Chapter Four

October 19, 1850

F or the last month, while James visited with his parents in Scotland, Cavendish Hall echoed with the rhythm of renewal. Edythe kept a close watch, along with Mr. Hawthorne, Mrs. MacTavish, Elspeth, and the robust duo, Duncan, and Cooper, as the estate blossomed. Yet, there were moments when a cold draft swept through the halls as if protesting the changes. Villagers worked alongside the staff and ensured the upstairs and downstairs changes were on schedule. Despite the extensive nature of the work, the pace was brisk, and even though there were occasional challenges, the redecorating progressed smoothly.

"Miss Cavendish," Elspeth was at the library door. "There's a rider coming up the drive… quickly."

Edythe stood up quickly, her face breaking out in a big smile. She stood and smoothed out her skirt. "He's a day early." She hurried to the foyer and opened the door.

"James." He hurried onto the porch. She threw her arms around him and held him close. "Welcome back. I hope you enjoyed Scotland."

"Scotland's beauty pales beside your welcome." He laughed, holding her hand as he entered the foyer. "I've enjoyed your letters. I almost felt as if I was here helping with the renovations."

"We've been busy and are just about finished. Come. Mrs. MacTavish and I will take you on a tour."

They started downstairs.

"Do you like it?" Mrs. MacTavish asked with pride as they stood in the library.

"It's a masterpiece," James replied, his eyes reflecting the library's polished mahogany, now shining like the fine wood of a cherished violin.

The garden room walls were painted in earth tones with sheer curtains to welcome in the light. Duncan's artistry was in the floral design he created. He chose miniature pink roses, chrysanthemums in a variety of autumn colors, and bright fuchsias to create a visual melody, with Boston ferns providing a feathery background.

The breakfast room was awash in buttery yellow and promised the quiet of enjoying a morning hot chocolate and watching the sunrise or a morning rain shower.

The dining room's deep red damask wallpaper and crystal chandelier promised evenings of laughter and conversation.

"We end our tour with the drawing room," Mrs. MacTavish announced, the soft blue and yellow damask wallpaper an overture to future gatherings.

"Mrs. Thorne has sent word. The fabrics for the other upstairs rooms have arrived," Edythe shared.

"And the ballroom?" James asked.

Edythe hesitated, feeling a sudden chill as if Alistair's spirit loomed at the edges of her thoughts, his silent disapproval a shadow across the untouched ballroom. The blend of white walls, gilt touches, and soft blue curtains remained timeless. "It needs no change," she decided, though she couldn't shake the sensation that Alistair's unrest lingered in the very air.

James, moved by the transformation, finally spoke. "You've not just changed paint, paper, and fabric, you've composed a new life for Cavendish Hall, allowing it to come out of the past and into the future." His words carried a hopeful note that pierced the lingering gloom left by Alistair's perceived presence.

They went upstairs. Edythe's room had soft, muted pink walls with sage green trim. The cabbage rose-print curtains and bedcover hinted at cozy nights and lovely dreams. The adjoining sitting room, a soothing green and gold, was a relaxing place for quiet interludes and refuge from busy days.

Their last stop was the portrait gallery. The days after her dance with Alistair, during the renovation, Edythe often paused before Alistair's portrait, her thoughts a mixture of questions and unease.

"Other than a deep cleaning, we didn't touch the gallery. The dark blue walls are still pristine, and the dark blue and beige Aubusson floral wool carpet warms the gallery." Edythe walked alongside James., their steps muffled as they passed each picture. Edythe's gaze kept drifting back to Alistair's portrait.

"You seem drawn to Alistair's portrait," James remarked as they stood in front of his lordship's portrait. "Is there something about it that troubles you?"

She hesitated, the truth of her midnight encounter hovering on her lips. She hadn't told anyone. Who would believe her? They would think she was crazy. She glanced at James. Would he? She took a deep breath and went on. "It's his eyes," she finally said, her voice a whisper. "They seem to…know me."

James studied her. His light expression shifted to concern. "Edythe, if there's anything you want to share, I'm here to listen. You're not alone in your quest."

She faced him. The trust in his eyes, the offer of support, was enough to breach her silence. "I danced with him, James. In the ballroom…" She turned back to Alistair's portrait. "He was as real as you and me." Quiet for several moments, she glanced at him as a moment of panic surged through her. She grabbed his hands. "You don't think I'm crazy, do you?"

James gathered her into his arms and held her close. "Not at all. The mind works in strange ways, especially concerning this house and Alistair." They were quiet for a few minutes.

"It's what he said to me about change. Let the Cavendish line wither as he did, brought on by betrayal. That's what drives him. I must find the music box. I've searched everywhere while you were gone, even rooms we were not renovating, and found nothing," she said, her head tucked under his chin.

James drew her back a bit and stared at her, his eyes soft and clear. "Then we will work together and find it. We certainly won't find it standing here, although I do enjoy holding you." He glanced at Alistair's portrait. "I suspect Alistair might not be pleased with our search, but we must press on."

Edythe gazed at him. Her determination was clear in the set of her jaw. "Yes, we must press on."

They returned to the library, where the afternoon sun streamed through the clear windows, casting light across the room as they read the documents, worked their way through the manor's archives, and examined artifacts from 1746. Each item, each trinket, was a piece of the puzzle, hinting at a story far more complex than the legends had suggested.

"I don't recall seeing this in the library." James stood in front of a rectangular writing table and tried to open the single stubborn drawer.

