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“Enough to be sure you’re no good.”
“Listen, whatever you’ve been told, it’s not the whole story. I loved her like a sister. It was all honest.”
“Callum doesn’t think so.”
“Callum is a fool and a liar,” she snapped, throwing her cigarette onto the rug and extinguishing it with her shoe before leaning in, menacing, far too close. “I told his wife what she needed to hear to save her life. The evil in this house ruined her. If you don’t leave, you’ll find the same thing out for yourself the hard way.”
With a disgusted click of her tongue, she returned to the others, leaving me alone with her cruel, haunting words. I wanted to hold my head high and walk through those doors, play the games, and have a good time, letting the knowledge that Callum genuinely wanted me be a balm to soothe my dignity. Instead, I turned away from the warm light, boisterous jazz, and bright laughter of the party and rushed into the gloom of Willowfield.
Chapter 16
Morning came angrily, another storm brewing, which was strange for this time of year when it was more likely to see last-minute snowflakes falling than hear thunder rumble. Ms. Reeves would have said it was a good sign the warm spring was heaving its way in earlier than expected.
I assumed the party had continued even after I’d run away like a coward to hide in my bed, crying tears I couldn’t attach an emotion to. The euphoria of the professor’s attention had soured with the cruelty of Margaret’s premonitions, reigniting a lingering dread that there was more to Willowfield and its enigmatic master than I could handle. I was not a woman who moved easily in flirtatious circles; I didn’t know or care for the rules, and whoever I’d tried to be last night was a woman who would, eventually, crumble beneath the pressure of her fear.
Look at how beautiful you are.
I covered my face with my hands, still daring to believe he’d been honest, feeling lighter hearted for it. I was wary of seeing Professor Hughes again. I mused momentarily at my inclination to continue using his title, despite how his hands had… I cleared my throat to banish the thought. I didn’t need to bring my fantasies to the library this morning.
I dressed, and when I glanced at myself in the vanity, I gave a start. My hair. I’d forgotten all about it. It curled at the ends, but not unbecomingly, and after a brush and some of the same hair ointment from last night to smooth it, I left it alone and admired the way it fell. When at last I arrived for breakfast, I found Professor Hughes sitting at the table, a newspaper in hand, taking a hearty drink of coffee. He appeared fresher than I’d ever seen him. When he saw me, he folded the paper, dabbed his mouth with a napkin, and smiled so cheerfully I might have mistaken him for a completely different man.
“Good morning, come, eat.” He motioned for me to sit beside him, his eyes dragging themselves over my body as he took in my wardrobe. “You look lovely.”
The compliment pleased me.
“Thank you, but I do have clothes of my own, and these were really unnecessary.” I paused, then added my true feelings. “Though I’m grateful you considered my comfort.”
“Let yourself have nice things, Millie. I have them to give, so please indulge me.”
His sincerity was moving, and our eyes locked for a moment and we both smiled. He sat with me while I ate, continuing reading his paper and making small comments regarding its contents. I was interested in the topics but couldn’t focus on them. He blessedly didn’t ask any questions about where I’d gone last night and made no mention of the party following except to say it was late when everyone disbanded and, gratefully, Margaret had left first.
“I hope she doesn’t come back,” I said, spreading marmalade on slightly overdone toast, but it wasn’t my place to say such things, and I almost retracted the statement when the professor chuckled.
“I’m glad you see through her. Don’t worry, she’s not welcome here again. I saw what she did to the rug.”
It was my turn to laugh, and the mood was lifted.
We moved to the library to work, neither of us making a peep about the things that had gone on in the dark little room after dinner. However, the professor was so at ease I finally glimpsed the true scholar he was, obsessing over his notes, completely undistracted, waving bits of paper at me to ask what in the devil he’d written because he couldn’t read his own hand.
This happened several times over the morning until he finally offered me lines I couldn’t decipher. I winced apologetically, unsure how to tell him what I saw was nonsense.
“I’m afraid…” I couldn’t stop myself and began to giggle. “It’s completely illegible.”
“Christ,” he replied, embarrassed, running his hand over his mouth.
“What are these notes for? What were you transcribing? If we find the book, we can at least get a start on decoding it.”
We made our way to the bookcase together and began scanning.
“Did you have a library in your childhood home? You’re always at ease here.”
I was shaken by the question, but I recovered.
“No,” I said regretfully.
The answer was, of course, yes, but I had never been allowed to use it. I took over so he couldn’t ask me any more questions about myself.
“Did you grow up in this house?”
