House of Whispers Read online

  Amy could hear David’s voice in her head. So warm, so sincere when he thanked her for saving his mother.

  “David,” Amy murmured. “What is the truth about you, David Hathaway?”

  She sighed, wishing she were as smart and worldly-wise as Angelica. Then she might be able to figure out the truth.

  She just could not accept the terrible things Angelica had said. She had spoken to him for only a few moments. And she had seen that dark expression on his face.

  But David had been in battle. He had been badly wounded. Couldn’t that explain the change Angelica had noticed?

  “Yoo-hoo, Amy!”

  Amy turned and spotted Mrs. Hathaway standing on the other side of the wrought-iron garden gate.

  “Hello, Mrs. Hathaway,” she called.

  “I saw you sitting there and thought I would invite you over for a cup of tea. I did not get a chance to thank you properly yesterday.”

  Amy glanced at the house. She knew she should ask Angelica’s permission, but her cousin was very busy today. And if she asked, Angelica would say no. “I would like that,” she said, rising to her feet.

  Mrs. Hathaway opened the gate for Amy and led the way back to the house. She chattered all the way there. Amy found herself liking the older woman more and more.

  “This way,” Mrs. Hathaway said, ushering Amy into the mansion.

  Amy immediately noticed a difference between this house and the Fears’. They were both huge, elegant homes. But this one was filled with furniture that had obviously been used by many generations of Hathaways.

  “This reminds me of home,” she said.

  Mrs. Hathaway smiled at her. “How?”

  “Oh, ours is very small, and not anywhere near so elegant,” Amy said. “But it feels the same. It is as if the furniture is begging to have you put your feet up on it.”

  How unsophisticated I must sound, Amy thought. Why don’t I think before I blurt things out?

  Mrs. Hathaway laughed. “We do put our feet on it, dear. Furniture that cannot be used and enjoyed might as well be put in the fireplace.”

  She showed Amy to a sitting room that was as warm and cozy as the inside of a glove. Amy settled into a fat overstuffed chair. “I will ring for our tea,” Mrs. Hathaway said, tugging the bellpull.

  A maid came in a moment later, pushing a silver cart. Amy’s mouth began to water as she smelled fresh-baked pastries. Mrs. Hathaway poured a cup of tea for Amy and one for herself.

  “Now, tell me all about—” Mrs. Hathaway began. Then her gaze moved to a spot behind Amy, and she raised her voice. “David! Where are you running off to? Come join us!”

  Turning, Amy saw David standing on the stairs. He swung around slowly, almost reluctantly. Was he trying to avoid her?

  David strode to the sofa and sat down beside his mother, a grim expression on his face.

  “Amy has come for tea,” Mrs. Hathaway said. “And Ida has made your favorite scones.”

  “They aren’t my favorite,” he muttered. “Hello, Amy.”

  He was angry again. Why? He was so friendly when they first met—then suddenly he changed. Amy could not understand it.

  “Hello, David,” she replied. Amy felt proud that her voice did not quiver the way her insides did.

  Mrs. Hathaway handed her a cup of steaming tea. The cup and saucer were as thin and delicate as an eggshell, and painted with dogwood blossoms.

  “This is beautiful china,” Amy said. She tried to focus all her attention on Mrs. Hathaway. David was too unnerving.

  Mrs. Hathaway beamed. “There is a wonderful story about that china, Amy. My great-grandfather brought it from France for his bride, Isabella. He adored her. He kept the box in his berth on the ship. The china survived through storms, pirate attacks, and all kinds of danger. Not one piece was broken. Only a few pieces remain today, but I do treasure them.”

  Amy smiled at the romantic story. She shot a quick glance at David. He shifted position slightly. He is trying to keep me from seeing the damaged side of his face, she realized.

  So that was it! He was ashamed of his patch. That was why he appeared angry and withdrawn. He must have forgotten about it when we first met, she thought, because he was so worried about his mother.

  How could people believe there was something evil in David? For a moment, her heart felt too big for her chest.