"Mrs. Thorne brought it from the Lord's bedroom, believing it would be useful here," Edythe explained as she looked over his shoulder.

Once again, James attempted to open the drawer, but it refused to budge. "It's stuck.".

With a thoughtful pause, James retrieved a letter opener from the nearby desk and slid it along the drawer's edge. A soft click broke the silence, and the drawer glided open, revealing torn pieces of parchment.

"I can't believe it," she whispered, her hands trembling as she pieced together the remnants of the document.

James leaned in closer, examining the fragments. "It's almost as if Alistair wanted us to find this despite his efforts to hide it." James took some of the pieces and helped her reconstruct the message.

As they pieced the letter together, Edythe became aware of the family secrets they were about to unveil. It was part of the connection to the past they both had been seeking. Carefully aligning the torn pieces of parchment on the desk, Edythe and James revealed a hidden truth that Alistair had tried to conceal.

"Can you read it?" James asked as he glanced over her shoulder.

Edythe carefully placed the last piece in place. She quickly transcribed the words onto fresh paper, and then, with a gentle touch, she returned the fragile scraps to the drawer.

She held the transcribed paper and took a deep breath.

My dearest Alistair,

Though fate may tear us apart, my love for you will echo through the ages. In the melody of my song lies the key, a secret kept, a promise made. Look beyond the notes, where the silent whispers dwell, and there you shall find what was lost, like a withered rose, restoring peace to our hearts and hearth.

Forever yours,

Isabelle

The message spoke of love and loss, of promises made and secrets kept. It was indeed a connection to the past that brought the tale into the light of day.

"There is more here," James took out a ribbon, its color long faded yet still vibrant with sentiment. It lay beside a scattering of old coins with well-worn edges. They found a leather-bound sketchbook filled with Alistair's elegant adult script and childish, whimsical sketches from his childhood. Among the relics, they also found a man's watch fob bearing the proud Cavendish crest and a delicate gold chain with a plain gold charm.

As they transported the cache to Edythe's sitting room, the coins slipped from James's grasp, scattering across the hall carpet. Edythe stooped to gather them, and the gold chain slipped through her fingers. With a soft sigh, she draped the chain around her neck, its charm resting near her heart, then recaptured the errant coins.

Settled in the comfort of her sitting room, they delved into the sketchbook's pages. Cryptic entries created a melody of mystery, with recurring phrases similar to a recurring musical refrain. There were significant dates and references to a ‘final dance.' It was James who found a pattern hinting at a coded message. It was as if Alistair had orchestrated a map in code, a guide to the very heart of the Cavendish curse.

James read Isabelle's words again. "This letter speaks of a melody, a key. Could Alistair's writings and Isabelle's letter both be related to the music box?" James asked.

Edythe nodded, the pieces of the puzzle aligning in her mind. "Isabelle's words are key to understanding the past and healing the wounds they caused Alistair." She yawned, covering her mouth.

"It's late. You go on to sleep. I will return in the morning. I think we are very close to finding the answer to the curse." James kissed her lightly.

James left Edythe in her sitting room, entered the gallery, and stood in front of Lord Alistair. "Miss Cavendish is determined to look through what you left for her." He studied the picture and, for a moment, he thought the corners of Alistair's gentle smile pulled a bit into a roguish smirk.

"Ah, you want to know my intentions, do you?" James glanced at the door. Satisfied no one was listening, he turned to the portrait.

James cleared his throat, a gesture more to steady himself than for the benefit of his silent audience.

"Lord Alistair," he began, his voice a low murmur in the quiet of the gallery, "I find myself in a position I had not anticipated upon my arrival in Sommer-by-the-Sea. Your kin, Miss Edythe Cavendish, has captured my admiration and, I dare say, my affection."

He paused, considering his words. "I am aware that as her closest relative, albeit in spirit, it is only proper I declare my intentions to you. I wish to court Miss Cavendish with the honor and respect she deserves, with the hope our courtship may lead to a union blessed by both love and mutual esteem."

James's gaze held firm on the portrait as if expecting a sign of approval or dissent. "I pledge to you, on my honor, my intentions are sincere, and I shall endeavor to ensure her happiness and well-being above all else."

With a respectful nod to the portrait, James turned to leave, his heart lighter for having spoken his truth, even if only to the silent guardian of Cavendish Hall.

*

Edythe, tired yet exhilarated by their discoveries, rose from her chair and passed through the adjoining door to her bedroom. Her mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions as she prepared for bed. She was glad James had returned, very glad.

She climbed into bed and lay there with her eyes closed, reviewing the day's events when she once again heard a distant melody pierce through her thoughts. The haunting melody was unmistakable. Compelled by the familiar pull, she followed the melody to the ballroom, where the moonlight revealed the phantom music box for a second time.

As the room plunged into darkness she waited for the brewing storm, and the hand to reach out from the shadows. She waited for Alistair. She accepted the dance, the music box playing a haunting song. As before, Alistair's touch was cold, his presence oppressive.

Alistair paused, and in the silence, his voice reached her, a whisper. "Guard your heart, Edythe. The future is a path fraught with peril, and love… love is the lure into the abyss."

The dance resumed, yet Edythe was left with a sense of unease as she considered Alistair's words. Were they a warning or a threat or a riddle wrapped in spite? Was James the beacon of light in her life, or was he an omen of darkness to come?

When morning came, Edythe awoke in her bed, the memory of the night's encounter eluding her once more like a distant dream.