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  “When, sir?”

  “Two days hence. I will bring her myself in the evening.”

  “Two days?” I could not keep the shock from my voice.

  “Do these arrangements not please you?”

  How could I tell him that no arrangements would please me, except that I stay with Farley? In the month of Wysteria’s absence, my life had changed. I had a friend, the first in my life. I could take to the wind with his help and see a future apart from the Manor. I knew that I could not remain on my own forever, but I also could not see myself living with Wysteria, for I found that my trust in her was rapidly waning.

  “Does this not please you?” the doctor repeated.

  “No. I am, of course, greatly pleased by Wysteria’s recovery. I just . . .” I reached into my pocket and rolled the small glass bottle worriedly against my palm.

  “What is it you have there?” Dr. Mead inquired, gesturing to my pocket.

  I hesitated. I had suspected that the writing on the bottle might be his, but I was not certain. Perhaps all doctors wrote in a similar hand. Yet if anyone might be able to explain its contents to me, it would be Dr. Mead. I pulled it from my pocket and handed it to him.

  The doctor removed his glasses and held the bottle up to the light.

  “Laudanum,” he whispered, reading the scrawl with no effort.

  “What is laudanum, sir?”

  The doctor’s face flushed. He appeared suddenly alarmed, as if the bottle in his hand contained some terrible memory he wished to expunge, but then he quickly cleared his throat and composed himself.

  “A sedative. Not harmful when used in its proper dosage. Where did you find this?”

  “In Wysteria’s bedchamber. I was looking for her keys when I came upon it. There were more bottles. All empty, with the exception of this one.”

  The doctor sighed.

  “Why would she have this, sir?”

  “I prescribed this for the captain many years ago, at Mrs. Barrows’s request. She was concerned that her husband was not sleeping well, so I encouraged her to give him this tincture in small doses. Apparently she used it for purposes other than for what it was intended.”

  “Why would my name be on this bottle?”

  “I do not know. Several more bottles, you say? Do they look as if they’ve been there a long time?”

  “Yes, sir. But for this one, all were covered in dust.”

  Dr. Mead held the bottle tightly in his hand and walked to the cliff’s edge. He ran his fingers through his hair. I thought for a moment he might cast the bottle out into the lake, but he did not. Instead he turned to me.

  “You need not fear, young lady. Mrs. Barrows will receive no more bottles of laudanum or anything else from me.” He slipped it into his pocket.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Now, I must ask you a favor before I depart.”

  I cringed, for I knew what this favor was and I did not wish to grant it.

  “As I mentioned to you, the captain once told me of a secret within the Manor, and I have spent these many years wondering if indeed there was such a thing. The last few nights, I have pondered where it might be. If I might have one more opportunity to look about the captain’s study before Mrs. Barrows returns, I may very well discover it.”

  “Do you think it wise, sir?” Honoring Miss Moreland’s plea to refuse him entrance seemed the best recourse, yet I knew, from the urgency of his manner, that the only answer he would accept from me would be yes.

  “I ask only for a few moments of your time.”

  Though I was apprehensive, I felt I had no choice and so agreed and led the doctor into the Manor and up to the captain’s study. I let the Hounds in with us but bade them stay on the main floor. Once inside the study, I closed the door and walked immediately over to the window, where I could see Farley on the beach below. Just to be safe, I stood with my back to the window to prevent the doctor from detecting Farley’s presence, but I need not have feared, for the moment the doctor entered the room, his focus became singular, and he began systematically searching through drawers and cupboards. I watched him grow more and more agitated as he failed to uncover what he sought, and an intense fear came over me, especially as he neared the bookcase. What if he pressed heavily upon it and found the entrance to the attic? There was nothing left inside it but some bolts of silk, the paper-making device and an old mortar and pestle, yet I could not shake the ever-increasing sense of dread that seemed to be filling the room as his search became more furious.

  “I cannot understand where it could be,” he mumbled to himself.

