The Painted Room Read online

Chapter 7

  The Silver Edge

  Sheila woke shortly after the sun rose, disconcerted to find her friend looking like she hadn't slept at all, disgruntled to find herself without a shower and a blow-dryer. She washed her face with cold water from a pitcher and bowl on top of a dresser in the room. Inside one of the drawers of the dresser she found a length of blue satin ribbon that matched the color of her eyes perfectly and tied back her long blond hair with it.

  May dressed in silence and rebuffed all of Sheila's attempts at optimistic chatter.

  Not long after they woke, there came a soft rapping on the door, followed by an unintelligible murmur in Carlisle's low voice and an unmistakable click as he fitted the key into the lock.

  Sheila took her sweatshirt off the end of the bed, put it on over the lacey tank top she wore and zipped it halfway up.

  May pointed to Sheila's full cleavage and said, "Sheila, the guy's from the Victorian era. He's going to think you're a slut."

  Sheila pursed her lips, thought a moment then zipped her sweatshirt all the way up.

  After a minute or so of waiting, they decided that Carlisle wasn't going to open the door, so Sheila pulled on the knob herself.

  In the hall, Carlisle was in the process of deciding whether he should knock again. When he saw the knob turn, he straightened quickly, backed up and stood with his hands stiffly at his sides. He was dressed in a clean white shirt with a collar that met together in two neat, sharp triangles; a dark gray wool vest with matching jacket; pinstriped gray trousers; and at his throat, a green silk tie.

  In his clean clothes, and with his beard shaved off and his sideburns trimmed, he no longer looked completely wild. At the very least now, he looked human; though admittedly, a lot more uncomfortable. He had a small red gash on his cheek where he had nicked himself shaving. His hair had defiantly resisted any attempts at civilization; it still stuck out in various places.

  He cleared his throat. "I hope you girls have passed a pleasant night," he said cheerfully, trying to smooth over Sheila's cold look. "How is your ankle this morning, Miss Hazelton?"

  "Much better, thank you," Sheila said primly.

  He took this possible loss of his only ally with a painful swallow, but continued on in a buoyant tone, "I'm delighted to hear that. I've made some breakfast downstairs." He smiled and stepped back, gesturing for them to proceed down the hall ahead of him.

  Breakfast was more appetizing than dinner had been, but May had little appetite. She did however, have a dull headache. She attempted a bite of a tasteless biscuit and took a few small sips of strong tea from a delicate teacup with tiny flowers encircling the rim.

  Carlisle slid the crinkled newspaper article across the table to her. "Thank you, Miss Taylor," he said.

  Ignoring him, she left the paper where it was.

  If May looked as though she had spent a sleepless night, Carlisle looked the same. Only the lack of sleep seemed to have ignited his spirits somehow. Sheila's cool reserve had dissolved within a short time, and she chatted with him amiably.

  May only felt numb.

  Carlisle watched her sulky demeanor out of the corner of his eye. "Miss Taylor," he said as he buttered a biscuit, "I fear we have got off on the wrong foot. Can we put this behind us? I'm sorry about locking the door, I truly am, but I feel that you left me no choice. I suspect you would have snuck out, dark or no dark, as soon as you could. It was for your own protection."

  Staring at her teacup, May stated flatly, "I want to go home."

  He appealed to her, "Miss Taylor, I want you to know that I mean you no harm. You and Miss Hazelton were deposited on my doorstep, and I feel a sense of responsibility to help you both get back to your homes and families."

  "Whatever."

  His tone changed. He made an announcement. "In the absence of your parents, I intend to help you girls in your quest to get back home. I would be honored if you would view me as ... as a temporary uncle ... as it were."

  It sounded rehearsed. What a pinhead, thought May.

  Carlisle felt around his plate. Spotting his napkin on the floor, his head disappeared beneath the table.

  May said, "Thank you and all but we don't need any help. Sheila and I can find our way home on our own."

  There was a loud bang from the underside of the table. The teacups rattled against their saucers.

  May rolled her eyes, grabbed the newspaper clipping off the table and stuffed it into her back pocket.

  Carlisle rose slowly from below the table with his hand on his head and his eyes smarting.

  "Are you okay?" asked Sheila.

  "Fine, thanks," he said, taking his hand away quickly and reaching for his tea. "May, how old are you?"

  "Eighteen."

  He looked askance at her over his teacup. "May!" he said, smiling at the boldface lie. He focused beadily on Sheila. "How old are you, Sheila?"

  "Sixteen?" said Sheila weakly.

  Carlisle considered her answer silently as he drank some tea.

  "Okay, alright, fifteen," admitted Sheila. "But my birthday's in a week."

