House of Salt and Sorrows - Erin A. Craig Page 0,7
a lovely funeral,” Hanna said now, twirling her spoon and bringing me back to the present. “So many young men. So many tears. I’m sure Eulalie must be pleased.”
I took a shallow sip, letting the spices linger on my tongue before agreeing.
“You’ve been awfully quiet tonight,” she prompted after the silence grew too long.
“I just keep thinking how strange this day felt. How strange everything has been since they…found her.” My mouth tripped over the words, as if the idea behind them was too unwieldy a shape to break into neat sentences. “Something feels wrong about her death, doesn’t it?”
Hanna was watching me. “It always feels wrong when a young person dies, especially someone like Eulalie, so full of beauty and promise.”
“But it’s more than that. I could understand why the others died. Each death was horrible and sad, but there was a reason for it. But Eulalie…what was she even doing out there? Alone and in the dark?”
“You and I both know she wasn’t meant to be alone for long.”
I remembered all those tearstained faces. “But why would she meet someone there? She didn’t even like going to the cliffs in broad daylight. The heights scared her. It doesn’t make any sense to me.”
Hanna clicked her tongue, setting aside her cup before pulling me into a hug. I caught just a trace of her soap then—milk and honey. Hanna was far too practical for perfumes or bath oils, but the warm, no-nonsense scent comforted me. I breathed it in as my head rested against her shoulder.
It was softer now, more giving, and the skin that peeked over the neckline of her shirtwaist was lined and crepe-thin. She’d been the nursemaid at Highmoor since Ava was born, always there to help patch skinned knees and soothe bruised egos. Her own son, Fisher, was three years older than me and grew up alongside us. Hanna laced us into our first corsets and helped pin up our hair, drying tears as the untrained curls refused to cooperate. There wasn’t any part of our childhood she missed, always nearby for a warm hug or a good-night kiss.
“Did you turn down the bed for her that night?” I asked, sitting up. Hanna would have been one of the last people to see Eulalie. “Did anything seem off?”
She shook her head. “Not that I recall. But I wasn’t with her long. Mercy had a stomachache. She came in asking for peppermint tea.”
“What about…after? You helped with…her body, didn’t you?”
“Of course. I’ve taken care of all your sisters. And your mother.”
“How did she look?”
Hanna swallowed deeply and made a sign of protection across her chest. “Such things shouldn’t be spoken of.”
I frowned. “I know she must have…it must have been terrible, but was there anything…amiss?”
Her eyes narrowed skeptically. “She plummeted more than a hundred feet, landing on the rocks. There was quite a bit amiss.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, deflating. I longed to ask her if anyone else helped prepare the body for its return to the Salt, but Hanna was done talking about it.
“You’re tired, love,” she said. “Why don’t you settle into bed and see how you feel in the morning?” She kissed the top of my head before leaving. The door clicked quietly shut behind her.
After checking that Verity had truly gone back to sleep, I crossed to the window, drawn by a strange restlessness. My bedroom overlooked the gardens on the south side of the house, three stories below. A wide fountain, showcasing a marble clipper ship, was at the center of the lawn, just off a decorative hedge maze.
Verity rolled over, murmuring sleepy incoherences. I’d drawn half the heavy drapes when a flicker of light caught my attention. Though the rain had ended, the sky was choked with dark clouds, obscuring the stars.
It was a lantern, flickering in and out of sculpted topiaries—sets of breaching humpback whales. As the light broke free from the trees, I spotted two figures. The smaller carried the lantern, setting it to the side before sitting on the fountain’s rounded lip. The candlelight caught the white streak in Papa’s hair.
What was he doing out in the gardens so late on the night of Eulalie’s funeral? He’d sent us all to bed early, saying we ought to use this time for solemn prayers to Pontus, asking for the sea god to grant our sister eternal rest in the Brine.
The hood of the other figure’s cloak fell back, revealing a headful of blond ringlets. Morella. She