Shadows of the Silver Screen (10 page)

XV

 

Standing in front of the full-length mirror, Penny inspected herself with a critical eye. She smoothed the silken material over her shoulders, the collar of her evening gown, half a size too small, rubbing at her skin. The dress she was wearing had been cut for the frame of Miss Devey, but with the actress returning to London in the morning, her costumes had now been delivered to Penelope’s room. She glanced down at the array of clothes left in a heap on her bed, a riot of colours illuminated by candlelight. Skirts and ball gowns, blouses and shawls: the clothes that would help her bring Amelia to life when she stepped in front of the camera tomorrow.

Penny shook her head, the thought of this filling her with dread. The fact that she was now the star of this moving picture show still seemed beyond belief, but when Gold had fixed her with his piercing stare she had felt unable to refuse.
Your story will be told
, the filmmaker had said. She shuddered.

Her thoughts returned again to the strange events that had unfolded that evening. After Vivienne and Miss Mottram’s dramatic exits, Monty had retired early, too ashamed by his behaviour to even stay for dinner. It had been left to Penny and the young actor, James Denham, to join Edward Gold in the dining room. There, they had listened respectfully as the filmmaker outlined his plans for the next day’s filming, the atmosphere as frigid as the plates of cold meat they were served. But as the meal dragged on, Gold became more garrulous with each glass of wine that he drank, his conversation taking a slightly sinister turn.

“With this film, I will take my revenge,” he had slurred, waving his wine glass at the portrait of Lord Eversholt. “The wrong that was done can finally be put right.” James and Penny had exchanged puzzled glances, both of them confused by the director’s cryptic comments. Eventually, to their relief, the last course was served and, finishing it, they had hurried from the dining room, leaving Gold grumbling into the bottom of his wine glass.

Penelope frowned. What on earth had Gold meant? With a sigh, she picked up the script from her bedside table, resigned to rehearsing her first scene before she slept that night. Staring into the mirror, she addressed her own reflection:

“My name is Amelia Eversholt and this is my story – a tragic tale of murder, betrayal and revenge.”

As she spoke the words aloud, Penelope caught a glimpse of a second face in the mirror, the shadowy features of a girl hovering at her shoulder. With a sudden gasp, she spun round in alarm. But in the shadows that lurked behind her, nobody could be seen.

A strange unearthly sensation gripped Penny as she peered around the room. The candle’s flame flickered and the shadows thickened, as though some unseen presence was trying to make itself known. At the very edge of her hearing she could just make out a soft murmuring sound, the whisper of a heartbeat next to her own.

With a mounting sense of dread, Penelope turned back to face the mirror; her heart thumping in her chest as she stared at her own reflection. She watched in disbelief as a second face emerged from the shadows again. It was the face of a girl, not much older than Penelope herself. But where Penny’s features were blanched with fear, the girl’s face was wreathed in shadows; soft curls of hair framing her ethereal features like pale wisps of mist. She was dressed in a grey evening gown, a black velvet ribbon tied high around her neck.

As she stared at the girl in the looking glass, it appeared to Penny that she could almost see through her body; the image of her evening gown shifting to reveal the door beyond. An icy prickle crept across Penny’s skin as, with eyes that glittered like diamonds in the gloom, the girl fixed her with a beseeching stare. She opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came and then with a sigh that rustled the curtains, she turned to leave.

As Penelope stood there transfixed, the shadowy figure of the girl stepped towards the door. She moved with a curious gliding motion, as if her footsteps almost skimmed the floor. Glancing back over her shoulder, the girl beckoned for Penny to follow her and then disappeared through the solid oak door.

With her heart thumping in her chest, Penelope turned to obey; the pages of her script fluttering to the floor as she stepped towards the door, almost unable to believe what she had seen. As she turned the handle, the heavy door opened with a creak. Outside, the corridor lay in darkness, but as she stepped from her room, Penny could just make out the shadowy form of the girl ahead of her in the gloom, gliding down the passageway as though the floor was made out of water.