  “I know that Wysteria had the Manor thoroughly searched after the captain’s death,” I volunteered, “but no trace of a treasure was found, if that is what you seek.” He seemed not to hear my words but continued speaking, and as he did so, riffled through the maps and papers on the captain’s desk.

  “The captain was a creative genius. His mind did not work like that of ordinary men. He took pleasure in riddles and complicated outcomes.”

  “I’m sorry, but I do not know how to help you, sir.”

  “Don’t you?” The doctor suddenly turned on me. “A smart girl like you? You must know more than you are telling. You must have a secret that you will not confide.” I shook my head, taken aback by his sudden anger.

  “Tell me, or by God I’ll shake it out of you.” The doctor lunged forward, grabbing me violently by the shoulders, almost lifting me off the ground. My legs began to tremble and I felt myself on the verge of crying, but I could not allow it. I must remain calm. The Manor had surely taken hold of the doctor, as Miss Moreland had predicted, for he was now clearly out of his head.

  “No, sir. I promise you,” I said, my voice shaking. “I harbor no secrets to help you in your quest. There is nothing I know of in this room of any value.” Even as I uttered these words I began to fear that what the doctor wanted was somehow connected to the kites, though what value they would hold for him, I did not know.

  He gripped me more tightly. I wanted to scream for Farley, but I knew he could not hear me.

  “You meddlesome child. Why do you stand in the way of what is due me? Why must there always be something in the way? I wish only to claim what is rightfully mine and once belonged to my family.” He grasped me ever more tightly.

  “Please, sir, you’re hurting me!” At that moment, there was a bump against the door and the doctor immediately released his hold. In my fright, I sank to the floor, my legs no longer able to bear my weight.

  “Are we not alone in this house?” he asked, a look of terror flashing across his face. I could see that the stories of the Manor had pervaded his imagination and he believed it possible that a spirit now lay on the other side of the door.

  I could not speak but found the strength to rise to my knees, reach over and quickly free the latch before the doctor could stop me.

  On the threshold stood the Hounds, all four of them, the fur on their necks straight along their spines. A low growl began to emerge from the throat of one, and the others followed suit.

  The doctor froze in fear. I recovered my courage, stood and walked to the doorway, securing my position amid my guardians. I did not stop them from growling, but held my hand out to keep them still.

  “I do not know what came over me . . . ,” the doctor said, running his hand through his hair. “I apologize, young lady. I must . . .”

  “You must leave the Manor, sir,” I said firmly, stepping aside. “I fear it has a bad effect upon you.”

  “Yes. Yes, you are right, of course.” The Hounds and I followed him downstairs. I had seen with my own eyes the Manor’s pull upon the doctor and did not trust him to be free of its menace until he was safely outside its doors. I wished him to leave as soon as possible.

  “It is time for you to be on your way, Dr. Mead. Your horse is waiting at the gate.” I pointed it out to him. He seemed dazed and exhausted, yet he followed my advice without delay.

  “Thank you,”
he said. He began walking away, then turned.

  “Shall I expect the light tonight?”

  “Yes, Dr. Mead. Tonight and tomorrow as well.”

  “I . . .” But his words fell away from him.

  “Good day, Dr. Mead.”

  I made sure the doctor’s horse had rounded the bend, and the Hounds had returned to the beach, before I went back inside the Manor. I headed directly to the captain’s study, for there was something I desperately needed to know. I pulled out a heavy leather-bound dictionary from the captain’s bookshelf and looked up

  laudanum: powdered opium mixed with equal parts alcohol and water, often sweetened. Sometimes known as wine of opium. Painkiller and sedative. Given in extreme doses can lead to hallucination and death.

  Had Wysteria given the captain the laudanum to make him docile and forget about selling the Manor, or had she given him too much, as the doctor implied, causing him to go mad, to hallucinate, to perhaps think he could fly? Dr. Mead had prescribed the laudanum to the captain but I knew he had not intended it to be misused. Miss Moreland had been right. The doctor was not a bad man, only susceptible to the Manor, as so many others had been.

