Courage is not the absence of fear,
but rather the assessment that something else is more important than fear.
Franklin D. Roosevelt
Previously on The Space Between:
Jonathan’s mind is filled with questions. Questions he hopes to answer when he and Danny make it to Lord Cartwright’s estate. There’s only one problem. Someone was waiting for them.
After a nearly deadly encounter with her husband, Annabelle is pushed to take drastic measures to protect not only herself, but the man who seeks to find her.
And time is running out…
Chapter Eleven
“A drop, nothing more. That is all it requires,” she said.
I remembered the old woman’s hands, her weathered skin, jagged and dry, papered with fractured layers as though she were molting. How sharp they were brushing against mine when she handed me the vial.
The entire shop felt sharp, darkened eyes everywhere. Shadows billowing from every corner, seeping through each grain of wood. I could sense the spirits left to wander. How many had been victims? How many of the restless had been drawn here hoping for an answer?
Though the night air was still, it remained colder. Even the moonlight, shrouded as it were, could not pierce the thick veil held over every window and door frame. Not even light dared to enter.
Those images plastered my mind as I stood over Lord Cartwright’s evening tea the following night, trembling. Suddenly aware of how deep I had gone. But I had to do something. With every step in my direction, Jonathan’s life became more and more perilous. I had to protect him.
I held the vial in my hand, unstoppered, unsealed, my breath ragged and throbbing in my chest. One drop. One drop and it all comes to an end. I closed my eyes for a moment and let out what breath I could, tipping the vial carefully until merely the edge hung over, letting a single drop escape. I watched, my entire form tensed and rigid as it swirled into his tea, disappearing. So it was done then.
Walking down the hallway, teacup rattling in my hand, when I reached his office door, I knocked lightly.
“My dear? I have your tea. Would you like me to leave it for you?”
No answer.
It was then I did something I never do, for Lord Cartwright would scold quite drastically if I had. But, this time, something stirred within me. Something strong I could not name.
I braced myself for a reckoning and pushed open the door as softly as I was able, “My dear? Oh!”
In the corner of my eye, I caught sight of a figure standing by Lord Cartwright’s desk, and a huddled frame came scatteringly into view.
“Juliette? Oh, you gave me a fright.”
“Oh Miss.”
She shuffled her hands on the desk, hastily laying down some sort of paper, and backed away toward the corner, her hands coming together, head bowed. She remained still for but a moment, I suppose afraid of a scolding, but it was then I noticed her sniffling.
“Juliette?”
She wouldn’t look at me, her head down, face scrunched into agony.
I placed the saucer down on the desk and turned my voice as soft as I could make it, “Juliette, are you all right?”
She finally looked at me, her eyes welling with so many tears they overflowed. “Oh Miss, oh my apologies, I came in here to do the cleaning and—”
Her breath came in and out in spurts, too fast for her to catch, her words stuck between the pages.
“Juliette, you know if Lord Cartwright caught you in here—”
She nodded her head frantically, “Only, I—”
“Here.” I tugged gently on her elbow, leading her out of the room to the small seating sofa across the hall, and sat down next to her.
Almost immediately, she cowered on my shoulder, her tears now pouring from her. I felt the knot tighten in my throat. We all knew the consequences to be dealt should any of us be caught in his study. I shuddered to think the dire circumstance to which she would brave such a risk.
“Oh heavens, my dear, whatever is the matter?” I embraced her teary form as best as I could and tried to bring myself to understand. “Juliette, why have you come to Lord Cartwright’s study?”
“Oh,” she exclaimed, wiping her damp eyes, “the cleaning, I’m sorry, Miss.”
As if almost by instinct, she arose quite dramatically, her eyes searching for something to do.
“Juliette, you know that is not what I mean.”
She paused, her back to me, her shoulders giving way. When she turned to face me again, her expression shifted into a bitter anguish and she retreated to the sofa once more. “Apologies, Miss. You see, it’s my sister. She’s gone missing.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry. How long?”
“No one has heard from her in a month. My mother tells me not to worry, that she will return as she always does. She... goes away from time to time. She’s done it ever since we were little, and she always comes back.”
