Shades of the Past (11 page)

She swept a wayward strand of hair back from her face then rubbed her forehead.  What a disaster dinner had been.  Lord Marrable had not appeared at all.  Majel was scarcely civil to Cissy owing to their latest argument over Lady Gwen's jewels.  This, in turn, put their husbands at odds.  Lawrence tried his best to lighten the evening but with poor results.  He then centered his full and untiring attention on Vanessa.

When dinner came, at last, to a blessed end, Vanessa escaped to the Photo House.  Fortunately, to her relief, just before she left, Timmons appeared, informing Lawrence his brother requested his presence in the viscount’s private study.  Still, she feared Lawrence might appear unannounced at the Photo House while she worked alone, late at night.  Prudence prevailed.  She locked the door on her arrival and stood prepared to send away anyone who sought to interrupt her.

Seeing the last seconds tick off on her watch, Vanessa extinguished the lamp and moved to the developing tray. 

Removing its lid, she set it aside and felt for the edges of the glass plate with her fingertips.  Lifting the plate, she drained the solution from its surface then rinsed it in a bath of acetic acid and warmed water, halting the negative's development.  

Moving another pace down the worktable, she transferred the plate into the fixer to remove the remaining salts.  She then quickly washed her hands as she counted off the prescribed time beneath her breath.  Withdrawing the plate, she placed it in the final tray containing the wash, then relit the ruby light once more. 

Her excitement climbed as she viewed the reverse image of the scene on the glass negative.  This was always the most magical and rewarding moment for herself.

Carefully, she lifted the plate from the wash, draining off the liquid.  She then examined the image for negative contrast and density which, when printed, would render the range of gray tones.  First, she studied the shadow areas for detail, then the highlighted ones.  The people appeared in focus and well defined, the elements surrounding them, sharp and clear.

Pleased with the results, she made a notation of the developing time in her notebook.  Her first photographic endeavor at Sherringham appeared to be a success.

No sooner than the thought formed in her mind, Vanessa spied the puppy's image on the negative plate.  Rascal stood on his hind legs to one side of the table, barking furiously.  Nearby, Pasha arched her back in a perfect U, her fur bristling, as if she feared the crazed pup was about to attack. 

Vanessa smiled, remembering the furor that had erupted at the very moment she'd released the camera's shutter. Despite Rascal's agitation, he appeared in focus.

Her brow dipped as she realized the pup's attention was not fixed on the cat, as she’d expected.  Instead, Rascal stared at something high above the terrace.  Vanessa followed the puppy's line of sight to the tower's second-story row of leaded windows.  There, she discovered a soft blur in the leftmost panes—the right panes, when printed out.

Disappointment stung Vanessa straight through.  Light must have somehow crept into the camera.  A pinhole in the bellows would be enough to cause the aberration.

 As she continued to scrutinize the muted blur, she realized with a start that it was continuing to darken.  Assuming silver salts remained on the plate, Vanessa quickly returned the glass negative back to the acid bath and doused the lamp.  She agitated the pan, attempting to completely rinse off the crystals, then repeated the fixing and washing steps.  She could only hope she wasn't damaging the quality of the rest of the negative.  She'd never repeated the process on the same plate before.

Relighting the ruby lamp, she checked the negative.  Relievedly, its quality had not deteriorated, and the area in question appeared to have ceased darkening.  When the image printed out, it would appear a whitish mist.

Perhaps, it was a reflection of the sun off the panes, she reasoned, and not the camera's bellows that were at fault.  And yet, she surely would have noticed the problem at the time. 

In truth, the area in question didn't appear intensely brilliant, as one might expect from a flash of the sun's rays.  "Luminous" was the word she would choose.  It was as if light glowed from within the tower itself, its source on the other side of the leaded panes. 

Curiously, despite the seeming diffusion of light, the area now appeared to contain significantly more detail than she'd first noticed. 

As Vanessa bent close to the lamp and continued to study the plate, the temperature plummeted all around her.  It was as if she were suddenly standing in an icehouse in the dead of winter.

Opening one of the worktable drawers, she placed the negative inside to dry and to keep it free of dust.  She then breathed warmth on her hands, lit one of two oil lamps, and set about cleaning the worktable as swiftly as she could. 