  “It does not bother me.” Amy clapped her hand over her mouth, horrified that she had spoken the thought aloud.

  David looked as shocked as she felt. “What?”

  Well, she thought, he will never speak to me again, so I might as well say everything. “The eye patch. It is not ugly. In fact, it gives you a rakish look.”

  Mrs. Hathaway drew her breath in sharply.

  “Rakish,” he repeated, his voice flat. Then David started to laugh. A deep, rich, wonderful laugh.

  Amy nearly spilled her tea. “What is so funny?” she demanded. “Should I pretend that I do not see your eye patch or that sling on your arm?”

  “Are you always so outspoken, Amy Pierce?” he asked.

  She blushed. Not again, she thought. Am I going to blush every time I speak to him? “I was brought up in the country, where people tend to speak their minds,” she explained. “Besides, a lot of men have been wounded in the war. My father—”

  Her voice caught, and she took a breath before continuing. “My father is fighting for his life right now. And I do not care if he has eyes or arms or legs, as long as he comes back home.”

  David’s gaze blazed into hers. “Is that how you feel?” he asked.

  “Yes!” Of course that was how she felt. Did he think she would rather have her father dead than alive and injured?

  Mrs. Hathaway cleared her throat. “Women have always been more practical than men, my son. More tea, Amy?”

  Amy held out her cup to be filled. Her hand shook as she stirred, rattling the spoon against the cup.

  David leaned back, plopping his booted feet on the polished table in front of him. The tension inside Amy evaporated. She stopped worrying that they would find her unsophisticated.

  Mrs. Hathaway did most of the talking—to Amy’s relief. She could not seem to keep her gaze from drifting to David. He smiled at some comment his mother made, and Amy noticed that he had a dimple at the right corner of his mouth. She stared, fascinated.

  Then she realized he was looking straight at her.

  He caught her staring at him! She had never been more embarrassed in her life.

  Amy glanced away hastily. At least he is not worried about his patch anymore, she thought.

  The mantel clock chimed. Five o’clock! She had been here more than two hours. It seemed like only a few minutes.

  “I should go,” she said. “Angelica must be wondering what happened to me.”

  David rose. “I’ll walk you home.”

  Amy turned to Mrs. Hathaway. Impulsively, she leaned down and kissed the older woman on the cheek. “I had a wonderful afternoon,” she said.

  “So did I.” Mrs. Hathaway’s eyes glowed with pleasure. “And do not forget to come back soon.”

  David led Amy out the back door. The weather had changed. Dark clouds piled up on the horizon, blocking out the sun. A chilly breeze tossed the tree branches and whipped dead leaves along the path.

  What should she say? Without Mrs. Hathaway around, Amy felt shy and awkward.

  “It is going to rain,” David said.

  “Soon,” she added. One word. Very good, Amy, she scolded herself.

  Neither spoke as they walked along the path that led to the far end of the garden. David seemed to be deep in thought. Everything Amy could think of to say sounded silly to her.

  “Where is your father?” he finally asked.

  “In Virginia,” Amy answered, relieved that the silence had been broken. “My mother is there tending him. That is why I am staying here with my cousin.”

  “Would you like me to try to find out about him?” David asked.
>
  Remembering Angelica’s offer to do the same, Amy shivered. “Do you think you can?”

  “I still have friends in the army,” he replied. “If you can tell me what city your parents are—”

  “I cannot,” she said. “Mother had to move him because of the fighting.”

  He sighed. “That makes it more difficult. But I will do my best.”

  “Thank you, David.”

  They reached the gate. Amy started to open it, but David caught her hand and brought her around to face him.

  “Now it is my turn to thank you,” he said.

  She looked up at him in surprise. “Why?”

  “For making me stop feeling sorry for myself.” He smiled at her. “At least for an afternoon.”

  A big, fat raindrop splashed on her nose. Before she could react, David reached out and wiped it away with his thumb. Her heart raced madly.

  “You have freckles,” he said.

  She covered her nose with her hand. “I hate them.”

  “I like freckles.”