Penelope hurried to keep up, the sound of her own footsteps painfully loud. At the end of the long corridor stood the outline of another door, almost lost in the darkness. The wraithlike figure of the girl paused in front of this and with an agitated gesture, signalled for Penny to hurry. Then, turning back towards the door, she melted through the frame as though it wasn’t even there.

Penelope gasped. She tried turning the handle, only to hear the rattle of the lock hold firm. Standing there in the darkness, a flurry of thoughts rushed through her brain as she tried to make sense of what she had just seen. As a shiver crept down her spine, Penny couldn’t discount the thought that some supernatural hand was at work here. Then, on the other side of the door, she heard an ominous creaking sound.

Ghost or not, she had to find out what lay inside. Pulling out her hairpin, Penny bent to the keyhole. There was more than one way to unlock a door. Using the trick that Alfie had shown her when he’d locked the keys inside the office, she straightened the hairpin and then slid it inside the lock. Carefully turning the hairpin, she felt it catch against the pins of the lock in turn, each one clicking into place as the hairpin rotated. With a final twist, she felt the lock spring open and, turning the handle, Penelope opened the door.

The room was shrouded in darkness; a blackness more complete than even the corridor’s crepuscular gloom. Penny cursed her impulsiveness, wishing now that she had picked up the lighted candle from her table. She took a faltering step forward, straining her eyes against the shadows that crowded the room.

Heavy curtains were drawn across the window, but faint glimmers of moonlight crept around their edges. Steeling her nerves, Penny stepped across the darkened room, the half-glimpsed shapes of shadows looming out at her. Reaching the curtains, she drew them back with a flourish, the full moon hanging in the sky casting a spectral light across the scene.

Penelope took in her surroundings with an inquisitive eye. A stout chest of drawers stood in one corner, a simple brass bedstead in another, whilst a washstand, wardrobe and dressing table made up the rest of the furniture in the room. The bedstead was covered with a plain white counterpane, pulled tight over the pillows and sheets; no sign that anyone had slept there that night. The room was empty, but as a cold sweat crept across her skin, Penny knew that she wasn’t alone.

As if to prove her right, a creaking sound came from the corner of the room. Turning towards it, Penelope saw the top drawer of the oak chest slowly slide open as if of its own accord. As she watched, mesmerised by the impossibility of what she was seeing, a framed photograph set atop the cabinet teetered at its edge. As the drawer juddered to a halt, the photograph tipped forward and fell, Penny rushing forward to grab it before it hit the floor.

With an anxious glance around her, she placed the picture frame back on top of the dresser. Near to it lay a copper candlestick with matches in its broad tray and, reaching for these with a trembling hand, Penelope struck a light. As the candle’s flame shimmered, she caught sight of the photograph in the frame and let out a low gasp.

The faded picture showed the face of a girl, dark curls of brunette hair framing her sad-eyed stare. It was the girl she had glimpsed in the shadows – the ghostly presence who had brought her to this place. As Penny stared at the photograph, its sepia tones glowing gold in the candlelit glow, the chest of drawers shuddered and, glancing down, she saw the drawer pulled out again by an invisible hand.

Without thinking, she reached down to push the drawer back before its contents spilled out over the floor. But even as she pressed hard against it, bringing all her weight to bear, some supernatural force seemed to hold the drawer open. Staring down in disbelief, Penelope saw this same invisible hand begin to peel back the layers of folded sheets and pillowcases arranged there. It was as though it was searching for something, peeling back the bedclothes until the bottom of the drawer lay almost bare. Then Penny saw it, a brownish bundle of papers tied together with a tattered piece of ribbon, half-hidden beneath a folded pillowcase.

She hesitated, not wanting to risk the wrath of this unseen presence. But the drawer now lay still. Whatever supernatural force was at work here, it seemed satisfied that it had her attention. This was something she was meant to see.

Reaching into the drawer, Penelope picked up the bundle of papers, and, carefully unknotting the ribbon, laid them out on the dresser. In the candlelight she could see letters, postcards and photographs – a secret store of memories that for some reason had been hidden away. Bending her head more closely to the first of the letters, Penny began to read.

