Percy’s focus, however, was divided. “I look forward to getting to know you better, cousin. Welcome to Thorn Grove.” Hat in his hands, he bowed to her before turning on his heel and heading off toward the sound of the breaking glass, Warwick following behind. And though Signa’s curious mind lingered, Marjorie allowed no time for her thoughts to fester.
“Come,” Marjorie said again. “I’ll show you to your suite.”
Marjorie escorted Signa up one of the two grand mahogany staircases that led to the second level of the massive three-story estate. The governess made polite small talk but kept peering down, craning her neck to sneak glances at the party below. So distracted was Marjorie that she hadn’t noticed the man who leaned upon a banister that had been sculpted to look like the branches of a gnarled tree and twisted up the entirety of the two staircases.
Signa noticed him, though. Noticed he had hair black as pitch, a long, pointed nose, and sinister eyes that cared only for Marjorie. When the stranger leaned forward to snatch hold of her hand, Marjorie practically leaped from her own skin.
“How are you such a difficult woman to find, Miss Hargreaves?” His voice was low and unpleasant, as if he were speaking around something lodged deep in his throat. The man wore shoes of the finest leather Signa had ever seen, and his rich black suit appeared to have been custom made, with buttons of melted silver. In his hands was a walking stick he grasped tightly—a stunning piece of rosewood, with a brass handle that was carved into the shape of a bird’s skull. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”
“Lay a hand on me again and I will push you over this banister, Byron.” Marjorie ripped her hand away, placing it instead upon Signa’s back with some force. “Come, Signa. Pay these guests little mind. They’re forbidden on the upper levels.”
“I am no guest, Miss Hargreaves—” the man tried again, but Marjorie didn’t spare him so much as a second as they hurried up the stairs, much to Signa’s disappointment. She rather disliked puzzles, for she had a bad tendency to need to solve them. Life, she believed, would be much simpler if one had the answers all laid bare before them.
It’d been only an hour since she’d arrived, and already Thorn Grove was filled with curiosities. It was odd that Mr. Hawthorne would hold a soiree the same day as her arrival, let alone that he’d sent a stable boy as her escort and kept her coming a secret until the last moment. And what were they celebrating downstairs at such an early hour, with the echo of laughter and shattering glassware? Signa wanted to ask, but the tension pulsating in Marjorie’s neck warned this wasn’t the time. Signa was a beggar, not a chooser, and she needed to play what few cards she had carefully.
Her skin itched, and she wondered if this was all some sort of trap. Some clever ruse of Death’s. Had he known Elijah would invite her to stay? Had Death been the one to pull the strings, and if so, how?
It took what felt like ages of walking through long stretches of dimly lit halls before they arrived to Signa’s new room, a space nearly the size of Aunt Magda’s entire house, with a sitting room, bedroom, and her own bath all attached in one suite. In the sitting room, the wallpaper was beautifully latticed in varying shades of green, with velvet gold curtains draped across glass doors that opened onto a balcony.
Rich mahogany floors were covered with an oversize Persian rug decorated in emerald and gold, and Signa wanted nothing more than to curl her toes into it. The ceiling itself was a brilliant white, with thick molding embellished with expertly carved vines and flora. It matched the fireplace, where yellow peonies blossomed from thin glass vases upon the mantel. Plush reading chairs were meticulously placed around it, while a dainty wooden drawing table sat behind, close to the window. Light shone upon it like a halo from the gap in the curtains, warm and inviting.
Signa’s heart squeezed as she took it all in. This was the most beautiful space she’d ever seen, and somehow it was hers. “Will I be able to meet Mr. Hawthorne this evening?” she asked. “I’d like to thank him for allowing me to stay here.”
“The master is a busy man,” Marjorie said as she helped a distracted Signa out of her coat. The woman moved to put it in the armoire, but upon seeing the stain of belladonna berries upon a more thorough inspection, she scrunched up her nose and draped the coat over her arm for laundering. “But I will speak to him of his plans for you, and I assure you that you’ll be well taken care of. You’ll be fitted for new dresses in the morning, after your lessons.”
Signa’s hair whipped into her face as she spun to face Marjorie. There was no filtering the excitement from her voice. “My lessons?”
Marjorie’s laugh was smooth as silk. “You’re a young woman, Miss Farrow, and I am the governess of this estate. I’m not certain what your education was like before, but while you’re here, it’s only fitting I help prepare you for marriage, and for one day managing a home of your own. I assume you’ve not yet made your debut?”
“You assume correctly.” Again, there was that hopeful edge. The thrill of being presented with exactly what she’d yearned for: To debut into society. To attend parties and be courted by handsome suitors, and then to gossip about them with friends over tea. The idea of it alone threatened to burst her heart. It was all there within her grasp.
“Then I’ve plenty to teach you, and very little time to do it.” Marjorie set her free hand on her hip, still smiling. “Shall we start tomorrow?”
Weary as she was, Signa would get started now, should Marjorie allow it. A fluttering in her heart made her impatient and wanting. But there were six more months until she would receive her inheritance, and if she was to last at this estate—if she was to have the freedom of the life she wanted—then she needed to ensure that Death couldn’t get his hands on anyone at Thorn Grove. Not to mention she’d have to watch her own hands, too.
Though she knew they would not hurt anyone right now, she tucked her hands behind her back all the same and smiled. “Tomorrow is perfect.”
“Wonderful.” Marjorie readjusted the coat in her arm. “You may take the rest of the evening to settle in, then. You’re welcome to explore any of the upper floors, but I ask that you keep off the first level while the guests are here. Tonight, dinner will be brought to you, so please relax. I’m sure you’re exhausted.”
She was. But as Marjorie saw herself out, letting the door shut quietly behind her, Signa knew there would be little relaxing. The moment the woman’s footsteps disappeared down the hall, Signa cracked the door open again.
Marjorie had suggested she explore after all.
SIX
SIGNA WAS NO STRANGER TO FINDING WAYS TO PASS THE TIME. LEFT with little to do during her days and few to converse with, she’d spent many afternoons stealing glances out the windows or wandering outside, curious to know more about the neighbors of whatever house she lived in. Some were more interesting than others, sneaking in strange company when their partner was away, or sharing the latest gossip over tea with a friend, which Signa would casually overhear as she just so happened to be taking a walk near an open window. She never spent any time with such people and could do little with the information she gleaned. But for Signa, the point was always to fill in the gaps in their stories. She was intent on solving the puzzles she’d formed in her head, and mentally crafting stories for people she’d never be close to.