  Another drop came down on her head, and a third plopped onto David’s shoulder, leaving a dark splash mark on the brown wool. More drops fell.

  “It is getting worse,” Amy said. “If you go one way and I go the other, we both might make it home without getting soaked.” And Angelica will not see us together, Amy thought.

  He reached past her and opened the gate. “I will see you again, Amy Pierce,” he said quietly. “Soon.”

  Amy slipped through the gate and hurried along the path toward the Fear mansion. She gave a little skip. He wanted to see her again!

  Crash!

  Glass shattered above Amy.

  A woman uttered a high scream of terror. Amy jerked her head up.

  Something fell from the third-story window. Something big. A body!

  “Help!” Amy screamed. It felt as if the word were slowly being dragged from her lips.

  Nellie. It was Nellie.

  Chapter

  7

  “Noooo!” Amy screamed.

  Nellie clawed at the air, her mouth open in terror.

  She hit the flagstones facedown. The thump sounded like a melon hitting a hardwood floor.

  Amy ran to Nellie. She threw herself down next to Nellie’s motionless body.

  “Oh, Nellie,” she whispered. “How did this happen?”

  The maid whimpered.

  Amy’s breath went out in a gasp. Nellie still lived!

  Oh, there was so much blood! Too much. It seeped from beneath Nellie’s body, staining the stones red.

  Gently, Amy slid her arm beneath the maid and turned her onto her back.

  Nellie had no face. Only a mass of bloody flesh.

  Huge patches of skin had been scraped away by the rough flagstones. Amy could see thick strands of muscle and spidery veins.

  One of Nellie’s eyes was shoved deep into her skull. The other had turned red with blood.

  Nellie’s bottom lip had been torn away completely. Her teeth were broken and jagged.

  Amy saw pieces of white bone poking through Nellie’s dark hair. Her skull had been split open.

  Amy knew there was nothing she could do. She wanted to run away, to forget she had seen this. But she could not leave Nellie all alone. Not like this.

  Amy swallowed hard. She touched Nellie gently on the shoulder. “I am here. I am right here, Nellie. I will not leave you.”

  Nellie opened her torn lips. Blood and bits of broken teeth welled out.

  “Amy,” she managed to croak. “Be . . . careful. . . of. . .”

  A long, bubbling breath spewed out of her. Blood foamed from her mouth and ran onto the ground. She sagged against Amy’s arm.

  For a moment Amy felt very calm. She patted Nellie’s shoulder again, let her breath out in a deep sigh.

  Then Amy raised her hand. Blood dripped from her fingers and ran down her wrist.

  Amy’s body froze. Her mind stopped working.

  The back door flew open. Angelica ran toward her. She was yelling. Amy could see her mouth opening and closing. But she could hardly hear Angelica. She sounded so far away.

  Someone grabbed Amy from behind and pulled her to her feet.

  “Amy!” A new voice. Louder. “Amy!”

  David. It was David’s voice. David’s strong arm around her.

  Only then did she realize she was screaming. But she could not stop. Her eyes stayed locked on Nellie’s mangled face. And the screams kept pouring out of Amy.

  David pulled her around to face him. Amy clenched her teeth together, forcing the screams to stop.

  “David, take her inside,” Angelica ordered.

  David urged Amy toward the house. She could hardly walk. Her legs kept shaking. When they reached the back door, Amy twisted around. She needed to get one last look at Nellie.

  What was Angelica doing? Didn’t she know she could not help Nellie? No one could.

  Amy shuddered as she watched Angelica dab Nellie’s raw, bloody face with a handkerchief. She carefully folded the blood-soaked handkerchief and slid it into her pocket.

  “Do not look,” David murmured. “Let’s just go inside.” He led her into the house and hurried her past the wide-eyed, frightened servants.

  “I cannot believe this happened. Just yesterday she was in my room, laughing and gossiping. And now—” Amy sobbed, her shoulders shaking.

  “Don’t,” David said harshly. “It will not do any good. Just try to forget—”

  “Forget!” she gasped. “How could I ever forget?”

  He made an impatient sound low in his throat. “Sit down,” he said, pushing her toward the parlor sofa.

