The Kingdom Read online

  Hugh had drifted out to the veranda with Luna. I could see the two of them out there talking through the open doorway. There was nothing inappropriate about the way he stared down at her. Nothing particularly intimate about her answering smile. But it hit me like a thunderbolt that Hugh Asher was the man who had been with her in the library. I thought now of the laughter and whispers, those animalistic sounds of pleasure. His voice was nothing like Thane’s, but they had a similar accent, a certain inflection in the long vowels that had caused me to jump to the wrong conclusion.

  My gaze shot back to Maris. Did she suspect? Maybe that was why she’d clung to Hugh so proprietarily during my introduction. But allowing her husband’s mistress into the house? I couldn’t imagine a more cutting humiliation. However, it wasn’t my place to judge her marriage or her forbearance. I couldn’t help feeling sympathy for her, though, and a deepening appreciation for Thane, who had managed to coax a smile and some semblance of animation from her.

  Pell Asher said something at my side, and I turned with an apologetic murmur. “Sorry. I was just admiring this room. The whole house is incredible. A far cry from my modest place.”

  He adjusted the throw over his legs. “Thane tells me you’re from Charleston.”

  “I live there now, but I grew up in Trinity. It’s a small town just north—”

  “I know where Trinity is,” he said. “A very good friend of mine lived there for years. After she died, I used to drive down every so often to visit her grave.”

  “Where was she buried?” I inquired politely.

  “Rosehill Cemetery. Do you know it?”

  My brows shot up. “My father was the caretaker at Rosehill for many years. I grew up in that white house near the gate.”

  He gave me another of those strange smiles. “I remember that cemetery very well. It was always so beautifully maintained. I used to marvel at the grueling hours it must have taken to keep all those graves so pristine.”

  “And that was only one of several cemeteries he cared for,” I said proudly. “But Rosehill was by far the largest.”

  “I recall seeing him during some of my visits,” Pell Asher reminisced. “Tall, stoop-shouldered, hair as white as cotton. We spoke on occasion. A very dignified man.”

  “Yes, that’s Papa,” I said with a pang of loneliness.

  “He sometimes had a little girl with him. A solemn, golden-haired child who seemed quite at home among the dead.”

  What an odd way of putting it, I thought. And how unnerving to catch a glimpse of my childhood self through the eyes of this stranger. The whole conversation edged toward the surreal…to think of such a happenstance meeting with Pell Asher all those years ago.

  “Are your parents still living?” he asked softly.

  “Yes. My father’s retired, but he still helps out in the cemetery from time to time.”

  “It must be a comfort to them to have you nearby. Charleston is what…an hour’s drive from Trinity?”

  “If that. But I don’t get back home as often as I’d like. Even when I’m working in Charleston, the hours are long.”

  “You should make the time. Without the touchstone of family, one leads an imbalanced life.”

  “I suppose that’s true.”

  “Of course, it’s true,” he said. “The strongest ties are blood and land. They are constant. Romantic love is all too fleeting.”

  I didn’t necessarily agree, possibly because I had no blood ties, and the only land I’d ever been attached to was hallowed ground. But I knew about love. The bond I’d felt with Devlin had been so swift and irrevocable that even now, months apart, I couldn’t stop thinking about him. Couldn’t stop wanting him. It was a constant ache.

  I glanced at Pell Asher. His gaze was hard upon me, and I felt that odd little shiver again.

  “Blood and land,” he repeated. “That’s why we treasured our cemetery. Alive or dead, Ashers are compelled to return home.”

  The cemetery—I noticed he refused to call it Thorngate—had been so valued, in fact, that he’d given it away as atonement for his sins. I had no idea if the family was still involved with the upkeep, but it occurred to me that Pell Asher could very likely be the secret benefactor. Who else in town would be so inclined to make such a large donation to the Daughters of our Valiant Heroes for the purpose of a restoration? And who else would find discretion necessary in order to avoid poking any lingering resentment?

  “It’s a lovely resting spot,” I murmured, for lack of anything better to add.

  “Have you been inside the mausoleum?”

  “I took a peek. I didn’t go down into the tomb, though. I’ve found it best not to explore underground chambers alone. One never knows about the stability.” Among other dangers.

  “It’s perfectly sound,” he said. “But if you’re worried, get Thane to go with you. You’ll want to see the vaults. Julia’s, my wife, is especially beautiful. And he’ll want to show you the Sleeping Bride.”

  “Is that another statue?”

  “No, my dear, the Sleeping Bride is my great-aunt Emelyn Asher, my grandfather’s youngest sister. She died on her wedding day, trampled by a team of runaway horses. The family had her body sealed in a glass coffin where she remains to this day as perfect as the day she died. Thane can tell you the rest of the story. He was fascinated by it as a boy.”

  I could imagine. “Did he grow up here?”

