Chapter Six

Chapter Six

‘Was Ms Powell feeling better?' I asked, sliding my locket back and forth on its chain as we climbed the front steps up to Bell House.

Now Wyn was out of sight, I'd regained control of my senses or at least most of them. Part of me was definitely still underneath the oak tree, staring into his mysterious eyes, and I feared it always would be.

‘Virginia?' Catherine replied as though she'd already forgotten about her morning visit. ‘Oh, yes, much better, how kind of you to ask. It's a wonder she hasn't lost her mind altogether with those twins under her feet. You know, the three of you were born just a few weeks apart. She and I used to joke about how our grandbabies would grow up to be best friends like us. Or even get married someday.'

She looked at me expectantly, a playful smile on her lips.

‘Oh no,' I said with an embarrassed chuckle. ‘Neither of them are really my type.'

Not that I'd even had a type until ten minutes ago but now it felt set in stone. Messy hair, crooked smile and, most of all, those strange, beautiful eyes. I flushed a deep shade of crimson, burning up until I was sure my cheeks were practically maroon.

‘And I really don't think I'm theirs,' I added. I definitely wasn't cool enough for Lydia and surely super flirtatious Jackson only dated the kind of girls who posted daily videos to let everyone know where they bought every part of their outfit.

‘Emily James, you are a gorgeous young woman. People will be falling all over themselves to court you. When the time comes.'

A smile tugged my mouth upwards, even if I couldn't stop myself from rolling my eyes at the same time. I might have been new to this grandmother thing but I was sure telling their grandkids they're cute and smart even if they weren't was part of the job. Not that I was mad at it.

‘They mentioned their mom moved to Charleston?' I said as Catherine opened the unlocked door.

She pulled a face and groaned.

‘As if poor Ginny hasn't suffered enough.'

Wow, I thought to myself as we went inside. These people really did not care for Charleston.

‘Alex always was a selfish little thing, putting herself before anyone else, never thinking how her actions might affect her mother, and it seems to me those children of hers … well, let's say the apples haven't fallen too far from the tree.' Catherine set her purse on the table beside the door then turned to face me. ‘Now, tell me, sweetheart, who was that young man you were speaking with?'

‘Wyn?'

I met her suspicion with feigned confusion but it was all too obvious from the look on her face that she didn't approve, even without knowing whether or not there was anything to approve of.

‘I don't really know,' I said, all innocence. ‘We only spoke for a minute. He's just some boy, I guess.'

‘Perhaps a little old to be considered a boy?'

I grabbed my long brown hair in my hand and wrapped it round on itself in a loose topknot, dressing up my indifferent shrug. ‘I would guess we're about the same age. He mentioned something about applying to college next year so that would make him seventeen-ish, right?'

‘Seventeen- ish . And which college is it he's applying to?'

‘SCAD. He wants to study photography. He's from the mountains near Asheville in North Carolina but he's staying in Savannah to take summer school classes.'

Catherine raised one perfect eyebrow and I sucked in my cheeks as I realized my error.

‘Well, you certainly managed to find out an awful lot about him in one minute.'

‘I'm a good listener,' I muttered, letting my hair back down.

‘Honey, I know you're not a child,' she said, her tone gentle but firm. ‘You're a smart girl and clearly you've managed quite nicely without me until now but I do have certain rules when it comes to dating.'

‘No one's dating,' I replied quickly, suddenly hot again. ‘Who said anything about dating?'

‘In any case,' she went on, ignoring my panic, ‘I do not believe it's appropriate for you to date until you are seventeen. That was the rule for me, it was the rule for Ashley, and I would ask you to abide by it also.'

‘Was it the rule for my dad?'

This time she raised both eyebrows.

‘Some things are different for boys.'

Wow. It was a long time since I'd heard that one.

‘I don't think it's too much to ask.' Catherine peered at herself in the mirror and dabbed at an invisible blemish on her perfect face. ‘Your birthday is next month. Is it really too long to wait?'

‘Which is why it feels like a weird rule,' I countered, catching sight of my own reflection and wiping away a black smudge. My good old Maybelline mascara was not up to the challenge of this humidity. ‘It's not as though I'll be that much more mature than I am now. I mean, how much can a person change in four weeks?'

