The Splendour Falls

  Rhys cleared his throat and stepped back. ‘I hope you enjoyed meeting everyone last night.’

  Honesty or tact? Which way to go? I settled on ambiguous. ‘It wasn’t the worst part of my day.’ The rueful curve of his mouth said he got what I meant, and I fought the pull of an answering smile. ‘I, um, noticed you disappeared.’

  His smile broadened, as if my statement had been telling. Which I guess it was. ‘I was typing up some notes for my father.’

  ‘Not into pizza with the gang?’

  A shrug, and we were back to studied neutrality.

  ‘I’m a stranger here.’

  The balcony caught a breeze from the river, and I brushed a strand of hair from my face. ‘So am I.’

  His brows arched, the way they had when I’d tried to pretend I didn’t have Gigi down the front of my sweatshirt. ‘Yes, but you are a Davis.’

  I pursed my lips in frustration. ‘Everyone keeps saying that like it means something.’

  ‘Maybe it does,’ he said, ratcheting up my irritation with his enigmatic tone.

  It occurred to me that maybe I should find out what it did mean. But first I had to get Gigi downstairs. I couldn’t do anything until she’d had her morning pee.

  As if reading my thoughts – which would add a whole new level of weirdness I couldn’t deal with – Rhys jerked his head towards the corner. ‘Come on, then. I’ll show you the secret way down.’

  He led me to the end of the balcony, where a thick growth of vines hid a spiral iron staircase; I certainly hadn’t noticed it in the dark. The stairs had a fine patina of rust, but when Rhys stepped onto them, they seemed sturdy. Still, I hesitated, one hand on the curved railing.

  Rhys noticed my uncertainty and paused a few steps below me. ‘It’s perfectly safe. If it will hold me, it will certainly hold you.’

  ‘Is that another crack about my being skinny?’

  ‘It’s an observation of physics,’ he said evenly, and offered a hand. ‘Give me the dog if you’re worried.’

  ‘She’s fine.’ I, however, was not. I had been down many spiral staircases, but not since I’d broken my leg. The thing about hitting the ground in agonizing pain with your bone jutting out is that it takes a long time to get over the fear it might happen again. If you ever do get over it. I was still waiting.

  The twist of the spiral meant stepping on the narrow part of the wedge-shaped stair with my right leg. The traitorous one. It had been incarcerated with rods and splints and casts for months, and after only a few weeks of freedom, it hadn’t had time to prove its loyalty.

  Gigi, riding like a joey in a pouch, tilted her head as if to ask what the holdup was. I guess dogs had no concept of paralysing fears. Not my dog, anyway.

  I stood there so long, Rhys started back up the stairs. ‘That’s all right, then. We’ll go the normal way.’

  ‘No.’ I’d had it with my disobedient psyche. It was just a set of stairs, for God’s sake. ‘I’m going to do this.’

  The solution was one of brains over bravery – I simply turned and went backwards. That put my right leg on the broad end of the tread and, more important, I didn’t have to look down.

  Midway to safety, Gigi realized we were headed for the grass and started wiggling. I had to give up one handhold to quiet her. Before I could waver, I felt Rhys’s hand on my waist, resting there in reassurance. The light yet firm pressure was perfect – no push, no pull, just gentle support to back up his words. ‘I’ve got you.’

  Then my feet were on the ground, and I freed Gigi from my jacket and set her on the grass. She ran in frantic, joyful circles around the back garden, flinging up dew with abandon. Even Rhys laughed at her antics, though he shook his head. ‘Ridiculous.’

  ‘I know. She grows on you, though.’

  ‘She does, at that.’

  I didn’t glance his way, because the part of me that inexplicably liked this mystery guy – when he wasn’t calling me vicious or princess or other inaccurate names – wanted to simply enjoy the moment, feeling like a normal girl, standing beside a boy and wondering if he was enjoying standing next to me. It was an uncomplicated moment in my very complicated life.

  ‘You’d best get in to breakfast,’ he said, which settled the enjoying-my-company question.

  ‘Aren’t you going to eat?’ I made my tone equally neutral, to hide how much the answer mattered.

  Rhys looked at me with a teasing smile, even as he started walking backwards down the flagstone path. ‘I’ve already eaten, princess. I’m off to start my day.’