  He told Amy to forget what had happened. But she could tell he was fighting with his own emotions. His mouth had tightened to a thin line.

  David took out his handkerchief and wiped her face and hands. The fabric turned red.

  Blood. Nellie’s blood.

  Amy’s stomach lurched. She squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the nausea to pass.

  “David!” Amy opened her eyes as Hannah rushed into the room and flung herself at him. “David. What happened? Mother will not tell me.”

  David gently pulled her arms away from him. “They are only trying to protect you,” he explained.

  “No!” she cried. “Tell me what happened.”

  “It was Nellie,” Julia said softly. Julia stood in the doorway. Her face was as white as the wall behind her, her body visibly trembling.

  Amy jumped up and went to her.

  “I saw her fall,” Julia said, her tone flat. “She went right past my window.”

  “Oh, Julia.” Amy took the girl’s hands and drew her to the sofa. Despite the warmth in the room, Julia’s hands were cold and clammy.

  “Amy? Girls?” Angelica’s voice came from the hallway. A moment later she stepped into the room.

  “I was frightened, Mother,” Hannah sobbed, clutching the front of David’s shirt.

  “There, there, dear,” Angelica soothed. “Everything’s all right now.”

  Angelica’s gaze flicked to Amy. “You had better go upstairs and change,” Angelica said. “You will feel much better.”

  Amy had forgotten the blood. Nellie’s blood. A sharp, bitter taste hit the back of Amy’s throat. She jumped up and ran from the room.

  Amy raced upstairs. But before she could open the door to her room, something stopped her. A feeling. A feeling that she should go to the top floor.

  She did not know where the feeling came from. But she had to obey it. Amy turned back and climbed up the next flight of stairs.

  The feeling drew her down the hall to Angelica’s study.

  Her feet moved almost as if they had a will of their own. What is happening to me?

  She opened the study door—and sucked in her breath with a sharp hiss.

  Broken glass hung from the window frame.

  Nellie fell from this room.

  Amy’s heart pounded painfully in her chest.
r />   She noticed a feather duster on the floor. She walked over and picked it up. “Oh, Nellie,” she murmured.

  Then Amy saw Angelica’s cards sitting on the desk. Without thinking, she reached for them. They felt warm in her hand. Welcoming her.

  Angelica said the cards spoke to Amy. Could they have called her upstairs?

  Amy shivered. Impossible, she thought. But she did not feel so sure.

  Amy started to shuffle the cards. Again, she felt that strange, disturbing sensation of losing control of her own hands.

  But this time she did not fight it.

  She shuffled the deck expertly, as though she had done it a thousand times. Her hands knew when to stop.

  The top card almost seemed to slither beneath her fingertips.

  She turned it over.

  The Death card.

  The grinning skeleton stared at her, its eye sockets empty. The skeleton wore a knight’s armor, and rode a white horse through a charred, black landscape. The only color in the picture was the red crest topping the skeleton’s helmet. Red.

  The same red as Nellie’s blood.

  Death had touched Amy today—even if it was not her own.

  Was this the message the cards wanted to give her? she wondered. No. It did not feel complete.

  Closing her eyes, Amy let the power direct her. She slipped the Death card back into the deck and began to shuffle again.

  Again, she knew the right moment to stop. She opened her eyes. Then she flipped the top card over.

  Death.

  There is nothing to be afraid of, she told herself. The cards have just repeated the same message.

  She started to set the cards down—then found herself shuffling them again.

  She knew what the top card would be. She flipped it over anyway. She had to.

  Death.

  The skeleton grinned at her.

  “Amy?”

  David’s voice startled her. She dropped the cards onto the desk and spun around. Her face must have looked awful, because David strode forward and grasped her arm.

  “You should not have come here,” he said, glancing at the shattered window.

  “I had to,” she replied. “Don’t worry. I am not going to faint. What are you doing up here?”

  The sun gleamed on his black eye patch. “I wanted to make sure you were all right. You said you were. But I was not sure you were telling the truth.”