  He broke out in a broad smile. "Happy birthday." He weighed the answer with a tilt of his head back and forth. "Yes, I can believe fifteen. Though, mind you, I'm giving you both the benefit of the doubt. I promise I will try my best to see you both safely home. You have my word on that. We'll start our search by going back to the edge."

  "The edge?" said May.

  He put his teacup down. "Yes, the edge. I'm sorry—I thought you must have seen it already." He began searching around his plate again. As he searched, he said, "The truth of it is, I thought last night that you must have come from it."

  "No, we didn't. Can we go?" asked May.

  As he buttered a biscuit with the back of his spoon, Carlisle said, "Well. It's not terribly far—a half hour's walk maybe. If your ankle is up to it, Miss Hazelton, we'll leave after breakfast." As he brought the biscuit to his mouth, he looked up to see both May and Sheila watching him with expectant looks.

  "Oh, I see. Right, well, let's go then," he said, shoving the biscuit whole into his mouth.

 

  A little while later as he helped Sheila over a break in the stone wall, Carlisle said, "You girls must bring me luck. I have never seen such a glorious day since I've been here." He held out his hand for May.

  "I'm good," she said, waving him off and scrambling over the wall.

  The morning haze had burned off, and the sun shone brightly—so brightly that Carlisle removed his jacket and swung it in one hand as he walked.

  After about a half hour of trekking through the yellow leaved woods; tripping over brittle, fallen branches; swatting at mosquitoes (lord only knew where they were breeding); and dodging poison ivy vines, which seemed to be the only green plant to be thriving in the on-going drought; he said, "There it is. Right up ahead."

  "Right where up ahead?" said May, who could see nothing more but the same sickly woods going on ahead of her. Somewhere near her ear a mosquito buzzed. She whisked it away, annoyed.

  May thought she had seen movement about ten feet in front of her. Something had stirred between the trees. The mosquito returned, and she whisked at it again. Once again she saw something move ahead of her.

  And that's when she saw herself. It was she that had moved ahead of her—or more accurately—her reflection.

  For she saw now that everything ahead of her was a reflection—the trees, the woods, Carlisle, Sheila and herself—everything was being reflected back from a continuous silver wall that stretched on endlessly in both directions.

  Her own face stared back at her—pale, pinched, freckled, worried. She saw the familiar mousy brown hair and matching eyes. There was no contrast here; no dark eyes and light hair, or blue eyes and black hair; no, nothing like that at all. She was tone on tone; so utterly indistinct in every way, she thought.

  She shifted her gaze and looked at Sheila's reflection. The unusual events of the previous day and this morning must h
ave agreed with her. Sheila's bright blue eyes had taken on a sparkle of excitement. Whatever Sheila's apprehensions were about returning home again, there seemed to be a part of her that was enjoying this adventure, as well.

  Carlisle's transformation was the most remarkable. While on the previous night he had exuded a palpable feeling of despair, today, the warm air seemed to have breathed new life into him. The color was up in his face and his eyes, which had looked coal black in the dim light inside the castle, were actually a warm chocolate brown.

  May concentrated beyond their three reflections to what was causing them. The mirrored wall ahead appeared completely seamless. She approached it and pressed her fingers against it. Her fingers sunk into the surface a few millimeters before encountering something hard and smooth underneath. It was like a thin layer of water over a silver pane of glass.

  She pulled her hand away and the image of herself shimmered then settled. She rubbed her fingertips together and found that they were dry. Her reflection frowned back at her, confused.

  Carlisle began speaking from where he was, leaned back against a thin birch tree, his jacket suspended from his hands clasped in front of him. "I keep trying from time to time to find an opening, but it's ..." He shook his head. "I've tried to cut it, crack it, break it ... it's just ... for heaven's sake, I even tried to burn a hole in it ... it's just—"

  "Impenetrable?" she finished for him, exasperated.

  "What? No, it's just no use," he said with a mixture of resentment and disgust. "I rowed a skiff all along it in the bay until I found myself back on land on the other side. It's just the same out there, too."

  May was baffled. This would take some thinking about. It was so completely different and unlike anything else she had ever seen that she had nothing to compare it to. She could draw on no precedent for tackling it. She had certainly never seen anything like it.

  At the bottom and top of the mirrored wall, there existed no right angles. The liquid silver plane curved gradually until it faded into forest floor at the bottom and forest canopy and sky at the top. May wasn't sure where the real ended and the reflection began or even where they met exactly.

  Sheila was about ten yards away. Like May, she was inspecting the glimmering surface as well. "What's this?" she exclaimed, opening a mirrored door.

  Carlisle slipped off the tree.