MARJORIE WAS TRUE TO HER WORD THAT SIGNAโS MOURNING WEAR
would soon be a thing of the past.
The modiste arrived at dawn, dragging a trunk full of fabrics into Signaโs suite.
Signa had gotten hardly a wink of sleep, andโcoupled with the past several days of traveling and the fact sheโd spent the previous night being hauntedโthere was little she wanted more than to curl up in bed for the remainder of the day.
Until she remembered that today marked the start of her lessons.
โCome now, Signa. Only the dead sleep at such an hour.โ Marjorie sighed as she followed behind the modiste. โThe master wonโt have you walking around looking like the grim reaper. Itโs time we add a bit of color into that wardrobe of yours and prepare you for the season.โ
Signa roused like the dead resurrected, limbs heavy and her eyes stinging against the waking sun. It felt like only minutes had passed since sheโd fallen into bed. Only minutes since sheโd had the misfortune of meeting Lillianโs spirit. And yet she summoned all her wakefulness at the promise of new clothing and shu๏ฌed into the sitting room. A pleasant young woman who Marjorie introduced as Elaine, Signaโs new ladyโs maid, took to combing Signaโs dark waves out of her face as the modiste fussed over her
waist with a measuring tape.
The modiste was old, with as many wrinkles as the years sheโd lived carved into her face. Beady brown eyes were covered by round spectacles, though they seemed to be of little help, given how closely the woman bent toward Signa, stooping to read the numbers on the tape.
โYou are too thin, girl,โ the woman tutted. โNothing more than a twig with breasts.โ
Signa turned toward the window, determined not to let them see the shame upon her face. Her sheer nightgown did little to disguise the sharpness of her ribs, and she brushed anxious hands over them. Marjorie glanced at them, as well, those too-sharp bones protruding from her skin. Signa had done what she could, living with Magda, but she was too young to access her inheritance on her own, and the modest allowance Magda had been given from it went straight to the gambling dens. That woman likely would have been happy, should Signa have starved to death. All sheโd cared aboutโall most of her guardians had ever seemed to care aboutโwas how to claim a piece of Signaโs fortune.
โLeave room in the gowns,โ Marjorie told the seamstress, looking away from Signaโs ribs and pretending to busy herself by helping Elaine fix her hair. โSheโll be baby cheeked in no time.โ
The seamstress grunted, satisfied. Once sheโd jotted down Signaโs measurements in a leather pocket notebook, she held swatches of fabrics in a wide array of colors to Signaโs face. They worked before an ornate silver mirror, which Signa used to sneak glances at herself, half expecting to see her reflection begin to move on its own as it had the previous night. There was soil beneath her fingernails still, as well as on the soles of her feet. It was all she could do to feign ignorance when the modiste inspected them with a frown.
Though Signa knew little of the cost to have a wardrobe
made, she could imagine. And it was far more than any guardian had spent on her, ever. Elijah truly must have wanted Signa out of her mourning wear. While Marjorie gasped over muted tones like blush, champagne, and periwinkle, Signaโs eyes strayed to greens dark as the forest and reds deep and rich as blood. Yet she said nothing of her opinions, for what did she know of fashion? If she wanted to fit in with society, surely she should trust Marjorie to make the decisions and settle for the dull tones without complaint.
The modiste left behind a gown upon her departureโa pale yellow day dress, with ribbons of blue and lace of white. Signa wanted to balk at its gaudiness, but she lifted her arms as Elaine helped her into it. If this was the style, it didnโt matter whether she felt it suited her or how comfortable she was.
โThis will have to do for now,โ Marjorie said as Elaine laced the corset. โAt least until your own are made.โ
The kindest word Signa could think of for the dress was hideous. It was also incessantly cheery, given the state of Thorn Grove. She may have looked like a walking banana, yet she minded her tongue and did not complain once it was on, asking only, โAnd when will those dresses be ready?โ
Marjorieโs laugh was polite and demure, a textbook example of how A Ladyโs Guide to Beauty and Etiquette stated it should be. Signa made a mental note to practice mirroring it, later. โThe modiste makes quick work. Now come, itโs time for lessons. The master would have my head if he saw us dawdling.โ
From what sheโd seen of Elijah, Signa very much doubted that. Regardless, she followed Marjorie out of the room and down the hall, trying to ignore the prickling of her skin that came from the feeling of being followed by the eyes of several dozen portraits.
The prickling stopped once theyโd descended to the
lowest level, and Signa was relieved to find that Thorn Grove felt like a new place that morning. Gone were the music and ball gowns that had filled the halls, and the laughter that had lingered close behind. Left in their place was the quiet sweeping of a broom upon marble.
โRemember, no dawdling,โ Marjorie prodded when Signa lingered for too long upon the staircase, studying the odd decor that prevailed throughout the estate. The staircase that looked as though it was carved from a tree. Iron sconces shaped like birdโs nests. And, as Signa kept looking, one also shaped like the head of a fox, and a chandelier with arms that looked like spikes.
Whoever designed this place was an odd soul. A soul, Signa decided, that had been begging for this house to be haunted.
Theyโd certainly gotten their wish.
Signa could still feel the press of exhaustion on her body from the previous nightโs haunting as she followed Marjorie into the parlorโa room as grand as any other in the estate but perhaps better lit with its two bay windows. The walls were a buttery yellow even brighter than Signaโs awful dress, and they were perfect for capturing the light. Feminine touches adorned the room, entirely out of sync with the more masculine second floor. There were elegant whorls carved into the molding, a bright patterned rug, and dainty floral cushions with lacy trim. It was upon those cushions that Percy and Blythe sat, sipping steaming cups of tea.
