Silver Hollow (7 page)
Her hand crept to absently trace the long white scar hidden beneath her t-shirt.
Uncle Henry’s letter had the tone of a man in fear of his safety. And it w
asn’t a white tattoo she
had etched across her chest. She knew she was in deep. Whatever mob war she had been swept up in she wanted no part of. But, much like the Godfather, once she was in she had a feeling she wouldn’t slip out. At least not without a bullet through her head.
It was official. She was completely mental.
She was standing on a rain-stained red train platform. Well, more like
a
small boardwalk connected to a shed than a platform. Still
,
the moment had taken a turn for
the
worse. No conductor had appeared to escort her off
and the doors weren’t easy to forcibly shove aside. Still she was grateful to leave the Orient Express. Her luggage
sat idly beside her now. Turning the hood of her jacket up, she wrapped her arms around her chest to ward against the gusty north winds.
Squinting up at the sky
,
she was wary of the thick gray clouds rolling overhead and the near
-
absent sun. As of yet she hadn’t heard any thunder or smell any promise of rain. Did rain smell the same in England as it did in America? At least it wasn’t boiling hot here like it had been back home.
Unbidden, thoughts of East Texas reminded her of the unfinished novel stored in her saddle bag. Impending deadline on her conscience, she longed for the days when she only wrote for herself. Storytelling was something she came by honestly, a gift from her father. Drustan had told her so many wonderful tales of the place he grew up. For a family
which
never owned anything more advanced than a record player, those stories and her imagination were all she had to thrive on. She learned later he
had
exaggerated greatly
,
of course. Her childhood fantasies were dashed the day she found that the place he had grown up was actually a small village in Northern England called Wenderdowne.
Ever since then she preferred
fantasy to
the hard real world
. That
was
why writing gritty paranormal romance thrillers had been so easy a dish to swallow. Something stirred from the twist of the crag above. Had the car finally decided to arrive? Amie turned from the empty train tracks and peered either way down the road behind the shed, but could see nothing other than a persistent fog. Rolling her eyes
,
she murmured, “Great. Now we’ve entered into a Gothic Romance. Bring on the Heathcliffs and Rochesters…” Her short laugh died the moment she saw the high head
s
of two dark horses and the black carriage behind them. “You have
got
to be kidding me…”
The fog must have been playing tricks on her mind
,
because in
the
next moment the carriage was before her and the hunched
-
over man driving it tipped up his top hat with a gloved hand
.
“Afraid not
,
miss! So sorry to have kept you waiting! Hope it hasn’t been too long, aye?” His pale brown eyes twinkled brightly
in
his grizzled face.
Amie managed to shut her gaping mouth and inclined her head to the carriage door. “I’m riding to my
u
ncle’s in
that
?” There was no doubt this was the mysterious Henry’s doing. It was right up there with his strange letters and her father’s old stories. Insanity must run through the family.
The man laughed and eased back in his seat. “Aye!” he said
.
“
’
Tis
the idea
,
miss. Least those were my orders from the Master. You
are
the Lady Jessamiene of Wenderdowne
,
are you not?” Even his horses stood quietly and inclined their heads towards her then.
Amie blinked dumbly back. “Ah
,
yeah, I guess so, whatever Uncle Henry says,” she laughed. “Never imagined the old codger would give me this dramatic a welcome, though.” Noticing that the old man’s smile had turned a puzzled frown at her odd words
,
she changed the subject. Picking up her bags, she posed, “I’m guessing we have a long ride back?”
Tipping his hat again to her
,
he draped his cape round his shoulders securely and said, “
Aye
,
suppose so
,
miss! But a
Lady
such as you shouldn’t handle so heavy a burden. Eddie! Ye fool lad
,
get round and do your job!”
Amie bit back a grin as the carriage shook slightly and from behind stepped a fancily dressed boy who seemed ten years her junior. A cap constrained the thick ruddy hair
falling
over his brow.
When he lifted his chin, his eyes flittered to meet her bold stare. He bowed his head low, before she could get a better look. Stretching out his gloved hands, the boy only
seemed to relax the moment she proffered her luggage.
“Aye, there’s a good lad,” the driver said. “You’ll have to forgive him
,
miss. Had an accident when he was a wee scant thing he did. Never been the same since.” He smiled good-naturedly. Eddie moved to stand beside the open carriage door, though she hadn’t heard him load anything in the few seconds she checked her saddlebag.
“
Sure
,
thanks
,” she said. She began to step down
from
the platform
,
yet paused when she realized the old driver was still watching her closely and frowned. “Sorry, I didn’t catch your name?”
His surprise was quickly washed away by a toothy grin before he answered, “Slaine Cutterworthy at your humble service, Lady Wenderdowne. And might I say
’
tis indeed an honor to finally meet the Emerald Eyes again.”
“Um
, t
hanks. And the name’s
Wentworth
,
by the way.”
Slaine winked and said, “As you wish
,
Lady Wenderdowne.”