  I closed the book. But what of the bottle reserved for me? Did Wysteria anticipate that one day I, too, would challenge her authority or ask too many questions? Did she intend to keep me docile or do away with me, as she had her husband? For I felt with certainty that she was capable of doing so. I knew enough now. I had to heed Miss Moreland’s words and leave as soon as I was able. Dr. Mead could no longer manage himself in regard to the Manor. Any trust I had placed in him was now gone.

  My only hope lay with Farley and the wings. We had two days. Surely in that time Farley would understand how to build them. Surely we would find a way, for my situation had grown dire. I must leave the Manor before Wysteria returned. I must go far away. Very far away.

  If indeed the captain was a creative genius, a man of riddles, as the doctor had said, he must have had a plan for the kites. If nothing else, he would not have left without documenting his ideas. He had made detailed notes about the intricate underpinnings of his vessels. Surely he would have left behind some sketch or diagram, though I had never come upon any rendering in his records. The attic, too, was entirely devoted to the kites; there was neither a desk there nor documents of any kind.

  Suddenly, a vivid image of the captain as a young boy came to my mind. I had never thought of the captain in this way before, but, of course, he had once been the same age as me. He had grown up in Bourne Manor, as I had. Alone, as I had. His days had been spent, I was sure, in much the same ways as my own. He was a clever boy and imaginative. The doctor had described him as a dreamer and unlike ordinary men.

  In a house of moving walls and secret passages, of rooms filled with kites and skeleton keys, was it not possible that he had written his ideas in some sort of code or hidden them, as a young boy might? Hidden them first from his family and then from Wysteria, believing that perhaps both would have destroyed his hopes and belittled his vision?

  Where would a boy hide something of value? I opened drawers, pulled books from their shelves, searched for secret compartments in the floorboards, but to no avail.

  I sat down in the captain’s chair at his desk and stared at the walls of his study, until it occurred to me that I was staring at the very answer itself. The small pieces of paper wedged into the cracks beneath the window casements! Those seemingly useless scraps of yellowing parchment I had taken to be Wysteria’s primitive form of insulation against the cold.

  I stood up and walked to the window, knelt down and pried one carefully from its crevice. It was tightly wound like a miniature scroll. I unrolled it gently, for it was amazingly fragile. It was made from the same type of paper as the kites. Written upon it were calculations of some kind. I pried out another, which revealed a tiny sketch of a pair of wings.

  I pulled out several more scrolls and unrolled these as well. Upon each were various renditions of a man with wings strapped to his shoulders, standing on a mountaintop. Some sketches were clearly done by the hand of a child and were so old they almost disintegrated at my touch. Others were newer, finely drawn, with streams of notes written around them. There were, too, long entries of dates and weather predictions. I pulled out all the scrolls I could find, more than fifty in all, gently placed them in the pockets of my coat and hurried downstairs.

  I packed apples, a bag of dried plums and a piece of meat from the larder, enough for two days. I stuffed all of it into a net bag and slung it over my shoulder. I walked to the front door and reached for the large brass knob, turning it with my free hand, but could not grasp it. I tried then with my other hand but found the door firmly locked. I could not remember locking it behind me. I took out key after key, but none would work. With each key, the door remained locked. I next tried the windows, but they too refused to open. I could feel fear quickly rising within me, threatening to take hold.

  I ran up the stairs, trying every door and every window, but all refused to give way. For one brief, terrible moment, I imagined that I would be trapped inside the Manor forever, with the knowledge of my freedom stuffed in my coat pockets. But to my immense relief, this hopeless image faded as I pushed my way into the glass room, which had no lock upon it, and out onto the widow’s walk.