‘A very good question,' Catherine replied, gazing at me with consideration. ‘Now, I think this would be the perfect time for a tour of the house, don't you?'

‘As good a time as any?'

I was confused. Had I won that one or did we call it a draw?

Catherine didn't seem confused at all.

‘How wonderful to be in agreement,' she said but I couldn't tell if she was talking about the tour or the dating. She ran her hand lovingly over the wooden banister of the staircase, then gave it a tap. ‘Let's begin.'

Bell House was a labyrinth. The tour moved through the foyer and the parlour, before leading us around the staircase to visit the formal dining room, a less formal breakfast room, the study, and finally an enormous kitchen that took up the entire back half of the house with its huge open windows and endless cabinets and cupboards. The windows looked onto a beautiful garden, high walls protecting it from the outside world, and so green and full of life: the only dark spot in the entire yard was Ashley, who glared at us from one of the flowerbeds.

‘She doesn't like to be interrupted while she's working. Or any other time,' Catherine explained, giving her daughter a little wave. It was not returned.

‘That's the pantry, then there's a second powder room through to the right, and downstairs on the garden level we have three guestrooms and three bathrooms.' My grandmother opened a door off the downstairs hallway to reveal a narrow, dimly lit staircase. ‘I keep them closed up. It's been a while since we had guests and it really is a pain to keep the dust out when people are coming and going all the time.'

‘Couldn't you use the rooms for something else?' I suggested. ‘Like a gym?'

Catherine laughed for a moment, only stopping when she realized I wasn't joking. From the look on her face, you'd have thought I'd suggested we open a slaughter house down there.

‘Oh, honey, aren't you just the funniest little thing,' she replied, patting my hand. ‘I don't think that would be very fitting for an abode of Bell House's stature. All that sweating and grunting? Besides, you never know when unexpected guests might arrive. It wouldn't do to have nowhere for them to stay, now would it? Before I renovated, these were the servants' quarters.'

‘You had live-in servants?'

As someone whose chore had been cleaning the bathroom since the day she was old enough to hold a mop, it was an incomprehensible statement but Catherine didn't seem to find it strange in the slightest.

‘My mother did but I couldn't bear the thought of having all those extra bodies under my roof. Ashley manages the house quite well, so a full-time staff isn't necessary. Except for Barnett, my driver? You may not remember but you met him yesterday. His father drove for my parents and my grandparents, and his father drove for us before that. He's practically part of the family.'

‘Is he here now?' I asked, peering through all the open doors as though he might pop out to introduce himself at any second.

‘Goodness, no,' Catherine laughed. ‘He doesn't come into the house. Barnett stays with the car.'

I stared at her, trying to make sense of what she was saying. ‘You mean he just sits in the car all day, in case you need to go somewhere?'

‘How else would I get around? Drive myself?' She tutted and shook her head. ‘Emily, honey, you're just too much.'

Another thought occurred to me as we moved back down the hallway, something I should have realized from the moment Ashley bought two first class tickets on the next available flight when we arrived at the airport without a reservation. The enormous house, the beautiful clothes, the priceless antiques. The Bells really weren't just any old family.

‘Catherine.' I started out carefully but there really was only one way to ask the question. ‘Are you rich?'

She turned sharply, hands pressed against her chest.

‘It's generally considered impolite to discuss financial matters unless that is the agreed upon topic of conversation.' She lowered her voice and checked to make sure there was no one around before adding; ‘I would say we're comfortable.'

Which was exactly the kind of thing people said when they were insanely wealthy. I stood, dazed, taking a moment to recover. Catherine was rich. Catherine was my grandmother. Did that make me rich? I couldn't think of a time when I'd wanted for anything but I certainly wasn't spoiled. Dad and I had what we needed and nothing more. Better to travel light, he always said. But I was quickly learning it wasn't what my dad had said so much as what he hadn't that made all the difference now.

‘Second floor next?' Catherine suggested.

I nodded and started to follow when a cool gust of wind brushed the back of my neck, making me turn around. There was another door I hadn't noticed before, tucked away across from the powder room and smaller than the others, painted sky blue. It was completely out of step with the rest of the house and I couldn't believe I hadn't seen it earlier.