As Penelope finished reading the letter, she sensed the presence of another standing by her side. Out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed the shadowy form of the girl, her hand reaching out towards the papers that lay atop the chest of drawers. Glancing down, Penny watched as a postcard-sized portrait slowly slid free from the pile; the face of a young man staring back at her from a faded photograph.

As she looked at this picture, Penelope felt a frisson of recognition. It was the face of the filmmaker – Edward Gold – pictured here in younger days. A pencil moustache was perched on top of his upper lip, his youthful features pinched into a nervous smile.

Shaking her head, Penny started to turn towards the shadow by her side; countless questions swirling around her mind. But before she had the chance to speak, she heard the sound of heavy footsteps in the corridor outside. Penelope hurriedly swept the pile of papers back into the drawer, sliding it shut as the door handle rattled behind her.

In the candlelight, she saw the face of Edward Gold, his lined features set in a suspicious frown.

“What on earth are you doing in here?”

Penny glanced back towards her shadow in search of a reply, but the girl was gone. She turned to face Gold, the filmmaker’s face darkening as his gaze took in the framed portrait set on the dresser behind her. Somehow he was caught up in the secrets that had been hidden there, and Penelope instinctively knew that she couldn’t risk telling him the truth.

“I’m so sorry,” she replied, stifling a yawn as she reached up to rub her eyes. “I think I must have been sleepwalking.”

XVI

 

Penelope sheltered in the lee of the stone, the tall grey boulder providing her with some welcome respite from the wind that whipped across the moor. Above her head, the sky was a darkening slate, clouds creeping across the horizon and veiling the russet slopes of the valley that lay before her from view. A growing chill was in the air as evening slipped towards night.

Behind her, there came the sound of a curse. Gold was hunched over the Véritéscope once again. The three feet of its tripod were hidden in the undergrowth, sunk beneath the bracken and brambles that carpeted this lonely part of the moor. With a furrowed brow, Gold was peering inside the machine, trying to work out which element in its mysterious workings was responsible for this latest delay.

Penelope leaned back against the boulder, taking this moment’s break to try to make sense of the strange events that had brought her to this place. A soft mist was starting to descend from the clouds, dimming the rays of the already sinking sun. If Gold wasn’t able to get the camera working quickly, there would soon be no light left to film by. Beyond the mists lay the gothic silhouette of Eversholt Manor, its towers and turrets marking the spot where that day’s filming had begun.

Dressed in Vivienne’s cast-off costume, Penny had stood in the study, nerves coiling in the pit of her stomach as Gold turned the camera towards her. Then, pressing his eye to its viewfinder, he had uttered the word that had changed everything.

“Action!”

As the film rolled, Penelope had felt a strange sensation crawl across her skin, the same unearthly feeling that she had felt last night as the shadowy girl appeared by her side. As she began to speak the lines of the script, she heard the whisper of the same words breathed in her ear.

“My name is Amelia Eversholt and this is my story – a tragic tale of murder, betrayal and revenge.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed the pale features of the girl, hanging in the air like mist, and the words dried on Penelope’s lips. She stared into the Véritéscope lens in mute appeal. Couldn’t Gold see her too? As her silence filled the room, the filmmaker raised his eye from the viewfinder and fixed Penny with an exasperated glare.

“Cut!”

As quickly as she had come, the shadow was gone, leaving Penny shaking her head in puzzlement as the camera whirr faded into silence. But there had been no time to try and make sense of any of this as Gold thrust the pages of the script into her hand.

“Try to get it right, Miss Tredwell,” he snapped. “Perhaps if you slept more soundly at night then you wouldn’t forget your lines.”

With that, he hurried back to the camera, waiting impatiently for Penny to compose herself before he turned its winding handle again. In a daze, Penelope had stumbled through the script, the scene passing by in a blur before Gold swept her on to the next. From the manor house to the mine itself, Penelope had stepped through the pages of the story, sensing the shadowy presence by her side growing stronger with every word that she said. Now as darkness crept across the valley, the final scene left to be filmed today was Amelia’s desperate attempt to escape from her father’s clutches, fleeing from the manor house and out across the moor.