  “He came to me when he was seven. His mother was married to my son Edward for a time. After she passed, Thane stayed on with my son because he had nowhere else to go. But Edward wasn’t long for this world, either.” I heard the sharp edge of grief in his voice. “After his diagnosis, he brought Thane here, and in time, I grew to love the boy as if he were my own flesh and blood. God knows, he’s done more to restore the family’s holdings than my son.”

  My gaze strayed back to Thane. His grandfather had painted a very different picture from the image I’d formed on the ferry. But Thane’s own words had led me to believe him a shallow, aimless man given to drink while awaiting his grandfather’s passing. Now I was starting to see him in a different light.

  “He’s been through a lot for someone his age.”

  I sipped my wine without replying. We were straying into territory I had no wish to explore. None of this was any of my business, and I would be horrified to learn that Mama or Papa had ever spoken to a stranger about my personal affairs. Not that they would. We Grays were a private lot even with one another. But in spite of my discomfort, I found myself listening attentively.

  Those black eyes gleamed, as if he sensed—and enjoyed—my uneasiness. “Thane lost his mother and the only father he’d ever known in a very short period of time. He recovered, of course, because he is nothing if not a survivor. But then he lost Harper…”

  He had purposefully trailed off to make me curious. He knew exactly what he was doing and so did I, but I took the bait, anyway. “Harper?”

  “The girl he wanted to marry. They were inseparable for a time, but it was a match that was never meant to be.”

  Such a high-handed proclamation. I felt resentment on Thane’s behalf. “What happened to her?”

  “She was killed in a car accident. Driving too fast in a rainstorm…missed a turn…” He sighed. “She’d been up here to see Thane that night, and he blamed himself for allowing her to leave in such terrible weather. But Harper was headstrong and that is putting it kindly. Truth be told, the girl was unstable. So reckless and out of control she was a danger to herself and to others. Thane refused to see it, of course, and her parents were useless. They could have gotten her help years earlier, but they preferred to bury their heads in the sand. It was easier to let someone else clean up her messes. I’m just grateful she didn’t take Thane with her that night.”

  “It sounds like you knew her well.”

  “I knew her only too well,” he muttered, or at least, that’s what I thought he said.

  He watched me with those dark eyes. I had
the unsettling notion that he was trying to plumb my deepest thoughts. I had no idea why he’d spoken so frankly about something so personal, but I suspected he did nothing without premeditation. What he wanted from me, I couldn’t imagine.

  I was relieved when Thane materialized before us. “You’ve monopolized Amelia enough for one night,” he said and reached for my hand. “I promised to show her the library.”

  “I’m afraid it’ll have to wait.” Pell Asher’s gaze shot to the doorway where a split second later, the maid appeared to announce dinner.

  Thirteen

  Candlelight masked the water stains and peeling wallpaper in the dining room, but that faint scent of mildew followed us through the arched doorway. The table, however, showed no sign of the deterioration that plagued the rest of the house. Antique china and crystal gleamed on a bed of ivory lace, while silver candelabras flanked a centerpiece of purple wildflowers in shades so complimentary to Luna’s dress, one might assume she’d had a hand in the selection. Surely, no woman in her position would be so brazen, but Luna was an enigma. I wondered if, like candlelight, her luminous façade veiled some deeper flaw.

  The table display was lavish for such a small gathering, and I was reminded of Thane’s earlier comment about the extravagance of cemetery statues—money that might be better spent on the living. I was no expert, but I had to think that even one or two of those exquisite place settings may have netted enough at auction to fix a leaky roof. Why, then, had Asher House been allowed to fall into such a state of disrepair?

  Handwritten cards designated the seating arrangement, and with a little shuffling, we all found our places. Pell Asher dominated the head of the table, and Maris nervously took a seat at the other end. I was sure she would have preferred to be nearer to her husband, but etiquette and tradition dictated her position. When we were all settled, I noticed that Luna had somehow ended up next to Hugh, making me wonder if she’d engineered a last-minute switch. I didn’t dare glance at Maris to confirm my suspicion. It was hard to look at her knowing what I knew, but my awkwardness paled in comparison to her situation.

  I was seated to her right, Catrice Hawthorne to her left. At the other end of the table, Luna and Bryn bookended the elder Asher while Thane and Hugh claimed the middle chairs, directly across from one another. Despite poor Maris’s discomfort, it was the best possible arrangement for me, with Bryn Birch on Thane’s other side. I would have hated to spend an entire evening next to her.

  Regardless, I wasn’t looking forward to the meal. The library beckoned, and I was itching to get started, particularly if the records turned out to be the treasure trove Thane had promised. As a restorer, I tried to remain as faithful to the original vision and layout of a cemetery as was humanly possible, which was why I spent hours scouring old newspapers and church books before I ever removed so much as a thistle. But it wasn’t often that I had the opportunity to examine photographs from the late 1800s. The prospect of studying those historic images excited me almost as much as the possibility of uncovering information about the hidden grave.

