same dark hair had joined the servants above. “Alec. I cannot… I simply cannot…” The sentence trailed off as if she couldn’t even define what she was not able to do. She walked slowly down the stairs. She had the upright posture of a grand dame.
Sir Alexander sighed, and Charlotte turned to examine him. His lean face showed impatience, perplexity, resignation—but none of the cold anger Charlotte had expected. The girl—Lizzy, apparently, arms overflowing with cat—turned to her. “Hello,” she said brightly.
“Frances, Lizzy, this is Mrs. Wylde,” Sir Alexander said. “I told…”
“You are not to call me that!” It burst out, unthinking, and caused a startled pause. Charlotte flushed with embarrassment. Yet she couldn’t bear to hear that name over and over again. “My name is Charlotte.”
“Shall I call you Aunt Charlotte?” said the girl, and giggled. “You don’t look at all like an aunt, I must say.”
She didn’t sound mocking, just amused. But the really interesting thing was her brother. Charlotte kept waiting for the sarcastic scold, the threats of punishment. Instead, when the manservant had said the cat was possessed, she had almost thought his lips twitched. But that couldn’t be.
“This is my incorrigible sister Elizabeth,” he continued.
“Lizzy,” the girl interjected.
“And our cousin, Frances Cole.”
“Such a way to greet a visitor,” the older woman murmured. She pressed a handkerchief to her lips.
“Welcome to the Wylde household.”
Now he sounded… not sarcastic exactly, but exceedingly dry. Charlotte felt as if she’d taken a step in the dark and found the floor several inches lower than anticipated. “Thank you, Sir Alexander,” was all she could find to say.
“Oh, you can’t call him that,” said Lizzy. “It sounds so odd. Come upstairs. I’ll show you your room, and you must meet Anne.” She peeked around Charlotte. “Who are you?”
“Lucy, miss.” She bobbed a curtsy.
“Hello, Lucy. I’ll introduce you to my maid, Susan. You’ll like her.” She turned and started up the stairs. When Charlotte and Lucy hesitated, she repeated, “Come on then.”
Charlotte couldn’t quite believe that no one would object, but no one did. She walked upstairs at Lizzy’s side, Lucy trailing behind them. The cat gave a soft hiss. “Please don’t be offended,” the girl said. “She does that with everyone. She’s still getting accustomed to the house, you see.” On the landing, the servants backed as far away from the cat as they could.
“Accustomed to…?” Charlotte thought the cat was rather getting the house accustomed to her. Or perhaps subjugated was the better word.
“She’s just come. I found her outside the garden gate. Frances says she has the manners of a street urchin.” Lizzy grinned, and Charlotte found herself grinning back. They started up a second flight of stairs.
“I had a cat when I was small,” Charlotte offered. “He slept by the fire and sat on my lap.”
“Callie is a more independent sort.”
“I can see that.”
“I know she is untrained. She just needs a little more time. Here is Anne’s room.” Reaching around the cat, Lizzy opened a door. “Anne, here is Aunt Charlotte!” she announced, and giggled.
She led the way into a pretty bedchamber, hung with floral chintz and warm from a large fire. The soft colors made Charlotte think of her old home. A girl who seemed a few years younger than Charlotte lay in the big four-poster. Her wheaten hair and green eyes made her kinship to Sir Alexander obvious. Her skin was far paler, however, and the form under the coverlet looked very thin. “Hello.” She coughed on the word, and kept coughing.
“Anne has been ill, but she is much better now,” said Lizzy, as if it had to be true.
“Yes, I am,” declared Anne, and gasped. Her midsection quivered as she struggled to control the coughing.
Charlotte knew it wasn’t true. She’d heard that sort of cough most winters through her childhood.
“I see you’ve met Callie,” Anne added. “What did she do now, Lizzy? I heard shouting.”
“She chewed up one of Alec’s neckcloths. Ames was so angry, he said she is possessed by the devil.” She smiled, revealing a fetching set of dimples.
“Oh, Lizzy.” Her tone was rather like Sir Alexander’s. It mystified Charlotte, who had no brothers or sisters. They didn’t seem to excuse Lizzy; they weren’t precisely angry. Was it worry?
“It is only a neckcloth, and Ames is always so stiff and proper.”
“That does not excuse Callie. You promised to keep her up here…”
“And so I shall, if people will not leave the doors open everywhere.” Lizzy turned away from her sister’s skeptical gaze.