The Séance_a classic Victorian gothic by Camille Oster
Author:Camille Oster [Oster, Camille]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-10-26T05:00:00+00:00
Chapter 17
SPENDING DAYS TOGETHER in the company of the same people, knowing you had little choice was starting to weigh on Victoria. The idea that something like that would be oppressive wasnât something sheâd really understood before, but she was feeling it now. Hours upon hours with the same people, none of whom wanted to be there.
To alleviate the feeling as they waited for supper, Victoria chose to wander. Luckily the house was sufficiently large to allow some wandering. Dr. Westley had taken himself to the library, Fredrick to his study and Arthur sat by the fire as he always did, reading a bookâmostly to escape the company. Flora was bored while Aunt Beatrice and Verity sat together in silence. And poor Mr. Thompson had to try to take care of them all as tempers became a little sharper and less forgiving.
The main hall was the only place where she was unobserved and there was a lovely Oriental vase sheâd decided to study in more detail as it depicted scenes from the orient, with a fisherman, a donkey and bamboo. From the art, she could only conclude that the orient was very different from the world she knew, and she wondered if Arthur had done any travels there. He hadnât said.
Nothing was as precious at the moment as a new topic of conversation, and if the truth be told, she enjoyed her conversations more with Arthur than she did with Fredrick. Fredrick was always completely cordial and considerate, but there was something a little stilted about their conversations. It wasnât something she could put her finger on, but it just didnât flow as easily.
Standing up, she abandoned the vase. It was beautiful and likely a joy to own. She would compliment Aunt Beatrice on it later.
The room seemed slightly darker, but it must be an effect of studying the bright white of the porcelain so intently. The gas lamps were all on, casting their glow onto the walls of the room. The floor and the paneling were too dark to reflect the light.
A sickly face drew her attention. One of the portraits. A terrible job on behalf of the painter. How had she not noticed it before? Looking closer, she saw the sallowness in the skin, the sunken in, staring eyes. Almost a green hue to the skin. Why would someone paint that? Why would they not demand it be redone? The man looked practically on his sickbed. How odd.
But then the next portrait showed a woman and the nails of her hands had the dark blue tinge around them and her features almost a blueish appearance as if she was frozen stiff. Same staring eyes. Without a doubt the woman wasnât alive. The cloying squeeze of panic gripped her, but she didnât know why. There was danger, but where was the danger coming from? The portrait.
Her eyes searched, and portrait after portrait, she saw corpses propped up and painted. Her mind faltered, trying to understand what she was seeing.
No, this wasnât right.
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