Page 29 of Marrying Bluebeard

As soon as she leaves, I scrounge up paper and ink from the desk and set to writing a missive to send home. It proves more difficult than expected, as every word I pen comes off flippant and ungrateful, when all I really wish to convey is that I’m happy with my choice and hope they’ll accept it in time. In Bertrand’s absence, I’ve begun to feel the first twinges of homesickness. My brothers were obnoxious boars half the time, but Marguerite was my closest (living) friend.

I miss her.

I settle on a few brief sentences letting them know where I am and not to worry, promising myself that I’ll go into more detail in the next letter. Folding the stationary, I tuck it into a small envelope made of matching parchment before sliding the entire thing into a second one of sturdy, ivory stock and sealing it with a bit of red wax. I grab a straw hat from one of the boxes stacked inside the armoire and tuck the letter inside one of the deep pockets sewn into my dress—a feature that led me to choosing the frock in the first place. Good pockets are hard to come by in ladies’ fashion.

Now, to figure out where they leave the post.

I should have asked Louise. I peek into the hallway, looking up and down for any sign of life. Or, more specifically, afterlife. The ghostly moans ceased upon the storm’s conclusion, and it’s been quiet all morning. Still, I’d rather not run into any surprise specters.

Let’s see… we came in from the right, I believe. I attempt to retrace Bertrand’s steps as he carried me up to the room that first night, but it doesn’t take more than a few turns for me to feel lost. It doesn’t help that everything looks the same—stone walls void of decoration, floors bare of even the smallest scrap of rug. Truly, the only things that change from one hallway to the next are the shape and placement of the many, many cobwebs that cling to each and every corner and ledge. I’m guessing this place doesn’t have a housekeeper, I muse, running a finger along one of the windowsills and leaving a trail in the heavy layer of dust. Or at least, not a very good one.

Now that I think of it, I haven’t seen much in the way of staff at all. There’s Louise, of course, who seems to be responsible for the upkeep of the master suite. And Ricard, Bertrand’s valet, although I’ve yet to see him attend my husband in any of the traditional valet roles. Instead, he seems to be more of an all-around errand boy whose main task is giving me the creeps. I picture his beady eyes stealing glances at me and shiver.

There’s the driver, Griffon. I wonder if he lives here at the castle or back on the mainland. There’s certainly room enough for him to stay on site. And there must be a cook, I reason. No working castle could get by without one of those, and someone’s been sending delicious meals up to the room. Them and Edgar, the butler, make five. I frown. There must be more than that. This place is far too big for such a small staff. You just haven’t met them since you’ve been squirreled away in your room.

I vow to keep my eyes peeled for new faces.

A staircase brings me down to the main foyer, and I silently cheer as I see a tailcoat whisking out of sight. Hurrying after it, I call, “Edgar! A moment please.”

The butler limps back into the room, his wrinkled hand gripping the head of his cane. “Madame de Montragoux. I was beginning to think I’d imagined your arrival.”

There’s accusation in his voice, and my face warms beneath his steely gaze. You’re the lady of the house, Adelaide. You don’t need to explain yourself. Still, the words come tumbling out. “Monsieur de Montragoux and I have been enjoying a stay-at-home honeymoon. I’m sure you can understand.”

The way his lips twist at my words suggests he very much does not. “You’re here now, anyway. Come, I’ll take you up to the tower.” He gestures for me to follow him, but I hesitate, thinking of Bertrand’s postscript.

“The tower? Whatever for?”

He frowns, clearly annoyed by the fact that I’m not blindly following his lead. “It’s customary.”

“Customary to enter a tower?” I drawl, infusing my voice with every ounce of dubious confusion I feel.

“Yes,” he replies emphatically. “Now, come along.”

By no means are you to go into the North Tower. “Which tower do you mean?” I ask, inching toward the door. “There are so many rooms here, I don’t know how I’ll keep track of them all.”

“It doesn’t matter which tower,” Edgar snaps. “Just do as you’re told.”

I stiffen. If I can turn my nose up at my own brother’s commands, there’s no bloody way I’m going to cower before a butler I barely know. Besides, he looks frail enough that a stiff wind could knock him over at any moment. I needn’t fear him overpowering me. “I mean to get some fresh air this morning,” I sniff. “I’m sure this… tower… can wait until Bertrand returns and we can go up together.”

I turn on my heel and stride out the front door, leaving him sputtering in my wake.

The ground is soft and damp from the prolonged rain, and I’m doubly grateful for my leather boots as I maneuver my way around the castle’s perimeter. It sits atop a hill, allowing for a panoramic view of the ocean and the strip of beach connecting it to the mainland. Thin trenches and hoof prints mark the path of the wagon that delivered our trunks. I wonder if Bertrand had to take the boat to shore this morning or if the tide had already cleared?

I stare at the mainland’s cliffs a moment longer, hoping to spy his return. I can’t put my finger on why, but something about this place makes me uneasy. I didn’t notice it when we were ensconced in our room, but now that I’m alone…

Awareness pricks at the back of my neck, and I turn, shielding my eyes against the sun as I search the castle windows. I could have sworn someone was watching me just now. Nothing but empty panes. I shake my head as I resume my trek over the mossy grass. A life filled with seeing ghosts has made me paranoid.

I make it all the way to the rear of the castle when a wall rises in front of me. It’s broken by a single archway where an iron gate bars entrance to what appears to be a terribly neglected garden. Dead vines cling to the stone walls and the flower beds are overrun with bushy green weeds. I give the gate a tug and it swings open with a rusty creak.

I’m guessing Bertrand doesn’t employ a gardener.

It must have been an age since someone last tended this place, and I try to imagine how it’d look with a little love and proper care. I sit on the edge of the fountain, wrinkling my nose at the smell wafting up from the stagnant water. It’s thick with rotting leaf litter and coated with a slimy green substance, but the marble structure itself is beautiful. This entire garden could be beautiful. My lips curve into a smile. I could make this place beautiful.

I sit up straighter, looking over the tangled beds with renewed interest. Well, why not? I’ve never grown anything before, but I’m sure I could figure out the basics. Such as clearing out these weeds. And there’s bound to be a library in a castle this size. Perhaps it has a book on gardening.

A soft mew interrupts my planning, and my heart explodes with relief as a wispy white feline appears at my feet, rubbing her head against my shins. “Whisper!” I scoop the cat into my arms and press my face into her fur. “You came back.” My voice cracks, the loneliness I’d been refusing to acknowledge crashing over me in a wave of emotion. “You came back.”

I move my face away, drinking in her familiar features. “Where have you been? I was worried I’d lost you for good.” She mews, flicking her tail. “You missed my wedding, you know.” A soft purr as I scratch between her ears. “Well, wedding might be stretching it a bit. It was more of a simple ceremony. Still, it would have been nice to have you there with me.” She rolls onto her back, and I dutifully switch to rubbing her belly. “I’ve missed you,” I add in a whisper. Her gaze meets mine, and I can see my words reflected in her eyes.