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“My honesty has never been an act of charity, Lady Vertigo. It would grieve me the most if you believe so.”
“Miss Karnstein—”
“Oh, but it’s true,” Miss Karnstein insisted, her gaze unwavering. “I admire you and rejoice in your quiet strength. You possess a resilience many of us could only dream of.” She leaned forward. A fervent, milky look twisted her features while her anguish faded away with a movement of her hand. Did she know? Did she see her in the town, attacked and humiliated, shivering like a wet puppy? Valerie felt a blush rise to her cheeks, unbidden. No one had ever seen her that way, not through the layers of isolation and forced smiles.
The room remained oblivious to their conversation. The fire cracked while Mrs. Harker giggled with her guests, and her husband diligently cut his meat, nodding to whatever Mrs. Harker was saying. Just as Valerie opened her mouth to speak, one of the servants brought her dessert—a plum pudding. She was about to return Miss Karnstein’s compliments when she caught sight of the servant. A young boy with a plain necktie, under which a dark stain had discolored its crisp whiteness. He cast an involuntary glance first. Then his eyes widened, and his hand flew to his throat in utter terror. Valerie was struck by a chilling sense of familiarity, dulled, yet still present, and the fragments of a dream—a nightmare, a haunting, a premonition—overtook her. She remembered the blood, the fall of snow, flakes gathering on his hair as he screamed. She gasped for breath as he stepped aside and moved the empty plates, noticing her surreptitious glance. Why did he hasten his steps, as if wanting to finish his job immediately so he could leave and talk to other servants about how the mistress of Vertigo Peaks had a hand in his suffering?
Valerie jumped to her feet. She had to stop him and talk to him. Maybe she could make him understand, persuade him or reason with him about what happened. But what happened? Her mind was a plane, bored with black holes, and she did not know what was real and what was a figment of her imagination. Maybe the boy stared because he recognized her from the town. She was Mrs. Vertigo, after all. It was not uncommon for people to look at her, or to follow her with hungry eyes whenever she stepped outside.
Now everyone was staring at her—including her husband—scowling and raising their brows, questioning—perhaps for the hundredth time—why an unremarkable character like her sat among them. Valerie felt lightheaded and rickety as the room spun and the walls moved.
“Mrs. Vertigo, are you alright?”
It was Miss Karnstein, half-turning in worry, but her voice sounded so distant, as though it was coming under the water. A spurt of bile filled her mouth. She moved away, not wanting to be touched, as Miss Karnstein’s face crept closer.
“Lady Vertigo, you have been awfully quiet this evening. I hope I did not make the mistake of arranging a dinner party that would insult your merits.”
Mrs. Harker was slurring her words, shrieking with utter haughtiness, her cheeks the same color as the port wine in front of her. She did not wait for Valerie to speak. “So, Mrs. Vertigo,” she drawled, her voice laced with malice, “tell me once more, why you couldn’t be bothered to follow a simple local ritual? You must have heard about the curse by now. Right, Mr. Vertigo?”
“My lady—”
Valerie sat down. She was still dizzy with her stomach lurching and blood pounding in her head. Why did not she leave her alone? Was it not enough that she was attacked and humiliated?
“Cecilia, dear, please—”
It was Mr. Harker, barely raising his voice, yet everybody heard him. He gently placed his fork to the side, the soft clink of metal echoing in the room, yet Mrs. Harker was unwilling to stop now that the dam of her mouth burst open, spilling all the venom she had carried long before Valerie arrived in this town.
“What your husband has not told you, madam,” she said, stretching each syllable and her face a mask of repulsion, “is that if you do not produce an heir soon, your house will drag us into ruin. The curse will eat him alive first, then it will come for you. He started it all, and he must end it before it destroys us all.”
“I don’t understand,” Valerie babbled. Everybody alluded to the curse, but she was yet to be illuminated about what it actually was.