Blythe looked no better than she had the night prior,
with her sallow skin and sunken frame, but there was a sharpness in her eyes. A will to sit upon the couch and sip her tea and not be stuck alone in her room, even though her hands trembled every time she lifted the cup to her lips.
โMy dear sister said she awoke feeling rejuvenated,โ Percy said the moment Marjorieโs surprised eyes rested
upon the girl. โI thought some fresh air and company might do her well.โ
Marjorieโs mouth formed a tight line. Rather than argue, though, Marjorie turned and opened the windows, letting in the fresh breeze. โVery well, then. Perhaps youโre right.โ
Signa stood straighter in the presence of her cousins. One day at Thorn Grove, and already she felt like sheโd made such a horrid first impression on them both. She wanted to prove herself to them, though was struggling to do so between her heavy eyelids and the urge to yawn.
Stubborn, awful old spirits. She didnโt want to think about Lillian, or the dead, or anything other than her lessons and the new family she was now living with. She wanted to study, to impress them, and to prove her readiness to debut into the next phase of her life. One where she hoped to have far more connections with the living, and far fewer with the dead.
Batting her hair behind her shoulders, she refocused herself and smiled at her cousins. โIโm glad to see youโre both well this morning.โ
โYou as well,โ Percy said while Blythe set her teacup upon its saucer and balanced it on her lap.
โHave you had a governess before, Miss Farrow?โ Marjorie asked as she took a seat upon a tiny round pouf in front of Signa.
โGiven her manners, I would assume not,โ Blythe muttered under her breath, taking another sip when Marjorie flashed her a look.
โAre you claiming that yours are any better?โ asked the governess.
Blythe scrunched up her face as Signa felt a rush of shame, hot and searing. Sheโd be damned, though, if she let Blythe see that her words had struck. โIโve had a governess in the past,โ Signa told them. โโฆ On and off.โ
Whatever Marjorie thought of that answer, she didnโt betray it. โWhat about lessons?โ
Rather than admit how much time had passed since sheโd had a proper lesson, Signa said, โI can read, and I know my lettering. Arithmetic, too.โ Only the basics, given that no one had ever stayed around long enough to teach her more than that.
Marjorieโs lips curled into a smile that one could envy. โAnd what about music?โ
Not wanting to give her cousins any additional fuel to taunt her with by admitting sheโd rarely played, Signa said, โI suppose Iโm a wonderful listener.โ
Blythe coughed into her drink while Percy nudged her with his elbow, hushing her between his own snickering.
Marjorie ignored both Hawthornes. โDuly noted. Why donโt we begin there, then? With sight-reading and lessons on the piano.โ
Frustrating as it was, Signa had been taunted enough throughout her life to ignore her cousins. She nodded and instead let herself imagine sitting in the manor she would one day own, seated at the bench of a pianoforte, playing with a perfect grace. Her daydream was short-lived, however, as a wave of coolness jolted over Signaโs spine.
โMiss Farrow?โ Marjorieโs voice was distant.
Signa could not see Lillian, but the faint sound of crying fought to steal her attention.
No spirits, Signa told herself, pretending she didnโt hear it. Think of your future. Of the work you must put into debuting. Normal people do not speak to the dead, Signa.
Yet she couldnโt stop listening. It seemed the others heard the sound, too, for Blythe had gone deathly still. The porcelain cup slipped from her hands and dropped onto her lap, hot tea staining her dress. Percy sat up with a jolt, as did Marjorie.
โHeavens, Miss Hawthorne!โ The governess motioned for Percy. โHelp your sister back to her room and fetch Elaine. Blythe will need to change into a new dress. And while youโre at it, find a better use of your time, too, Percy.
You both are far too distracting.โ
Marjorie waited for Percy to help his sisterโwhose eyes were still dazed and anxiousโout of the room before she turned to Signa. โNow then, never mind all that, and pay no mind to the sound. Itโs merely the wind.โ She took Signa by the hand and led her to the sleek black bench of a beautiful grand piano that likely cost as much as Aunt Magdaโs entire house, if not more. There wasnโt so much as a trace of dust on it. โItโs always louder this time of year. Sounds like the devil himself is stomping about outside.โ
Signa knew full well that the wind had nothing to do with the sound, though she had no choice but to nod. She sat, fighting the urge to make herself small in her seat as Marjorie straightened her back and lengthened her neck, placing Signaโs hands at the starting position upon the keys.
โNow,โ Marjorie said, โletโs begin by practicing your scales.โ Signaโs bones protested holding such a stiff posture, already aching. But if this was what it took to bring her vision to life and secure her place in society, she would do it. Signa pressed down upon the first key and had to swallow a grimace when her finger came away wet. Every inch of her stiffened, muscles coiling tight, for there was nothing on the piano. Yet when she lifted her finger, she saw mud caked upon it, and tiny worms sprouting from between the keys.
โYour scales, Signa,โ Marjorie urged without any acknowledgment that she could see what was happening beneath her pupilโs fingertips. She didnโt see that Signaโs feet were sinking in dirt that wasnโt there or that her fingers became a perch for the worms to curl themselves around.
Lillianโs message was clear as the dayโSigna needed to hurry and find the garden, or this spirit would never rest.
But until then, Signa steeled herself and pressed down upon the muddied keys. She refused to stop playing.
