnstein,” she murmured after a brief pause, and Mrs. Harker resumed her hostess duties. “If you would be so kind,” she said, turning to her guests and slightly raising her voice, “could you escort Mrs. Vertigo to the dining room, Sir Frederick?”
“I am more than happy to oblige, madam,” he bowed, and Valerie placed her hand on his elbow, shooting a furtive look at her husband, who was talking merrily with Sir Edward. Mrs. Harker carefully formed the pairs, mixing the couples to ensure a smooth discussion, and Valerie left the room with a knot in her stomach.
8
It was not untilValerie slid into her cushioned seat that she realized how dilapidated and bare Vertigo Peaks was. Compared to the Harker manor-house, Vertigo Peaks looked like an abandoned, ancient-looking cottage. Everything was lit with a dim, intimate light. Even the gleam of the chandeliers was warmer, inviting. A glint of rings and lavish cutlery shifted with the embers of the fireplace. The long windows were draped in velvet curtains, a deep violet hue, the walls were adorned with hunting treasures and old family portraits, demonstrating the succession of family name clearly. Servants were rushing in and out of the room in silence, following a fixed path. A look of familiarity and habit had mellowed their faces and Valerie thought how natural it all seemed in this house, and noticed how labored and constrained her life looked in Vertigo Peaks. The musky smell of their rooms, the peeling wallpapers, the dust-covered furniture and the piles of old books and documents stacked in random corners with which her husband kept himself busy every waking moment. Vertigo Peaks was a dying man, carrying an irreparable loss on his hunched back whereas the Harker estate marked a great age, the corners of which rising steadily on the horizon, ready to put the hoary man to bed.
The knot in the pit of her stomach tightened. Between a sense of self-loss and unbelonging, she found herself wishing she was in a faraway place instead of sitting here and with these people, all laughing and jolly, their booming voices echoing in the long halls.
The dining room was buzzing with conversation. Ethan was at the far side of the table, next to Cecilia Harker, while other couples exchanged amusing remarks. Valerie, on the other hand, sat with her hands on her lap and kept her silence. She was not sure if he waited for her to start the conversation or if he was as embarrassed and uncomfortable as she was.
“So, Mrs. Vertigo,” he began, after he served her soup with meticulous care and received no reply, “have you enjoyed your time in our town thus far?”
A guttural, sardonic laugh escaped her lips, but she managed to turn it into a polite smile before Lord Frederick took offense. “Indeed, Sir Frederick. I find it quite refreshing, even in this blustery and bleak weather.” She stirred her soup, trying to keep her face expressionless.
“Surely, one cannot find much amidst the muddied paths and foul-smelling sea. The city, with its vibrant pulse and intellectual exchange, holds far more allure for a refined mind. Have you been to the city yet?” A flicker of passion passed his eyes. Valerie shook her head.
“I am afraid not. I must confess, although the city sounds delightful and charming, I am truly content here. I find the crowds and soirées to be somewhat exhausting. Don’t you think a brisk walk under the open sky with only the howling wind for company is better? A solitary path, if taken with an open heart, can lead to the most exhilarating revelations, far grander than any drawing room soirée.”
Sir Frederick choked into his napkin. He blinked; his composure completely lost. “A lady… walking, alone, in the wilderness? Mrs. Vertigo, that is simply not done! Think of the dangers—lurking ruffians, treacherous bogs, the utter lack of civilized conversation…”
He took a bite of his baked salmon and chewed it slowly, his brows knitted, his thin lips almost invisible. The mischievous glimmer disappeared from his eyes.
“My apologies… I did not mean to—” Valerie mumbled under her breath, trying to cover her mistake hastily, hoping he could not see the heat rising up her cheeks. But he was already distracted by Lady Catherine, who peered over his shoulder and gave her a glaring look. Poor, blundering Mrs. Vertigo. She could not even finish a conversation without embarrassing herself. She sniffed quietly, tears threatening to spill with a prickling sensation. She sat with her ears and neck burning, for the itch had returned, the swell of her neck, leaving a curdling sensation on her tongue.
Then, a soft voice, soft as falling snow, nothing more than a whisper, sliced through her brooding melancholy. “Mrs. Vertigo,” it murmured, “I am very fond of walking myself. There’s nothing more invigorating than a pleasant walk by a meadow, through the woods, on less trodden roads. That’s such an admirable quality we women shall possess—venturing into the woods, into the night as we wish—despite the adversity and dire warnings of the opposite sex.”
Valerie turned, surprised. Beside her sat Miss Mircalla Karnstein, extending her ungloved hand over the table to press hers. Her gaze still had that curious warmth, devoid of the disdain reserved for Valerie, and once again Valerie’s head throbbed with the thought that she had met this woman before. The way her head swayed underneath the sparkling chandelier, her mouth formed a pleasant round shape, a blue vein bulged from her forehead alarmed her, prickling her skin. She moved restlessly in her seat, almost sighing under her cold touch. Perhaps it was her manner that intrigued her as for the first time that evening, the air around her felt lighter. Miss Karnstein’s words, unlike the sharp barbs of animosity and gossip, had pierced through her sorrow, offering a glimpse of acceptance. This stranger saw not her isolation, but the embers of her spirit glowing beneath the ashes.
“Oh, please…” Valerie said, stumbling over her words, overwhelmed by her kindness. “You don’t have to waste your pity on me, Miss Karnstein.”
She sat up stiffly. A deep line creased Miss Karnstein’s pallid forehead. She looked like a disturbed child, denied entry to a barred orchard, and Valerie was instantly filled with regret. Miss Karnstein uncurled her fingers from hers quietly. Valerie could see in the way she clutched her wine glass and moved it to her lips, the tightened shoulders, that she was hurt by her words. Yet, when she spoke, her voice did not bear a trace of harshness.