  ‘Oh.’ I gave him a closer look, getting past the effect he had on me to the actual clothes he was wearing. The khakis were sturdy, his shoes made for hiking. Well worn, too. ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘To work. Strange as that concept might seem.’ The cheekiness of that addition made me wonder if all the ‘princess’ business might be a diversion. When I got defensive, I failed to follow up on unanswered questions. I inhaled to ask – OK, demand – clarification, but Rhys pointed to the hedged garden and said, ‘Your designer dog is mucking about in the shrubbery.’

  My head snapped to look. Gigi was indeed making a beeline for the overgrown garden we’d passed through the night before. Effectively distracted, I hurried after her through the gap in the hedge.

  The low-lying jungle of untamed foliage looked as big a mess in the daylight as it had in the dark. Knot gardens should have formal structure, with paths and planting beds that made intricate geometric shapes, like Celtic knots. But here, grass and weeds obscured the pattern of the gravel and stone paths, and the beds were a jumble of weed-choked herbs.

  One path, though, was still fairly clear, delineating the central feature of the garden: the circular flower bed, which was so overgrown I couldn’t make out any remnant of an internal pattern. It surrounded the shapeless column of greenery that Gigi and I had noticed on our walk. That was where I found my stubborn dog, bounding into the tangle, barking her breathy little bark.

  I grabbed for her, but I would have been too slow even with two good legs. ‘Darn it, Gigi!’

  Wading into the scraggly, knee-high foliage, I tried not to think about snakes, tried not to picture myself getting tangled up and falling, breaking something new. My steps released the sweet, green aroma of the herbs, and the smell clung to Gigi as I scooped her up. She was soaked with dew, and now so was I.

  ‘Nice job, you stupid dog,’ I grumbled, wiping at the flecks of leaves clinging to the front of my hoodie. But it was impossible to stay mad at Gigi when she gave a little ‘Ruff!’ and grinned, her tongue curled in happiness. I guess for a city dog all this green was a paradise she’d only dreamed of.

  I put my hand on the central topiary for balance as I turned, and was surprised when my fingers slid through the foliage and touched a hard, rough surface. The column wasn’t a shaped hedge but a stone, almost as tall as me, and covered in thick vines. They were tenacious when I tried to pull them aside, and all I could glimpse through them was dark rock. It didn’t seem to be a statue, but just a stone, stood on one end.

  Maybe it would make more sense if the garden were in its intended shape. Or maybe there was a piece missing. It was an odd thing to be stuck there, all by itself.

  ‘Sylvie Davis, what are you doing?’

  I jumped, and Gigi yelped as I clutched her too tightly. Peering around the vine-covered stone, I found Paula frowning at me from the side veranda. Only her head and shoulders were visible over the hedges that enclosed the knot garden, but I just knew her hands were on her hips.

  ‘Walking the dog,’ I said, trying to sound as normal as possible.

  ‘In the bushes?’

  ‘She sort of got away from me.’ I felt stupid standing in the wet weeds, but brazened it out. ‘I wanted to get a look at the garden, since I couldn’t see much in the dark last night.’

  ‘Well, you don’t have to do it right this minute. Come in and get some breakfast.’

  She went into the house, shaking her
head, and I let out my breath. She didn’t seem more exasperated than usual, so hopefully I hadn’t raised some red flag for abnormal behaviour. God knew what the stepshrink had told her to watch out for. I didn’t want to think about last night, about how scared I was that I was losing my grip on reality. It was bad enough that I was worried I might be going crazy. If Paula suspected something was up with me, things could get miserable. More miserable, I mean. Which was saying something.

  I returned through the back yard and carefully climbed the stairs to the screened porch, then tucked Gigi into her crate with a bowl of kibble and fresh water from her bottle. When I went into the kitchen, Paula and Addie sat at the big table, my cousin already engrossed in a newspaper, and my nemesis glaring at me over a glass of orange juice. Clara turned from the stove, frying pan in hand, as I came in.

  ‘Lord, girl! Don’t tell me you were out there in your bare feet. How did you get down without my seeing you?’

  I took the same seat I had last night, and fudged a bit. ‘I went out the side door in the den and came round to let Gigi out.’ Though I was sure the spiral stairs weren’t really a secret, I figured I’d keep my knowledge of them on the q.t. for now.