The room's temperature did not improve.  With shaky fingers, she poured the solutions back into their containers, washed the pans, beakers, and utensils and stored everything in its place.  By the time she finished cleaning, she was certain she'd turned blue.

Shivering, Vanessa removed her apron and slipped into her jacket, then hastened to unlock the door.  She returned long enough to turn down the lamps, then hurried outside into the courtyard. 

Instantly, the warmer night air greeted her.  Vanessa fitted the key into the door's mechanism, scarcely able to manage it, her fingers still trembling with cold.  Hearing the click of the lock, she turned and made her way along the courtyard, blanched by moonlight. 

In the distance, at the far end of the complex that comprised Sherringham, rose a thick tower, silhouetted against the indigo sky, looming high over all—the west tower.

Vanessa stayed her step as she saw a movement in the topmost window there.  Yet, no light shined from within.  She told herself it was no more than a reflection of the night skies, of a shadow passing over the moon. 

She glanced up and found a cloudless sky.  Before she could form another explanation, the biting chill returned, flowing over and around her.

Vanessa clutched her jacket tight about her and dashed for the nearest door, escaping into the manse and fleeing to her bedchamber.

Vanessa lit the ruby lamp.   Lifting the print from the tray of fixer, she drained off the excess solution, then immersed the sheet in the wash.

"You can come over now," she called to Geoffrey who waited patiently on a stool across the room.

The boy had obeyed her directions so faithfully throughout the morning, she'd permitted him to remain in the room during the final steps of the printing-out process when she worked with chemicals once more in the dark.

"Has the picture appeared yet?"  He joined her at the worktable.

"Yes, and the tones and values are excellent.  See, for yourself.  There you are sitting on the step, sharp and clear."

Geoffrey had been fascinated when they'd readied a sheet of silver bromide paper and, placing the glass negative atop it, exposed it by gaslight.  But disappointment followed when he discovered the latent image it created remained invisible.  Vanessa explained to the impatient boy, the chemical process that was needed to bring out the picture itself.

"Would you like to take over agitating the pan, Geoffrey?  Just move it gently, like so, and rap it a bit on the sides."

Vanessa stepped aside as he eagerly assumed her place and continued the motion.  Together, they gazed at the print through the wavering water, Vanessa's eyes drawing immediately to the diamond-paned windows on the tower.  She expelled a disappointed breath as she located the whitish mist in the right portion.  It was the only thing marring an otherwise excellent photograph.

"That should be enough rinsing, Geoffrey.  Why don't you lift the print out by the edges and tilt it so the water runs off.  I'll open the shutters."

As Vanessa crossed to the back of the room, she heard the boy gasp.

"Mrs. Wynters!"  His voice came out a high-pitched squawk.  "There's a ghost in the window!"

Vanessa smiled as she moved to open the last of the shutters.  "I'm sorry to disappoint you, but the blur you see is nothing more than light that somehow leaked into the camera and onto the negative.  I'll need to check the bellows before I make another exposure."

Geoffrey's eyebrows butted together as he continued to scrutinize the picture.  "But look, Mrs. Wynters.  You can see the outline of a person.  It has an arm and a hand lifted to the glass."

Vanessa returned to the worktable and looked over his shoulder.  Cold trickled down her spine as she discovered what appeared to be a glowing human shape in the upper window, looking down on the terrace and the people there.  The figure appeared to be dressed in flowing garments—a robe or a dress.  Although nothing could be made out for a face, as Geoffrey said, the shape appeared to have an arm upraised, the hand resting against the paned window.

"I wonder which ghost it is?"  Geoffrey’s voice rose with excitement.

"Whatever do you mean,
which
ghost?"  Vanessa's gaze veered to the boy.

"Mama says Royal Sherringham is haunted, that many ghosts inhabit the grounds and manse.  She says the shadows of Sherringham are filled with shades of the past."

"
Shades
of the past?"

"Yes."  He nodded gravely, lifting eyes round and wide.  "Spirits and bogies."  He dropped his gaze back to the photograph.  "Do you think this is the ghost of someone who died a gruesome death at Sherringham?  Someone who is now bound here and must walk its halls and grounds for eternity?"

Vanessa lifted a brow at that.  "What I think is you have an extraordinary and most active imagination, young man.  I assure you, what you see on the photograph is no more than a trick of light."