Despite the overall oddness of the situation Amie found herself in, something warmed in her chest at the old man’s words. So what if he had lost all his marbles and got her last name confused with the name of their destination? With this thought in mind Amie shifted her saddlebag over her shoulder and realized the earth was still soggy from the recent rains. Evidence of it was glued to her Converse now. Should she take her shoes off first?
She paused to grin at Eddie
,
who still refused to meet her eye
s,
and blinked stupidly down at the silvery step leading up into the shadowed box of the carriage. All thought of muddy sneakers was furiously wiped away.
Stamp
ed
plainly before her eyes was the same interweaving knot as on the lost key and her father’s ring.
…
Slaine Cutterworthy loved his job. Though with a name like Slaine Cutterworthy she was amazed he was able to enjoy much of anything at all. She could tell he loved his job because he had taken to singing loud songs most of the journey through the hilly North Country. And though his musical talent didn’t exceed more than a handful of G clef notes, Amie soon found she didn’t mind it so much.
The horses were oddly silent and the tread of the carriage wheels soft as dancing on cotton. The journey might have lasted an hour or maybe twenty minutes. Either way she was certain they had passed through some dark tunnel and the land ever since then refused to make geographical sense. Rather than seeing the beginnings of endless heather
-
swept moors, stout trees hugged the road instead. What seemed to be fireflies occasionally danced in and out of the inky blackness of the forest beyond. Amie could have sworn they were trotting faster than this snail’s pace her vision granted. Her cold fingers gripped the dark leather seat, feet
braced against
the fine panel wood
,
and for a moment the carriage tipped to the left before rocking back onto its four wheels in a sudden halt. They were turned so Amie’s window faced the long straight road
,
the strange blinking forest banking either side.
“Hurry along
,
ye mangy waif!” Slaine grumbled.
Amie edged to the other end of her seat, near to the carriage door
,
and reached out for the handle, only to realize there was none on her side. “What kind of—Ah!” She jumped back when Eddie’s face filled the window. While she
got
a handle on her nerves, the carriage door opened and a white hand waited in front of it palm up. Han
d still clutching her scar, right
above the cool metal of her ring, Amie shook her head and murmured, “Like a frigging haunted house…” To Eddie’s downturned face she remarked, “You people ought to check your creeper meter
,
you know.”
He made no move to answer, only released her hand as soon as her shoes met solid ground.
She
could already tell he didn’t like her very much.
Eddie had disappeared around the end of the buggy and was now carrying her luggage into the misty shadows ahead.
“Told ye not to mind the waif,” Slaine offered overhead.
Amie twisted round and found her driver sitting at ease with his reins, a small lantern held up to his face. The fog clouded everything until only his pale eyes and generous grin were visible among his ghostly features. “Never will be right in the head, that one,” he added.
Amie smiled, relieved to find at least one friendly face. “Thanks for the ride
,
Mr. Cutterworthy.”
He bowed low, edge of his top hat sliding forward as he said, “Always a servant of the Wenderdownes.
’
Tis an especial wonder to serve ye.” After a brief pause he gestured with his free hand and called, “Eh! Boy! Get on with you! What have I told ye about dallying in your duty?” Slaine held the lantern forward, edges of the gold halo denting the fog.
When she turned the black mist came suddenly to life, unveiling the scene before them. She stood
at the base of an earthen path
m
e
et
ing
the high stair and open
doors of the largest house she ha
d ever seen. Candles winked alive from many of the high windows. A set of columns
held up the stone arch braced above
the high doorframe and flowered vines clung to everything from tower to parapet.
“Where’s the moat?” she breathed aloud in wonder.
“Oh
,
that old thing?” Slain remarked with a chuckle
.
“Wasn’t much use really after the new order took charge. Master thought of a better way to shun interlopers
,
if ye take my meaning.” With another low chuckle and slap of his reins the wheels creaked as they turned.
Amie couldn’t tear her gaze from the great house. The manor doors were slowly parting to reveal an endless candelabra-lit hall. She twisted her head once more to catch a glimpse of Slaine’s retreating eye. “You’re leaving?” she asked in a small voice.
Slaine threw his head back with a laugh
.
“Oh aye! Don’t expect us to be setting foot in there, carriage and all
,
do ye? Ha! I told you
,
Eddie, lad, didn’t I? She’s sharp as a stick and twice as bendy!” Another snap of the reins and the carriage lantern faded back into the fog. Eddie clung to the back end, watching her with steely eyes. Yet his cap hid his features once more and all Amie caught was what looked like the gleam of flames in darkness.
Facing the light of her path
,
she gasped to find a tall silhouette of a man waiting for her at the head of the worn marble stair. As she took the steps to meet him she couldn’t shake the sudden leap in her pulse, the rush of all she had just done to be standing here, or the odd impression of homecoming rather than the rational fear she should have felt.
At last they stood facing one another.
With his back to the candlelight and his grin gleaming white, he was the opposite of
her preconceived notions. She had expected some white-haired older man. Instead he stood a head and a half taller than she, his frame youthful and defined as he spread his arms wide to welcome her. For a long moment he said nothing, until she wondered if they were at the right place.
“Uncle Henry?” she dared to ask.
“Jessamiene!” the tall man exclaimed.