‘That's my craft room.'

Catherine put herself between me and the door as soon as she saw where I was looking.

‘Bell House is as much yours as it is mine,' she said, calm but clear. ‘Every generation is simply a caretaker of this magical place and I want you to feel completely at home. The only thing I ask is that you don't go in there without me. My craft room is my little sanctuary, the one place I keep for myself.'

‘Of course,' I agreed right away and she smiled. Maybe this was the place where she changed into sweatpants, watched Real Housewives and ate Flamin' Hot Cheetos. There was no way a person could be that put together all the time. But still, I couldn't stop wondering what was behind that little blue door or how I'd missed it in the first place.

‘Obviously it would be wrong to go in Ashley's room without her.' Catherine glanced out the window at the top of the stairs, looking down into the garden. My aunt was still toiling away at a flowerbed in her oversized hat and gardening gloves. ‘So we can only take a quick peek, come on.'

She opened the door opposite mine carefully, quietly, to reveal a glimpse of a pretty but basic bedroom. It was much less fussy than my own, dark wood floors and dark green walls but no giant antique bed, no mountains of pillows, no sumptuous silk wallpaper and, to my surprise, I spotted one of those fancy at-home spin bikes tucked away in the corner. Huh. Ashley didn't seem the type.

We left my aunt's room, peeking into all the other guestrooms until we reached the end of the hallway.

‘And this is where I rest my head.'

Catherine let me into her room with a showy flourish. It was worth the dramatics. Where the rest of Bell House was dark wood; polished oak, teak and mahogany, everything in Catherine's room was white. White silk walls, white four-poster bed, white loveseat and dresser and plush white rugs on light oak floors. In front of huge arched windows that looked down onto the walled garden was a copper clawfoot rolltop bathtub. I'd never seen a tub outside the bathroom before but now all I wanted to do was fill it to the top and soak under the moonlight.

‘You must try it with the lavender bath salts,' Catherine said. ‘There's nothing quite like it. Especially under a full moon.'

‘You read my mind,' I replied, only very slightly worried that she really had.

‘Just your pretty face.' She closed the door and I heard the old catch click. ‘I've saved the best for last. Shall we adjourn to the library?'

‘I'd really like to see my mom and dad's room,' I said, one hand already on the banister, one foot already on the stairs. ‘You said it's on the third floor, right?'

‘Yes, but we don't go up there.'

I did hear her but the words didn't register. One foot after the other, I climbed upwards until I lost myself in the darkness of the third floor, leaving my grandmother miles behind. There weren't any windows up here and the light played strangely. I was three steps from the top when I paused and looked up at the ceiling. Leaning against the wall, I tilted my head all the way back to see better. It was painted a deep, dense midnight blue and the paint absorbed all the light like velvet. As my eyes adjusted, a web of delicate patterns came into focus, tiny dots connected by fine lines, and it took me a moment to realize what it was. Orion, Ursa Major and Ursa Minor, Cassiopeia and more I couldn't name. All the constellations of the night sky, picked out in sparkling silver. It felt like I was floating in space and every time I blinked, I was sure I saw a shooting star fly across the sky.

‘Emily!'

A strong pair of hands gripped on my shoulders, physically pulling me back down to the second floor and snapping me out of my trance.

‘The third floor is structurally unsound,' Catherine said as I came back to earth, the same stern look on her face as I'd seen in the square. ‘I believe I mentioned Bell House was built two hundred years ago and a lady of her age requires a little work to look and feel her best. The moment it's safe, I'll take you up there but I'm not going to risk anything happening to you now you're here.'

‘I promise I'll be careful,' I said, still irresistibly drawn to the sparkling stars above me.

‘You won't need to be careful,' she replied, turning me around and guiding me back the way we came. ‘Because you're not going up there.'

Like every other girl raised on Disney movies, I'd occasionally wondered whether or not I would abandon everything I knew in exchange for a beast and a library but it wasn't until I stepped into the library at Bell House that I totally understood what Belle was thinking. I'd never seen so many books in someone's house. I'd hardly ever seen so many books anywhere and as someone who spent most of their childhood hanging out in university libraries, that was saying a lot. Even if I started that very second, there were more words in this room than I could read in one lifetime. Low lamplight glowed, warm and welcoming, and the comforting, familiar smell of paper and glue drew me in.