But despite her words, Vanessa couldn't dismiss the distinctly human shape.

»«

While Geoffrey took his lunch, Vanessa remained in the Photo House to inspect her camera.  Opening it out and extending the bellows, she next mounted the lens in place and closed the shutter attachment.  She verified the construction's overall sturdiness and examined the pleated leather for signs of wear.

Working with deft fingers, Vanessa removed the glass viewing screen at the back.  Setting it aside, she then crossed to the window and held the camera to the light.  Meticulously, she scanned the inside of the bellows for evidence of tiny cracks or pinholes that might allow in the minutest amount of light.  She discovered nothing.  In every way, the camera proved light-tight.

Vanessa decided to test the camera further.  When Geoffrey reappeared, to the boy's delight, she suggested they gather the necessary equipment and photograph some exterior views of the manse.

Several hours later, upon their return, Vanessa set about developing the freshly exposed negatives.  When none displayed irregularities or unusual inclusions of light, she had to accept her camera was sound.

As a last thought, Vanessa reinspected the negative of the terrace scene from yesterday, wondering if the plate itself might have been improperly prepared, the silver nitrate solution spread unevenly over its surface.  She found nothing to suggest that it had. 

Vanessa worked continuously late into the day, foregoing joining the others at tea but having some of the hot beverage and scones sent to the Photo House for herself and Geoffrey.  The boy proved most helpful, and his carefulness around the chemicals allayed her initial worries.  Still, she required him to perch on the stool whenever she found it necessary to work in absolute dark.

Several times more, she examined the finished print of the terrace scene.  She wholly discounted that the lucent area in question was a reflection of the sky or sun.  Yet, she was at a loss to explain what might account for the effect or how its source appeared to emanate from the other side of the paned glass.

On completing the printing-out process, Vanessa secured the wet prints to the edges of the shelves with brass pins, leaving them to dry.  She and Geoffrey then cleaned away the trays and implements.

Locking the Photo House, they made their way across the courtyard and into the heart of the manse.  Vanessa thanked Geoffrey for his generous help and bid him a good evening, then proceeded to her bedchamber to dress for dinner.

As she did, she decided to remain silent on the subject of the terrace photograph.  Perhaps, no one would inquire about it just yet.

»«

"Geoffrey told me the most remarkable tale."  Cissy's twinkling gaze alighted on Vanessa from across the table.  "He said there is a ghost in the photograph you took of us at tea yesterday."

Vanessa choked on the morsel of beef she was in the midst of chewing and had to take a swallow of wine to clear her throat. 

"He's a rather imaginative young fellow."  She smiled and darted a self-conscious look along the table.  Momentarily, she held everyone's attention.

Vanessa took another swallow of wine.  Geoffrey, with his youthful enthusiasm, had likely spread the word from one end of Sherringham to the other by now. 

"Light corrupted a portion of the negative somehow," she offered by way of explanation, unable to provide any other, though she held certain her camera was not at fault.  "It's most embarrassing to have that occur with my first official photograph of Sherringham.  Geoffrey fancies it's a figure glowing in the tower."

"Well, don't keep us tantalized," Cissy pressed.  "You must bring the photograph to the saloon after dinner."

"Yes, you must," Lawrence encouraged from his place a little farther down the table.  "It should make for fascinating conversation this evening."

Vanessa glanced to Lord Marrable who sat near, at the table's head.  As they took their evening meal in a small but exquisite dining room, no one sat at a great distance from anyone else.

Lawrence dropped his napkin on the table and leaned back in his chair, his gaze going to his brother.  "Tell me, Adrian, how was your ride into Hereford today?"

"Productive," Lord Marrable commented, then fell silent once more.

Vanessa had not seen the Viscount since yesterday's tea when he'd left so abruptly.  As she'd taken none of her meals with the family today, she'd not realized he'd been absent from Sherringham.  But then, the fact they'd not encountered one another was, in itself, unremarkable.  The mansion complex and its grounds were extensive.

The side of Lawrence's mouth slid upward into a half smile, his eyes still fixed on his brother.  "I understand you rode that black devil, Samson.  I thought you were going to sell the beast."

"His fire suits me," Lord Marrable replied dryly.  "He's settled down a bit since when last you encountered him."