  Far below me on the beach, I could see Farley and the Hounds, though they could not see or hear me. In my panic, I thought to leap the impossible gap to the elm tree, a good two yards, but fortunately I quickly came to my senses and realized that I could, with the help of the anchor line, make my way down the side of the house.

  I tied the net bag tightly at the top and dropped it down the four stories to the ground. Returning to the glass room, I lit the lantern, putting it on low and filling its reservoir with oil, enough to last two days, to allay any suspicions on the doctor’s part. I then took up the anchor line and tied it about my waist. It was long and it was strong and able to hold my weight. I secured the other end of the line to the railing, climbed over and slowly let myself down the side of the Manor, being careful not to let the tiny scrolls leave my pockets.

  I could go only as far as the rope hung, but at that point I was close enough to jump without fear of injury. Firmly on the ground, I grabbed the net bag and looked up at the Manor. Its vacant and menacing windows glared down upon me, and I knew, perhaps for the first time, its real intentions. It would try to destroy me before it ever let me go. I knew with certainty that this was true, and I vowed that never again would I be caught inside its walls.

  13

  Our time of freedom was drawing to a close. Dr. Mead would return with Wysteria in two days. Farley and I pored over the captain’s scrolls, a cryptic yet revealing account of Lawrence Barrows’s life that included detailed sketches of his amazing creation, the Flying Heron.

  As a boy, Lawrence Barrows had been fascinated with birds and flight. He had designed kites and flown them on the beach. He later dreamed of a life at sea and voyages to places far away from his desolate boyhood home. He signed on to a merchant sailing vessel and traveled to Burma and the islands of Indonesia, where he heard for the first time the ancient stories of man-bearing kites. He collected fine silk fabric and bamboo and brought them home to reconstruct the creations that had captured his imagination. He studied the wind, the motion of birds and the art of papermaking. Though there was no evidence that he planned to fly away himself, it was clear that he found great joy in his kites, for they could do the thing that he could not.

  It was all there in the scrolls: his sketches of herons and ospreys, his desire to leave the Manor with Wysteria and set himself and Dr. Mead free at last from the Manor’s curse.

  “I still do not understand what fortune Dr. Mead thinks the captain left him,” I said to Farley, for I had told him of Dr. Mead’s alarming behavior.

  “It must be something that one does not directly see when looking at it, like the wings. It must require a different kind of seeing
.”

  “The doctor accused me of hiding a secret, and I thought perhaps the kites were the thing of great value that he sought, but what possible value could the kites have for a man like Dr. Mead? Their only value was to the captain, who simply loved to build them, and to me.”

  “Perhaps the silk kites are valuable. Perhaps the silk is rare.”

  “But there are not that many silk kites and only a few bolts of silk. The rest are all paper.”

  “Yes. The paper kites. They were made with great care.”

  “And they are unusual, but I do not think—”

  “The paper!” Farley said suddenly. “The captain made his own paper, did he not?”

  “Yes. But paper is of no great value.”

  Farley picked up one of the paper kites and held it in the sunlight, studying it closely. He smiled, then laughed and began dancing around with the kite in his hands.

  “Farley? What is it?”

  “Your captain was not only an excellent maker of kites, but a genius as well. Though perhaps a little eccentric, indeed.”

  “Farley!”

  “This paper has always seemed familiar to me and yet strange. It is not what it seems.”

  “It is just paper.”

  “It is paper money, miss. Paper bills. These kites are made of hundreds or thousands of bills, perhaps some of large denominations, reconstituted and refined to make this exquisite paper. Here. See for yourself.” I held the kite close and Farley pointed out to me the particular grain, the distinctive fibers, the now unmistakably green hue and the texture.

  “The fortune is in the kites!” I exclaimed.

  “Yes. It was a noble act. He knew a fortune would only bring further suffering upon his wife and friend, for the captain was a true friend.”

  “Unlike Dr. Mead, who searches for something that does not exist.”

  “It is only of value to you. It has fallen into the hands of the one person who truly knows how to use it.”