‘There's a ladder,' I said excitedly as though Catherine might not know. And not just any ladder, a wooden ladder attached to a rail with little brass wheels to move it around the room.

‘So there is,' she replied. ‘And I'm sure you'll be pleased to know we also have our very own computer.'

One hand pushing the ladder back and forth, I turned to see her hand resting on a dusty beige box that looked older than most of the books. ‘I'm afraid we don't have WiFi. This monstrosity connects to the internet through the phone line.'

‘Anything is better than nothing,' I lied, approaching the ancient computer with trepidation. She hit the power button and slowly, very slowly, it whirred into life, the grey screen flickering in and out.

‘Ashley is the only one who uses it, she'll show you how to get it started.'

She switched it off before it could even get started but I was pretty sure it would be faster to send messages via carrier pigeon.

‘Libraries are wonderful, aren't they? Always growing.' Catherine settled behind the desk as I pulled a random leather-bound book from a shelf, half expecting a secret doorway to appear. ‘Your great-grandmother used to say there are only two things people could never have enough of, love and knowledge.'

The same words echoed in a different voice in my mind.

‘Dad used to say the same thing all the time,' I told her, expecting to see a smile but she didn't quite reciprocate. Instead, she pursed her lips and I slid the book back into place.

‘My husband passed when the children were still very young. Ashley was barely out of diapers, but Paul was determined to be man of the house.' She turned her head away from me when I took the seat on the other side of the desk, her profile silhouetted by the warm lamplight, a bittersweet expression on her face. ‘In my grief, I let him take on too much and as he got older, he resented me for it. Your father had a fiery temper as a young man, I don't think there's a door in this big old house he didn't try to slam off its hinges at least three times.'

The thought of my dad storming around, slamming doors was unimaginable. He never once raised his voice to me, no matter how hard I pushed. Dad was the kind of person who never got angry, only disappointed, which was somehow way worse.

‘What did you fight about?' I asked, still struggling to imagine my dad as a temperamental teen.

‘Savannah is an old town and we're one of its oldest families,' Catherine replied. ‘My generation was raised to behave a certain way and meet certain expectations, perhaps the last generation that didn't question it. Being a Bell meant honouring our traditions but your father had no interest in any of that and he wasn't afraid to let me know it. Once his mind was made up about something …'

‘There was no changing it,' I finished.

Now that I could believe.

‘Then along came your mother.'

She gave an audible sigh. I held my breath. This was what I'd been waiting for.

‘I'm sure you know this already but they met at the Savannah College of Art and Design,' she began with a knowing look. ‘The same place your friend is taking his summer school classes. Paul was in his junior year, Angelica was a freshman, and he lost his head and his heart the very moment they met. A rare case of true love at first sight, if you believe in that sort of thing.'

I felt a tug from the invisible string tying me to Wyn. I believed.

‘Dad couldn't talk about the past without getting upset so I really don't know much at all,' I said, desperate for more details. When it came to stories about my mom, I'd survived on crumbs for years and Catherine held the promise of a full banquet. ‘You're the only other person I've ever met who knew her. What was she like?'

‘Angelica was wonderful,' she said decisively and with such warmth that my heart swelled inside my chest. ‘As smart as your father and twice as quick, she had the most infectious laugh, it didn't matter what the joke was, you would always find yourself laughing along with her. And she would do anything for anybody, give you the shirt off her back if you needed it. I liked her very much indeed.'

‘She sounds amazing.' My voice was frayed at the edges and I knew tears were near. My grandmother reached across the desk and took my hands in hers.

‘Angelica taught your father how to be happy, something I could not do,' Catherine said, her own words crackling with emotion. ‘So, naturally, I welcomed her into the family. On one condition.'

‘Which was?'

Her eyes were on the desk now instead of me.

‘I was very, very young when I was married and still practically a girl when I fell pregnant with Paul,' she explained. ‘I wanted them to live at least a little of their lives before they settled down. So I asked him to wait until he and Angelica had both graduated before there was any kind of official engagement.'

