'It doesn't always work,' I admitted. 'Look, Tom, I promise I'll be careful. I'll lock all the doors and hide the keys, if you like. I'll stay inside the house. And I'll only do it once a week, I pro—'
'No, don't promise,' he said smiling, finally. I could hear it, and I felt myself relaxing in response. When he spoke his voice was less uncompromising. 'I don't like the idea,' he told me. 'I still think you're taking too great a risk. But if you're cautious and sensible, and try to keep things in perspective, then I guess I can't really object, can I? I mean, like you say, there don't seem to be a lot of alternatives.'
It was my turn to smile. 'Exorcisms don't apply in this sort of situation, do they?'
'No.' He laughed. 'You're all right otherwise, are you?'
'Perfectly,' I assured him. 'My work is coming along wonderfully, and I've no complaints with the house so far.'
'You're still going around with that Geoff fellow, I take it?"
I replied in the affirmative, and was grateful when he dropped the subject. I had not yet confided in Tom my suspicion that Geoffrey was really Richard. Nor had I told him about Mrs. Hutherson. I suppose I was afraid that, by telling him I was in effect consulting a psychic and chumming with the reincarnation of Mariana's lover, I might stretch the bounds of my brother's credulity. And I very badly needed him to believe in me.
So far, it appeared that he did. 'Take care of yourself was the only advice that he gave me before I hung up the phone. I kept it in mind.
I selected a convenient hour of the morning, when few other people were yet awake. I slid all the furniture in my studio into one corner, so that there was nothing to impede Mariana's progress from the doorway to her bed and from there to the window. I locked the dead bolts on both doors, from the inside, and buried the keys among the bills and letters in my desk drawer. Then, and only then, did I settle myself at the kitchen table and light the candle.
My first journey back lasted less than half an hour, which, after such elaborate preparations, was something of a disappointment to me. It was also, I conceded, deadly dull. For nearly all that time, Mariana was simply peeling vegetables at the kitchen table, while Caroline nursed the baby John by the fire. Neither woman spoke. When I returned to the present I felt utterly discouraged.
But my next few attempts were more fruitful. Curious, I tried my candle process in the lounge instead of the kitchen, and found myself sitting over an embroidery frame, listening to Caroline and Rachel discuss wedding plans. It was rather a one-sided conversation, actually. Caroline talked of flowers and gowns and guests in an animated voice, while Rachel bent low over her needlework and mumbled inaudible responses. She kept her expression hidden from her sister, but behind the fall of flaxen hair her face was flushed and miserable.
The wedding feast was to be held at Greywethers, the home of the bridegroom being too small to hold all the guests—and from Caroline's talk I gathered every soul in the village had been invited. Bride and groom would spend their first night beneath my uncle's roof, before removing to the bailiffs house in the village. It was difficult to picture Rachel living with Elias Webb in that narrow, bleak little house with its dark chimneys and cheerless windows; more difficult still to imagine wedding guests dancing in my uncle's parlor. I was trying to conjure the image when my aunt's voice broke my thoughts.
'... and of course we must have my lord de Mornay, for courtesy's sake, although Jabez will not brook the man's presence on any other day. And I do not doubt but that my lord will bring that Gilroy fellow with him, for all he is not invited. "Tis the trouble with the gentry,' she complained. 'They may do what they will, and we bear the consequences.'
Beside me Rachel caught her breath as the needle bit painfully into her finger, and I saw a tiny drop of blood fall onto the linen she was working....
That particular excursion into the past ended there, and I waited a few days before trying again. By restricting myself to the inside of my own house, and repeating the process in various rooms, I found I was gaining a fairly complete picture of Mariana's daily life, and the lives of those around her. The pity that I felt for Caroline deepened as the days passed. Rachel told me that Caroline had once been as lively and spirited as herself. That the spirit had gradually been beaten out of her by Jabez was a realization that dawned on me gradually, a suspicion strengthened by the sometime appearance of a bruise on Caroline's pale face, or a newfound temerity in her gaze, as she held and rocked the squalling babe. The babe I pitied, also. There was no love in Jabez Howard's eyes, no hint of tenderness when he looked upon his son, only a cold and distant form of loathing. I thought of my own father, and what he'd taught me, and my heart wept for baby John.
To me, Jabez Howard remained brusquely courteous, frequently indifferent, and irritatingly enigmatic. There were days when he was absent on business, and other days when a knock would sound at the front door and I would be summarily ordered to my room, to spend hours in pious silence. I did not mind overmuch, for it was then that I read the Shakespeare, drawing the precious borrowed book from its hiding place beneath my bed.
Once, though, filled with reckless bravado and a burning curiosity, I left my room and stole to the top of the stairs as my uncle's guests arrived. Peering through the balusters, I could see only the back of my uncle's head and the face of the black-eyed bailiff Elias Webb, Rachel's betrothed, although the voices of other unseen men filtered up to me. After exchanging greetings, they moved into the parlor and closed the door, and their voices were lost. Defeated, I slunk back to my room, none the wiser about my uncle's strange activities.