She scoffed, jumping to her feet. Her chair fell with a thud. Others shifted uncomfortably in their seats but nobody dared to speak to her. Nobody moved. “I do not believe you do. I suppose you also don’t know about Sir Ethan’s dead sister, do you? Or the fact that people have been talking—they are telling me they saw the beast, that plague bearer, near your house. Our people are dying, hunted by a monster, because of your filthy family!” Her diamond earrings flounced as she spun to face Ethan. “You could not stand the silence in that house anymore, could you? Being alone, the guilt gnawing at your very being? Is that why you married her—to resurrect her image?”
He regarded her with an expressionless face, folding his arms. Yet there was a tinge of threat in his voice. “You overstep your bounds, Lady Harker. The particulars of my marriage are of no concern to you. My wife and I are very content.”
“Content? A poor scullery maid at best, thrust into the lap of luxury, and expected to play the lady? I imagine contentment is rather a foreign concept to you. I bet you also entertain the idea that she is exceptionallymodest.” Mrs. Harker made a sound between a snort and wheeze and pointed at Valerie. “She doesn't even know where to place her damned spoon and fork!”
“Cecilia, enough!” Mr. Harker banged his fist on the table.
Valerie looked down at the table. Miss Karnstein’s spoon stood next to hers and her fork was on the opposite side. Likewise, Sir Frederick’s knife faced hers. Valerie crumpled the tablecloth in her fist. She was seized with a sudden desire to jump on the table and dance, to cry, to laugh, and she became conscious of a stab of pain too, in the middle of her chest. She wished she was alone, away from this nonsense, not tormented by secrets and lies.
“You dare lecture me on manners?” Valerie hissed, her vision a blur. She rose again, threw her napkin to the surprise of Sir Frederick and Lady Catherine, who gave a small cry, and met Cecilia Harker’s gaze with the tilt of her chin. “You, who has been spewing nastiness all evening, though I came to your house with an open hand? Your party might boast the finest china and crystal, but they wouldn’t clean that tongue of yours. Will you lay your head tonight and congratulate your pathetic attempt to humiliate me in front of your dear friends? Will that clear your conscience?”
The last words spilled from her mouth with a quiver, and she stormed out in a huff. The last thing she saw was her husband’s face, looking like a surprised owl. She swept past the guests, tears already rolling down her cheeks. She sought refuge in the moonlit garden, the crisp air biting at her tears and whipping at her skirts. If she weren’t so sad, the landscape before her might have given her heart a relief. The snow, falling in thick flakes, painted the town in shades of gray, like thin sheets. Beyond the flickering lanterns and the billowing smoke, the jagged outlines of the peaks and the glimpses of the docks ribboned in front of her.
“Mrs. Vertigo!” a voice called then a cold hand touched her shoulder. She turned around, her eyes flashing, only to find Miss Karnstein gazing at her with utmost concern.
“Mrs. Vertigo,” she whispered. “I was too stunned to speak. I am so sorry.”
Valerie bit her lip, words catching in her throat, her itch burning even worse. “Please, just leave me alone.”
“As you wish,” Miss Karnstein replied, her voice low and firm, “but I want you to know that you did not deserve such harsh treatment. I was not familiar with Mrs. Harker’s…Well…Let’s say, questionable manners.”
She took out a handkerchief, the initials of Miss Karnstein’s name sewn in gold, and wiped from her cheek the tears. Valerie cried silently for a while; Miss Karnstein’s palm pressed light against the small of her back. Her touch was just as cold as the wintry sky, sending a spark up through her spine. For a moment, she forgot she was standing outside the Harker estate. She forgot the drawn velvet curtains, the warmth of the fireplace, the gentle swing of the chandelier, the easy lilting quartet. There was only the soft brush of her thumb climbing up her waist, the steady beat of his heart beneath her palm, the familiar understanding in her eyes. Her cheeks were still ashen, not a touch of color flushing her skin, despite the brisk air. The snow had left soft peaks on her head, making her curls look like pastries.
“We better go back.”
“Oh, I am sure they can manage without us.”