“Well then, perhaps your mother is right?”
“No, I fear not this time. My sister has trouble associating with others. She’s always been of the odd sort, isolated somehow, even in a household of ten. I was the only one she would ever open up to. And every time she would go away, no matter where she went, she wrote to me. She always wrote to me. Sheets and sheets. She said it was her way of finding home again.”
She sat up, a look of determination crossing her face.
“When she first went away this time, she said she had news about a job and she would write to me again when she settled. That was three weeks ago. When she wrote to me again, the letter was...odd. It did not sound like her at all. Her sentences did not make any sense, speaking in terms that I did not understand. The handwriting was all scribbled as though she could barely hold the quill. She spoke as though she were saying goodbye.
I have not heard from her since. We have not gone longer than a week’s time talking to each other since we were children. And I’m afraid—”
She collapsed back into my shoulder, a new wave of tears gushing out.
“Oh, Juliette.”
After a moment, she rose her head again, wiping her tears. But something still did not make sense.
“Juliette, forgive me, what does any of this have to do with Lord Cartwright’s study? What exactly were you looking for?”
She lowered her voice, almost to a whisper, “When my sister, Nadine, spoke of her employment, she mentioned the name of the employment agency who found her the job. After her last letter, I began asking around. I have a friend. A lady of ill repute, let’s say. She’s heard similar stories to this one all over town. Women who go missing after they have been promised a job, never to be heard from again.”
My head was spinning. I could feel that lump in my stomach beginning to churn as I rose from the sofa, striding once again into Lord Cartwright‘s study to see what it was she had seen.
“Miss, Miss!”
Juliette called after me, but I did not hear her. Lord Cartwright did not speak of his work to me. I only knew it through conversations. Arguments overheard in the shadows. But I had to know.
Scrambling to the desk, I picked up the lamp to bring it closer so that I could more clearly see the papers scattered across its surface. I did not know how much time I would have, but I had to try. Before, they were just paper, they meant naught to me. But now…
Shuffling through the various layers, I had little clue as to what I was looking for. Each one with numbers, names, places, sequences I did not understand. I took mental notes of everything, trying hard to remember what I could knowing I may never see these papers again.
Toward the bottom, one of the pages caught my eye. For there was a name scrawled toward the top. “Nadine,” I muttered. There were numbers scattered beside it, a strange pattern I could not make out.
I had spent too much time in there already when I heard Juliette’s voice in an urgent whisper, “Miss! His carriage. He’s here!”
As I rushed to place the papers how I found them, a small note scratched in Lord Cartwright’s own hand made my breath stop. On it, was written a name. A single name added only by a question mark.
“Jonathan.”
My heart began pounding in my chest, so many questions now flooding my mind. Was this my Jonathan? Had he found me? What did Lord Cartwright know about him?
“Miss!” Juliette’s voice was frantic. I knew my time had run out.
I was just about out the door when I remembered. “The tea.”
“Leave it, Miss! Let the bastard die in the agony he deserves.”
“No, we can not.”
“Come again?” She looked at me, her face skewing, befuddled.
“I saw your sister’s name atop a piece of paper on his desk, I’m sure of it. If I do this and he dies, we may never find her. He is our only connection.”
She gasped, grasping my hands in hers. “Oh Miss, did it say where she was? Anything? Is she alive?”
My heart sank. “It did not say. Merely her name and a bunch of numbers I did not understand. I’m so sorry.”
She let go, her face fallen. I hurried back, grabbing the teacup by the saucer once again.
As I lifted it from the corner of the desk where I had laid it, my fingers slipped along its edge and it fell from my hands, crashing, sending bits of broken porcelain sliding across the floor. Leaving my feet standing in a puddle of poisoned tea.
To be continued…
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Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four, Chapter Five, Chapter Six, Chapter Seven, Chapter Eight, Chapter Nine, Chapter Ten
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Chapter Twelve
Talk about spilling the tea. The plot thickens!
Another beautiful sketch Michael. Your sketches enrich this story, and the story itself is rich enough!