Penelope shivered. Something about this story haunted her, more so than when she had first shaped its plot for the pages of
The Penny Dreadful
. It was no longer Montgomery Flinch’s tale; Gold’s changes to the script meant that it now belonged to Amelia Eversholt. But who exactly was she?

“Miss Tredwell!”

Gold’s voice cut through the gloom, the last glimmers of sunlight fading fast. Peering around the edge of the stone, Penny saw the filmmaker standing over the Véritéscope, his hand poised on the winder.

“Move to your mark,” he barked, unable to hide his impatience. “This is the final shot of the day.”

With her cheeks colouring at his effrontery, Penelope followed Gold’s order, tramping across the bracken until she reached the path that wound across the moor. Turning back to face the camera, she squinted into shadows, the creeping mists now hiding even Gold himself from sight, but his voice still came to her on the wind.

“Action!”

At the sound of this word, an icy shiver ran down her spine as, from the shadows, the ghostly figure of the girl emerged. She seemed more real now than when Penny had last glimpsed her, whirls of mist clinging to her clothes as she stepped along the path. The last gleam of sunset was fading from the sky, leaving the two of them alone with the night.

“Who are you?” Penelope asked, fighting to keep the tremor from her voice.

The girl lifted her head to fix Penny with a plaintive stare, a glittering darkness shining in her eyes.

“Amelia,” she replied.

A sudden fear filled Penelope’s veins, her only instinct a desperate desire to flee from this phantom conjured from the pages of her story. Gathering up her skirts, Penny blundered past the ghost girl, scrambling down the path as the fog enveloped her like a shroud. Suddenly lost in a world of shadows, she felt clammy fingers of mist pluck at her skin. Stumbling over tussocks of heather and gorse, she tried to keep to the path, but her foot snagged against a tree root, pitching her forward into the darkness.

Flinging out her arms to save herself, Penny felt her hands sink into soft heather, brambles scratching at her skin as she rolled down a quickening slope. She cried out in alarm, her momentum sending her pitching forward until she sprawled in a heap at the bottom of the bank.

For a moment, she lay there dazed, staring up into the shadows and seeing only stars. Then, through the gloom, she saw a faint glimmer of light moving to and fro, the shadow of a boy walking along the treacherous path, a shimmering lantern held in his hand. Penny opened her mouth to call out for help, but then the words dried on her lips as she saw the ghostly figure of the girl step forward to greet him.

As he reached her, the boy lifted his lantern, its light falling across his features to reveal the face of the young actor, James Denham. His pale blue eyes shone with concern.

“Are you lost, miss?” he asked.

From the shadows, Penelope watched as Amelia’s ghost nodded her head, her figure almost translucent as the light from his lantern threw a protective circle around them both.

“I’ve been lost for such a long time,” she replied, a faint tremor in her voice as James recoiled in fear. “I can only thank the Lord that you found me.”

As she lay slumped at the bottom of the bank, Penny felt a dizzy lightness steal into her mind, the peculiar sensation growing stronger with every word that the girl spoke.

“These moors are dangerous, miss.” James stuttered out his line, scarcely able to believe his eyes. “You should be back at Eversholt Manor.”

The ghost girl nodded, the pale beauty of her features almost worn through by the light.

“Take me home,” she told him.

The young actor blanched beneath the lantern light. There was fear in his eyes as her wraithlike hand stole towards his own. Then from across the moor came a harsh snapping sound, like a spring or a coil breaking, and with a cry that quickly faded into a sigh, Amelia melted into the mist, disappearing completely.

For a moment, James stood there frozen, staring into the shadows where Amelia had stood; then the young actor jumped in alarm as out of the darkness, Penny rose unsteadily to her feet. He glanced down at the muddied ruin of her dress, her dark hair dishevelled from the effects of the fall. The two of them stared at each other, but before either could speak, Gold marched from his vantage point nearby on the moor, his face flushed with excitement.

“That was the best one yet,” he told them, his eyes shining brightly in the lantern light. “If only the camera hadn’t broken down…” His eyes swept from James to where Penelope was standing in the shadows. Taking in her piteous state with a frown, Gold narrowed his gaze. “We must try again tomorrow.”