Forever Yours, Genevieve (Day 2 of 3)

Dear Diary, 

I… think we may have made a mistake in using the talking board. Perhaps I am too sensitive for such games, but I swear that I saw something moving out of the corner of my eye several times to-day! 

I told Victor and he laughed at my cowardice. But the mood in the house is strange. No matter how many candles I light, my room is dark. And there is a chill in the air that is no product of nature. 

My Victor says it could be my imagination. I hope it is.

Yours,

Genevieve

The next morning Genevieve awoke still feeling fatigued, due to the lack of sleep. As she rose from her bed, she noted that the time on the clock was surprisingly late- why had no one come to wake her? 

She dressed herself quickly. Well, mostly. Mrs. Levitt hadn’t come lace her up. 

Genevieve poked her head out into the hallway and called for her. 

“Mrs. Levitt? Are you busy?”

It felt like an eternity, but Mrs. Levitt eventually emerged from one of the other rooms. 

“Ah, Miss. You’re awake. Shall I help you with your dressing?”

Genevieve blushed, and nodded slightly. “Yes, thank you. If you would be so kind.”

Mrs. Levitt made quick work of the laces in the back and checked the other minute details of Genevieve’s clothing. 

“Right you are, ready to see and be seen.” Mrs. Levitt said warmly. “Looking lovely for Sir Goodwin.”

Oh, yes! He had stayed over the night, hadn’t he? Except he never had come seen her in her room…

“Has Sir Godwin come out of his room yet today?” Genevieve asked, resisting the urge to twist her hair around her fingers nervously. She hoped that he hadn’t somehow gotten cold feet about marrying her last night. 

That would be absolutely devastating.

“Oh, yes. Though Miss, he did look rather spent still this morning.” Mrs. Levitt walked around the room, and picked up the soiled clothes and placed odds and ends in their rightful domains. She was always remarkably efficient like that.

“And the parlour…” Genevieve worried her lip slightly. “Is it back to its normal…”

“It does seem to no longer be inhabited by any otherworldly presence.” Mrs. Levitt placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “I think it should be quite safe again now.”

“Oh, thank you Mrs. Levitt.” She sighed with relief. “Last night was rather distressing for me.”

Mrs. Levitt nodded and walked brusquely towards the door. “Of course, anything you need, Miss. Only now if you’re ready, I have to clean the rest of the house and start to prepare lunch.”

Of course. Genevieve had slept in past the appointed time, and the rule was that now she had to wait until lunch was served. She couldn’t say she loved that rule, but it was certainly more practical. 

“Please, Mrs. Levitt. Thank you.” Genevieve dismissed. 

She barely missed a beat, stepping out into the hallway with Genevieve’s clothes for washing. The door closed behind her and she was gone. 

Genevieve stood for a moment, feeling a sort of melancholy she couldn’t quite explain. 

The door creaked open, and a flash of movement happened out of the corner of her eye. When she looked up, it was gone.

And the door was still closed. 

“I think I should get some air.” She said with forced brightness in her tone. 

Then she went to do just that.

She walked around the winding garden path outside, under the trellis and through the little hedge maze that led out to their small apple orchard. The apples were just barely gone, but the cold hadn’t bit the leaves yet.

“It’s a rather warm autumn,” she mused to herself, prodding a tree branch and its lightly crisping leaves.

“Yes, it is, love.” She heard from behind her, and turned. 

Victor was walking up the hill from the maze, looking pink-cheeked and mischievous. 

“If you came for apples, you returned far too late.” She puckered her lips and waited for his rejoinder. 

This time, he surprised her. There was none.

He just kept swept her up in his arms and kissed her cheek. 

“I don’t know, this apple seems ripe.” 

Ah. There it was. 

She smiled anyway. They were far too good at this game.

“Perhaps,” she wheedled, “but in a few weeks, it may be rotten. No one likes sour apples.”

He just laughed and lifted her up in a twirl, before bringing her up into his chest. 

“You sour on me so quickly?” He whispered. 

The heat and strength of his body were so reassuring. Genevieve felt herself drop the worries she’d been carrying since last night. 

She took a deep breath, taking in his scent. 

“Are you feeling well, after last night?” he asked, more seriously. “You were not at breakfast this morning, and you look worried.”

“I am feeling better now, thanks to you.” She said with utter honesty. “Last night was rather disturbing. I also heard you were not feeling at your best this morning?”

“I am quite healthy, I promise you. Last night drained more energy from me than I had anticipated.” He let her down and gently took her hands into his own. “I even forgot to say goodbye and close the portal, so I had to go back into the parlour in the dead of the night to finish it.”

“Close the portal?” She asked, because that sounded absolutely terrifying. What about a portal could ever be a good thing?

