The Lost History of Dreams by Kris Waldherr

Author:Kris Waldherr
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Atria Books

IV.

“I don’t understand,” Robert said, slumping back in his chair. He pointed toward the cordial, no longer shy.

“She’s not who she claims to be,” the mourning woman reiterated, pouring the liquor into a tall thin glass. “Just as I said.”

“You mean she’s a fraud,” Robert replied after he’d taken a healthy slug; he welcomed the burn as the alcohol snaked down his throat.

“Those are hard words, Mr. Highstead,” she replied; her dark brown eyes were enormous behind her spectacles. “But yes, that’s what some claim.”

“Who claims?”

“The Seekers of the Lost Dream. Especially Mrs. Douglas. Now that Mr. de Bonne has passed”—again, she made the sign of the cross—“she’s demanding access to Ada’s Folly to make certain he’s buried beside Ada. Of course, she’s also eager to view the chapel, like everyone else. She wants to ‘break the glass, but not to plunder’ and all that.”

Robert waved the fragments of poetry away. “Mrs. Douglas has no legal authority.” Though he desired the same fate for Hugh’s remains, he felt obliged to disagree.

“She claims she does, Mr. Highstead. And she’s engaged a solicitor to prove Miss Lowell is an imposter.” Whether it was the alcohol she’d imbibed or relief from no longer avoiding a difficult subject, her words arrived tripping on the heels of each other. “Tamsin Douglas and her ilk claim Ada’s Folly is a property of artistic importance, like Lord Byron’s Newstead Abbey. They think it’s a crime for Miss Lowell to refuse them access, that she’s selfish and obstinate.”

Robert couldn’t argue with their assessment of Isabelle’s character. Yet he felt oddly protective of her.

The mourning woman continued. “Three years ago Tamsin Douglas tried to purchase Ada’s Folly, offering an absurd amount of money to entice Miss Lowell. Miss Lowell refused, using Hugh’s disappearance as an excuse.”

“But wouldn’t this prove Miss Lowell to be as she claims? An imposter would have accepted the money and left, don’t you think?”

She pursed her lips. “It matters not. It ended badly.”

“Frankly, it’s hard to imagine them friends in the first place.”

“I suppose to you.” The mourning woman leaned in, her eyes bright behind her spectacles. “It’s a well-known tale among the pilgrims, Mr. Highstead. Mrs. Douglas was the widow of Hugh’s editor. She assisted Miss Lowell in the aftermath of Hugh’s disappearance—Miss Lowell ended up responsible for more than just Weald House. Initially Miss Lowell was sympathetic to Mrs. Douglas’s losses—who wouldn’t be?—but soon comprehended that Mrs. Douglas valued Hugh’s poetry and the key to the glass chapel more than their friendship.” She shook her head. “But now that Hugh’s dead and Miss Lowell’s his heir . . .”

“Hence the unpleasantness this morning.” Robert rubbed his brow. “But how exactly does any of this make Miss Lowell suspect as an imposter?”

“No one can vouch that Miss Lowell—this Miss Lowell—is the one who grew up with Ada de Bonne at Weald House. You see, until the night Isabelle showed at Weald House over a decade ago, no one there had ever seen her before.”

The

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