"I'm glad to hear it, though I doubt he tolerates anyone near him save you.  I certainly don't intend to attempt it."  Lawrence turned his pale blue gaze on Vanessa.  "Do you ride, Vanessa?"

Apprehension rose in Vanessa's breast.  She suspected an invitation lurked behind Lawrence's question and that he would insist she ride out with him on the morrow should she answer yes.  She held no wish to be alone with the man.  He was entirely too presumptuous and forward in his attentions.  After Lawrence's display in the presence of his family yesterday, she decided not to trust his judgment as to what constituted proper behavior.

"I haven't ridden for years, I'm afraid.  I did so while growing up but not since my marriage or while traveling with your aunt."

Lawrence started to speak but Majel seized on Vanessa's comment and asked of hers and Lady Gwen's excursions abroad, particularly those to Paris and the Mediterranean.

"And how long did you say you were married?" Majel's husband suddenly interjected with little tact.

"I didn't say, Lord Pendergast."  Vanessa grew aware of the Viscount's eyes drawing to her.  "But if you would know, Reginald and I enjoyed nearly three years of marriage." 

The actual time they'd lived together was far less, but she saw no reason to disclose it.

"And did you and your husband travel?" Lord Pendergast prodded further, then paused.  "Sorry, I suppose I should ask if he was a man of leisure.  Or was it that he was obliged to engage in a profession?"

Vanessa detected a note of disdain in his voice at the mention of a profession.  Really, the man sorely needed to be lessoned in social graces.  She raised her chin knowing it carried a measure of defiance and pride, the same as contained in her heart.

"Reginald was the fourth son of a baronet.  And yes, we did travel, and yes, he did pursue an occupation.  He and a friend formed a private firm, actually.  They engineered bridges.  Reginald's last project was for the Home Office which took him to Raijapur.  I was to join him, but before I could . . .”  Her voice caught as she recalled the telegram bearing the devastating news.  "The bridge collapsed.  Reginald was among those who died."

"My condolences, Mrs. Wynters," Lord Marrable offered at once.  "It must have been most tragic for you."

Vanessa lifted her eyes to his and found empathy there. "Yes, most tragic," she said quietly, realizing this was a man who understood such loss.  "Please, call me Vanessa."

A light entered his eyes, warming their darkness.  He inclined his head toward her, ever so briefly, accepting her request.  She'd pleased him, she realized, and found that pleased her as well.

Henry Norland leaned forward at his place, curiosity etching his brow.  "Am I correct to assume your husband's share in the firm fell to you upon his death?  That you are engaged, even indirectly, in bridge construction?"

"No."  She shook her head, feeling a familiar pain mixed with anger rise in her heart.  "According to an agreement which predated our marriage, the firm became the sole holding of Reginald's partner at his death, a Mr. George Newland."

It had been a piece of slick business.  When she'd spurned Mr. Newland's unwanted advances—made before her husband's body had even been returned from India—he seized the business and profits.  Reginald had drawn up legal documents, provisions for her in the event of his death.  Or so he'd vowed to her on their wedding day.  But Mr. Newland claimed the two had a verbal agreement that, should one of them die, the surviving partner would inherit all.  No papers were ever found in the firm's vault to back Reginald's claim to Vanessa.  She assumed George Newland had burned them to ashes.

"But your husband did make arrangements for your care, did he not?"  Lord Marrable's voice drew her attention.  She found his brows deeply furrowed.

"He thought he had."  She spoke past a lump that had arisen in her throat. 

Whatever his faults, Reginald had been a good and thoughtful man.  He'd been keenly aware of the dangers of his profession.  But he'd utterly misjudged his partner.

Vanessa placed her napkin beside her plate.  "If you will excuse me, I’ll retrieve the picture from the Photo House.  Geoffrey and I took several more exposures today.  Perhaps you'd like to see them also."

The men stood as she rose from her place.

"Perhaps, I should accompany you," Lawrence offered.

"Thank you, but I would much prefer to walk alone just now."

At that she fell to silence and withdrew.

»«

As Adrian entered the drawing room, he cast a swift glance to the others who’d preceded him there and noted Vanessa's absence.  As he'd already sent Timmons to inform her that the family had adjourned here, rather than the saloon, he tempered his concern.  Consulting his watch, he marked the time.