  That grave. I was self-aware enough to know that I wouldn’t have peace of mind until I could put a name to it. Until I made sure it was given proper respect. The site was so remote and lonely. I couldn’t imagine why someone had been laid to rest in such a desolate spot. It made me sad to think of it.

  As I contemplated how best to go about finding my answers, I realized the most fruitful resources might not be the cemetery records at all, but someone seated at this table. The grave wasn’t that old. Interment had probably occurred during the lifetime of everyone present, with the possible exception of Thane. And me, of course.

  Earlier I’d been hesitant to reveal my discovery, but now I couldn’t see the harm in asking a few questions. After all, it wasn’t as if someone had used the grave to hastily dispose of a body. The site was sheltered, but nothing had been done to disguise the appearance. Quite the contrary, the mound had been decorated with pebbles and shells and marked with a headstone. And at one time, someone had taken great pains to remove the grass and weeds.

  “You’re very quiet,” Thane observed as we began the first course—a delectable acorn squash soup flavored with a hint of curry. “Grandfather didn’t say anything to upset you, did he?”

  “Why would you think that?”

  “He can be difficult.”

  “Really? I found him charming.”

  Thane grinned. “I can’t tell if you’re being facetious or not, but I suspect that you are.”

  I shrugged. “Maybe a little, but he was fine. We talked about graveyards.”

  His green eyes glittered in the candlelight. “And that’s all?”

  “Mostly.”

  He gave me a curious look, but let the matter drop and turned to engage Bryn. I tried to make small talk with Maris, but after a couple of feeble attempts, I crawled back into my shell and allowed Catrice to carry the conversation. She seemed only too happy to oblige, chatting away about the migratory patterns of the local bird population as she nibbled on a generous helping of crispy pork shoulder.

  The bird talk made me think of the poor crow that had flown into my windshield the day before. It still unnerved me to think of that motionless body, not to mention all those birds watching me from the treetops. I wondered if Catrice would take that gathering as some sort of omen or if her knowledge could provide a logical explanation for their odd behavior.

  “I blame it on so many outsiders moving into the area,” she said. “The natural balance is off-kilter.”

  I glanced up, wondering for a moment if I’d spoken my mind. But then I realized she’d segued from bird migration to people migration, in particular those flocking to Asheville, North Carolina, where she apparently owned part interest in an art gallery.

  “Don’t get me wrong. The influx is great for business, but I find it creatively disruptive.” She sampled a roasted beet. “They call it the new Sedona, you know. Mystics claim the area has more geological vortexes than any other part of the country.”

  “What’s a vortex?” Thane asked.

  “A gateway, if you believe in that sort of thing.”

  “A gateway to what?” I could hear amusement in his voice.

  “To the other world,” Bryn put in. “The realm of the dead.”

  Catrice’s eyes sparkled as she watched me from across the table. “Have you been lately?”

  “To…Asheville, you mean? Not since I was a child. My father’s people are from around there. I remember driving through once when I was a child.”

  “Did you experience the transformation?” she asked.

  “Transformation?”

  “That feeling of utter lightness as you drive through the passages. It’s like flying,” she said dreamily.

  Pell Asher glared from the end of the table. “Utter lightness? Utter nonsense, if you ask me.”

  Undaunted, Catrice leaned forward and smiled. “Now, Pell, you know as well as I do these mountains are full of secrets. Just look at them.” She waved a hand toward the tall windows behind me.

  I couldn’t help glancing over my shoulder, but all was dark outside. I had to imagine the distant escarpment rising majestically out of forest and mist.

  “Cat is right,” Bryn said. “The Appalachians are ancient. Older even than the Himalayas and just as spiritual.”

  I found the whole conversation vexing. I had the strangest feeling they were somehow testing me, but I couldn’t imagine why.

  Then I remembered what Ivy had said about the waterfall being a thin place. People used to go up there because they hoped to catch a glimpse of heaven. Now they stayed away because they were afraid.

  Afraid of what? I wondered. Whatever evil had been carried on the wind today?

  “Speaking of secrets.” I reached for my wineglass. “I stumbled across something interesting today.”

  “Really?” Catrice politely inquired.

  “I found a hidden grave.”

  Had I fl
ung off all my clothes and danced naked on the tabletop, I don’t think I could have elicited a more stunned response. A hush fell over the room, broken only by the sharp intake of someone’s breath. I happened to be looking down the table at Luna and saw a shadow fleet across her face, a flutter of something in her eyes that might have been fear. For a moment only, her mask slipped, and I found myself staring at the gray, weathered visage of a much older woman. The illusion was transitory and undoubtedly a trick of the flickering candlelight because in the next instant, she looked exactly the same. But I was reminded again of that first afternoon when she’d taken me to the Covey house, how she’d seemed to change—transform—before my very eyes.