  Addie, dressed for school, a large backpack beside her chair, gave my sweats a sneer. ‘Nice of you to join us downstairs.’

  ‘I smelled breakfast.’ I smelled bait, too, in her words and tone, and refused to rise to it. Instead, I ignored her and turned to Paula. ‘What’s the deal with the rock in the garden?’

  ‘That’s what gives Bluestone Hill its name,’ she said, her drawl warming the way it did whenever she talked about the house. ‘Though you wouldn’t know it, these gardens used to be famous. Your dad came by his green thumb naturally.’

  ‘They seem pretty unique,’ I agreed politely, leaving unspoken my doubt that the old-school Davises had done their own gardening. I was more interested in the idea that Bluestone Hill had sparked Dad’s interest in landscape architecture.

  Clara put a plate of bacon and eggs in front of Addie and a glass of orange juice in front of me. ‘How do you want your eggs?’ she asked.

  I usually just had yogurt or fruit in the morning, but I took the path of least resistance. ‘Scrambled.’

  Satisfied with my compliance, she returned to the stove and cracked a couple of eggs into a bowl. ‘Where are the Griffiths?’ I asked, fishing for information by pretending I hadn’t already seen Rhys. When Clara glanced at me, brows arched, I added hastily, ‘I was looking forward to meeting the professor.’

  ‘Uh-huh,’ said Clara in a knowing tone.

  Paula, however, apparently read no special interest in my question. ‘Places to go, people to see,’ she said. ‘I think the professor mentioned going down to Mobile, and Rhys went to put on his hiking boots. You must have just missed him on the stairs.’

  Addie speared her eggs with her fork. ‘Not everyone can lie around in their pyjamas all day.’

  I made up my mind to keep ignoring her, since that seemed to annoy her the most, and asked Paula, ‘Where did Rhys go in his hiking boots?’

  ‘Duh,’ said Addie, ignoring my ignoring her. ‘Hiking.’

  Clara answered more politely as she deftly scrambled my eggs. ‘He goes out at the crack of dawn sometimes. I guess he’s a morning person. How many pieces of bacon?’

  I had to redirect my thoughts at that last question. ‘None, thank you.’

  Skillet in hand, she turned to glare a warning. ‘If this is about calories …’

  ‘No,’ I assured her. ‘I just don’t eat meat.’

  Clara stared as if I’d said I’d rather have dead baby for breakfast. Addie narrowed her eyes. But most worrisome was the way Paula slowly lowered the newspaper.

  Oh boy. I had a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, one that had nothing to do with the menu. ‘I’m guessing my mother didn’t tell you I’m a vegetarian?’

  ‘You mean,’ said Clara, looking distraught, ‘you don’t eat meat at all?’

  ‘I eat cheese,’ I said, trying to help her out. ‘And eggs, as long as they’re not fried. I don’t eat fried food.’

  She set the pan on the burner and turned off the flame. ‘Girl, no wonder you’re so skinny. What do you eat?’

  Paula had pressed her lips tight together, as if she was annoyed but trying to be polite. Addie didn’t even try. ‘Come on. You don’t expect my mother to change her whole menu because you’re a picky eater.’

  ‘Adina!’ said Clara. ‘Be nice.’

  ‘It’s not as if she has allergies, right?’

  My cheeks burned with embarrassment. On the one hand, sooner or later, someone at their future inn was going to have dietary restrictions even more rigid than mine. But on the other hand, he or she would be a paying guest, not a relation foisted on them because she had nowhere else to go.

  ‘Just cook what you normally do,’ I said, miserable, ‘and I’ll eat what I can. I’ll be fine.’

  Paula stood up, folding the newspaper. ‘Well, honey, you have to eat,’ she said, in the same tone in which she had told me that Gigi couldn’t sleep in my room. ‘We’ll work it out. Clara can tempt just about anyone with her cooking.’

  I debated how to take that. Because in Paulaspeak, I’d noticed ‘we’ll work it out’ usually meant ‘we’ll do what I think is best.’ Before I could decide whether it was worth getting angry about, heavy footsteps on the back porch heralded an arrival. Grateful for the distraction, I turned to see Shawn, the leader of the Teen Town Council.