‘But they got married when they were still in college?' I said with a frown I saw mirrored on my grandmother's face.

‘Love is impatient and so was your father. A few months after our conversation, we skipped the engagement altogether and held a wedding here, in the garden.'

‘They were too in love to wait?' I guessed hopefully.

‘That's one way to look at it. Another is that your mother was three months pregnant with you.'

My dreams of romance were immediately wiped away by the reality of my parents' unstoppable horniness. Another thing I could not and did not want to imagine.

‘But it was seventeen years ago not the 1950s,' I said. ‘Surely they didn't have to get married right away just because they were pregnant.'

She twisted her aquamarine ring around on her finger as she answered.

‘A lot of people still call this place Slow-vannah and not only because we like to take our time. I don't expect you to understand completely but Savannah society doesn't move at the same speed as the rest of the world – certain things are still done a certain way, especially in families like ours.'

Lydia's warning about the debutante circuit loomed over me like a white ballgown-sporting spectre.

‘If we could control when we fall in love, life would be a lot easier but we can't, can we?' Catherine went on. ‘Regardless, Angelica's pregnancy was a wonderful time for us all and when you arrived, born under a beautiful full moon, well, I don't think there will ever be anyplace filled with as much love as Bell House was on that evening. Those were glorious, happy days. Until things took a turn for the worse.'

‘Until my mom died.'

I felt a tremor and gripped the arm of the chair. The walls of the library throbbed like there was a heartbeat trapped behind the bookshelves but Catherine looked unmoved.

‘And took your father's heart with her to the grave.'

The eerie pulsing faded away and I let go of the chair when the old wood creaked in protest. None of the books had moved even though I was sure something should've been shaken loose. Unless I'd imagined the whole thing …

Catherine opened a drawer on her side of the desk and pulled out a worn Manila folder stuffed with photographs and pieces of paper. With long, slender fingers, she handed me the documents one by one: a wedding certificate; a death certificate; a birth certificate. Paul Spencer James Bell and Angelica Caroline Smith, married in Savannah, Georgia, 24 December 2006. Angelica Caroline Bell, died in Savannah, Georgia, 24 November 2007. And Emma Catherine James Bell, born in Savannah, Georgia, 21 June 2007.

My birthday but not my name.

‘I wanted to raise you the same way I had been raised, according to our family's traditions,' Catherine said. ‘Your father did not. After we lost your mother, he became even more resistant to the idea. That's why he left, to protect you from something he thought was wrong.'

‘But my name is Emily Caroline,' I said, staring at the birth certificate and only half-listening. ‘Not Emma Catherine.'

She shook her head and passed me a stack of photographs.

‘You were named for me, just as I was named for my grandmother and she was named for hers. My grandmother went by Emma so I go by my middle name, Catherine. You were meant to be an Emma. Paul changed your name after you left town.'

The first photo in my shaking hands was of Catherine and even though she was clearly younger than she was now, the harsh look in her eyes aged her by decades. Her gentle smile was a burgundy slash and there was no colour in her cheeks at all, just a sickly pale complexion against violently red hair. The next photo was in black and white but the similarity undeniable. Another Emma Catherine Bell, her grandmother, and even with the sepia tones, I could tell she was another redhead. I leafed through the stack of long-gone relatives until I reached painted miniatures and pencil-drawn portraits, eventually left with just one.

‘She was the first of us,' my grandmother said, so much reverence in her voice I could have sworn I saw the lamplight flicker out of respect. ‘She arrived here in 1733 and ever since that day, there has always been an Emma Catherine Bell in Savannah.'

The portrait was so old, the facial features of the woman had mostly faded away but my imagination filled in the blanks. Catherine's hair, Ashley's eyes, Dad's lips, my nose. The first Emma Catherine Bell. And I was the latest.

‘My name isn't my name,' I said, the first Emma Catherine's eyes following me as I laid her down on top of her descendants.

‘Emily, your daddy had what he believed were good reasons for his behaviour. You are who you are – who you've always been.' Catherine collected up everything laid out on the desk and slipped my history back inside the folder, returning it to its place in the desk drawer. ‘We could call you Ulysses S. Grant and it wouldn't change a thing. You know what they say, a rose by any other name.'