“The door between the living and dead that the talking board opens. Without closing it, I fear we may have had some issues.” He sighed. “Though the entity did not appear to bear any ill will towards us.”

She rather disagreed.

“Victor, is that why the planchette kept moving even after you all had gone?” She asked, holding onto his hands with probably more force than necessary.

He blinked a few times, but didn’t seem overly shocked. 

“It did? What did it say?”

She shook her head. “I do not know! It startled me and I ran from the room. I shut the door and would not go back in.”

Victor’s mouth pinched. He was trying not to laugh at her. 

“Oh, darling,” he managed to choke out with some effort. “It should be all right now. I closed the portal.”

She just glared at him. It certainly was not unreasonable to be uncomfortable with inanimate objects moved themselves. That was the entire idea of them being inanimate.

“What’s more, this morning I saw movement and no one there.” She contended. “I do not think this is done.”

Victor smiled and rubbed his thumbs over her hands reassuringly. 

“Darling, I am quite sure the portal is closed. Whatever was moving the planchete last night is gone now. And this morning was likely a trick of the eyes that preyed on your nerves.”

She was about to start crying, she knew it. Her eyes were starting to well up with tears and of course Victor gave up immediately.

“It will be all right, Genevieve. I promise. I will check the talking board again today.” Victor leaned down and pressed his nose to hers. 

“Promise me you will, Victor. Something in the house feels wrong. Even the air feels unfriendly.” She pleaded.

He huffed at that, which was mildly insulting. “That’s just Edmund, darling. Though maybe we could consider that he is haunting your parents’ home long past his welcome, as well.”

She laughed. That felt good.

“But not I,” She teased. 

“No,” he agreed, letting down her hands and offering his arm. “Shall we go back to your childhood home and tour it before you leave it forever?”

“Not forever, Victor,” she laughed. “We have to visit. Mother would be very disappointed if we never returned.” She took the proffered arm and strolled back with him to the house. 

The big wooden door creaked and groaned with effort as they entered. 

They were met with only silence. Which was not odd for the household, but felt a bit eerie.

They peeked into her father’s study, which was empty. 

“Parlour?” Victor asked jovially. Genevieve still felt distinctly uneasy about the prospect, but nodded. 

The parlour had been reverted to its usual state. Genevieve’s parents were lying down on the chaise lounges, reading.

It would be rude to disturb them. They made their exit quietly, and stood in the hallway. 

“Where did the talking board go, Victor?” She asked in a whisper. “Is it still in the parlour?”

He shook his head. “I do not know. It was here last night. Perhaps we should ask your staff where it was stored. Or Edmund?”

“Edmund first, I think.” Genevieve said, feeling brave. Something in her wanted to run out the door with Victor and not come back. But holding his hand made her feel safe enough to risk seeing that board again.

They walked through the halls and up the stairs. Genevieve stopped just outside her bedroom in the corridor.

“Victor, do you… smell that?” She asked. She wondered if she was dreaming, or if she was losing her mind. The smell of rot was so strong, but where would it even be coming from?

“No,” Victor shook his head. “I am not smelling anything out of the ordinary.”

Worrying. Both in general and for her sanity. Victor, at least, did not seem overmuch concerned yet.

They rounded the corner and stopped outside Edmund’s rooms. Victor rapped on the doorframe- some melody they had started using in school, if she remembered correctly.

There was no reply. 

But the smell…

“The smell is even stronger here, Victor.” She looked around. Were there flowers rotting in a vase nearby? Forgotten food? What even could it be?”

“Edmund?” Victor called, gently turning the doorknob with his free hand. He poked his head inside. 

His hand in hers went limp like a dead fish. But otherwise, he didn’t move.

After a long moment, he removed himself from the threshold of Edmund’s rooms. Then Victor closed the door. 

He was pale as a corpse, and staring at the door as if he could see through it. 

“Victor?” She asked, quietly. Was Edmund doing something odd in there? 

His hand went tighter around hers again, and he walked away from the room, pulling her with him. When she struggled to keep up with his long legs, he picked her up in his arms. 

“Victor?” she tried again, but it was obvious that he had something on his mind. He strode out of the living quarters and down the stairs, only looking straight ahead.

Genevieve was concentrating on his face. Some of his color had returned, but there was a steely look to his features that she’d never noted before.

He took her out. Out of the house, out into the farthest part of the gardens. 

There, he put her down on a stone bench, and nearly collapsed next to her. 

He mumbled something, but she couldn’t hear what.

“Victor,” she sat up fully and placed a hand over his heart to calm him. “Victor, what are you saying?”

“I was wrong, darling. I was wrong.” He was staring off at the apple orchards.

“Was Edmund in his room?” Genevieve was experiencing a tightness in her chest she couldn’t explain.

Silence. He took a deep breath in, and out.

“No. Not anymore.”