  He came in without knocking, charging the air with his presence. ‘Heya, Miss Paula, Miss Clara,’ he said, and greeted everyone with a casual wave. His smiling gaze rested on me just a little longer than on the others, the warm glow of his attention chasing away my lingering tension.

  Paula paused on her way to her room, smiling indulgently back at him, like a teacher at a favourite pupil. ‘Good morning, Shawn. Is this your last day of school?’

  ‘One more half-day tomorrow.’

  Addie sulked over her eggs. ‘I still have finals next week.’

  ‘But then you’ll be a senior,’ said Clara, in a cajoling voice. ‘And you’ll rule the campus like Shawn does now.’

  The roll of Addie’s eyes closed that conversation. Shawn chuckled and pulled out the chair beside mine, straddling it as he sat down, and folding his arms over the back. ‘Hey, Sylvie. You disappeared before I could say goodnight yesterday.’

  ‘So I’ll say good morning, instead.’ The words were almost flirtatious, but I kept my tone reserved, setting my figurative heels against the pull of his charm. It was nice, though, after Addie’s glares and Paula’s frowns, to have someone smile at me.

  ‘How was your first night in Alabama? Did you sleep OK?’

  ‘Eventually.’ I didn’t mention I’d spent most of it on the porch, worried I was going bonkers. ‘The quiet takes some getting used to.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Addie. ‘No police sirens.’

  ‘Just your cat.’ I fiddled with my fork. ‘You might want to think about getting her fixed. Her wailing gave me the weirdest dreams.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ Addie had a potent are-you-an-idiot stare. I’ll bet she practised it a lot.

  Clara looked at me oddly as she set down my plate. ‘We don’t have a cat.’

  ‘Oh.’ I reached for my orange juice, trying to keep my expression unconcerned. Just because they didn’t have a cat didn’t mean there couldn’t be some feral feline out in the woods. Or some other reasonable explanation besides the possibility I was now hearing things as well as seeing them. ‘It must have been the wind.’

  ‘Maybe it was one of the ghosts,’ said Shawn, as he reached across the table for a piece of Addie’s bacon.

  I inhaled sharply, and choked on my juice. Shawn patted me helpfully on the back, looking smug that he’d gotten such a big reaction.

  Clara picked up Paula’s newspaper with an impatient rustle. ‘Shawn Maddox, don’t you start that.’


  ‘Aw, come on, Miss Clara.’ His voice took on a geewhiz sort of tone, a little too much to be believed. ‘Everyone talks about the ghosts of Bluestone Hill.’

  ‘The what?’ I wheezed.

  ‘ “Everyone” doesn’t have to live here,’ Clara chided, hitting his shoulder with the folded paper. ‘Don’t scare poor Sylvie.’

  ‘I’m not scared.’ The thinness of my voice didn’t sound very convincing, even to me, so I tried again, speaking sternly to the overactive imagination that kept showing me slide shows of the past. ‘There’s no such thing as ghosts.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Shawn waggled his eyebrows. ‘There are a lot of things in the world that people can’t explain.’

  Clara clicked her tongue, disapproving. ‘You know Paula doesn’t like that superstitious talk.’

  ‘She ought to capitalize on it.’ Shawn’s eyes lit up with enthusiasm and infectious good humour, thawing some of the chill that his suggestion had put around my heart. ‘A historic place like this, a ghost might draw tourists. Look at all those ghost-hunter shows on TV. Maybe one would come and do an episode about the Hill.’

  Clara rolled her eyes. ‘Lord. That would rouse the Colonel, and that’s a fact.’

  ‘Who is the Colonel?’ I asked. Paula had made a similar crack last night, something about the Colonel rolling in his grave.

  ‘Colonel Davis,’ said Shawn, relishing my curiosity, like a storyteller with a new audience. ‘That’s who supposedly haunts the house.’

  ‘That’s enough of that,’ Clara said with finality. ‘You don’t believe that nonsense and neither do I. Now get off to school.’

  Her practical, maternal tone set the morning back on a normal course and returned me to my metaphorical feet. Of course ghosts were nonsense. Of course this place was spurring my imagination. That didn’t have to mean that I was losing my ability to tell fantasy from reality.

  Addie downed the rest of her juice, rose from her chair and grabbed her backpack, all in the same motion. ‘Let’s get going, Shawn. I have a review quiz first period.’