It didn't make sense but this lie felt bigger than the others, or maybe it was a culmination of everything I'd discovered over the last couple of days and this was the final straw. My father took away my family, he took away my home, he even took away my name, and he wasn't even here to explain himself. I wasn't sure which part I was the most upset about.

‘Tell me what else did he lie about?' I demanded. ‘Are there any other surprises waiting for me?'

‘I'm parched,' Catherine said calmly as she locked the drawer with a quiet click. ‘It's time for tea.'

‘I don't want tea!' I exclaimed. ‘I want to know why my dad lied!'

‘And I want you to calm down.'

The steady patience on her face took on a hint of displeasure as she sharpened the edges of her words. ‘This is a very difficult time for both of us and confusing for you, I know. We're both grieving our loss, Emily, and right now, I would ask you to give your daddy some grace. With that in mind, would you prefer hot or sweet tea?'

‘I need to use the restroom,' I said, curling my hands into tight fists. I didn't care if she was right, it all hurt too much and just the thought of drinking tea, my dad's answer to everything, made my stomach curdle.

She nodded and I stood up too quickly, my head spinning as I barrelled out of the library and pinballed down the hall to the powder room. How could he have done this? It was such a betrayal. Worse, it was a violation. My father had taken something away from me and as far as I could tell, he'd had no intention of ever giving it back.

The creak of footsteps on floorboards stopped me in my tracks as I reached the powder room but when I turned to see who was behind me, there was no one there. Instead, I watched as the door to Catherine's craft room inched itself open, daring me to come inside.

‘Hello?' I called out. ‘Ashley, is that you?'

No response.

The pale green wallpaper that covered the hallway walls seemed to shimmer as I moved closer to the open door, a trick of the light on the hand-painted fabric, and icy gusts of air blasted down on me even though the AC vents were a ways down the hall. I was right on the threshold of Catherine's craft room, fingertips grazing the sky-blue painted wood, when I heard footsteps again, this time coming from the opposite direction. I pulled the door closed and scrunched my eyes shut. Toddler logic. If I couldn't see them, they couldn't see me. Pressing myself against the wall, I waited for whoever it was to pass me but they didn't make it that far. Halfway down the hall, the footsteps stopped. Right in front of the library.

‘Ashley, honey. Perfect timing. Could you be a sweetheart and bring us some tea?' I heard Catherine call, and in response, Ashley laughed.

‘What is it that's so funny?' my grandmother asked. Holding my breath, I peered around the corner just in time to see Ashley disappear into the library.

‘I was about to ask what your last servant died of. What do you think, too soon?'

There was a pause and I slid silently around the corner, keeping close to the walls.

‘Did you tell her?' Ashley asked, her voice lowered. ‘Does she know?'

‘No and we're not discussing this now,' Catherine replied airily as though the question didn't dignify a response. ‘Besides, I can't be sure she has it.'

‘Really? Because I'm sure. Don't tell me you don't feel it.'

A loud tut.

‘Regardless of your expert opinion, I say it's not the right time. She's been through a lot already, any more would be too much.'

The frigid air blasted down, chilling me to the bone, but the walls of Bell House were oddly warm to the touch. Right time for what?

‘There's no such thing as the right time,' Ashley countered. She sounded frustrated. ‘You should tell her tonight, I'm sick of lying.'

A harsh laugh split the air.

‘I find that hard to believe,' Catherine replied. ‘You're so good at it.'

I moved down the hallway until I could see through the crack between the wall and the door. Ashley loomed over the desk from where Catherine returned her attention with a dark glare.

‘Emily has suffered too much to be burdened with this right away,' my grandmother said, pushing back her chair with a decisive screech. ‘The truth would kill her.'

‘If she doesn't kill us first.'

I bit my lip to keep myself silent, the heat of the walls burning up through my clothes while the cold air froze in my lungs.

‘No one is going to die,' Catherine declared as my legs wobbled underneath me and my vision blurred. ‘I will find a way to save her. To save all of us.'

It was the last thing I heard before the darkness took over and I crumpled into a heap on the floor.