Silver Darlings by LK Wilde

Author:LK Wilde [Wilde, LK]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-02-24T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 35

Clara woke on her first morning in her grandparent’s house with a sense of foreboding. The dress she had travelled in lay on a chair beside the bed, and Clara stood to pull it on. She moved to the window and drew apart the heavy curtains.

Across rooftops she glimpsed the familiar blue of the sea. With a hand held against the cold glass, she watched as gulls leant into the air, gliding their way out and up along the coastline. Clara tore herself from the view and rubbed at the imprint she had left on the glass. She slipped on her boots and tiptoed downstairs.

The house lay shrouded in sleep. With no one awake, she explored her new home a little more. All the doors were closed, and she turned the handle to the drawing room, doing her best to avoid any creaking that might wake the household.

The ringing of the grandfather clock startled her. Its loud chimes caused the house to stir. She heard movement upstairs, and Sibyl scuttled past the drawing room to the stairs, taking two at a time. Clara thought of the effort it had taken Sibyl to carry her bag and wondered if the maid had been trying to make a point. Floorboards creaked above her, feet crossing back and forth. A door clicked shut and soft footsteps came down the stairs. Her grandfather appeared at the drawing-room door. He looked surprised to see Clara, as if he had forgotten she had arrived the day before.

“Good morning, Clara,” he said, reaching for his coat and hat.

“Good morning. Are ye off for a walk?”

“No, I’m heading to the shipyard. We are working on an important contract and if I’m not there, my men will be idle.”

“Oh,” said Clara. “Will ye not be having breakfast?”

“No time, dear girl,” he said, and rushed out of the door.

Clara stepped back into the drawing room and, after examining some ornaments, made her way to a piano that filled one corner of the room. Made of the same polished dark wood of the furniture, the ivory keys were a rich cream. Clara sat on the piano stool and pressed a key with her forefinger. No sound came, and she tried again. A note rang out and filled the vast room, crisp and clear. She continued to move a finger up and down the keyboard, intrigued by the ability of ivory on metal to create such a pure sound.

Clara heard her grandmother, the fine satin of her dress, rustling like autumn leaves as she descended the stairs.

“I heard the piano,” she called, entering the room.

“Oh, I’m sorry grandmother, I hope I didn’t wake you.”

“No, no,” replied her grandmother as she crossed the vast carpeted floor. She settled herself down on the stool, causing Clara’s muscles to tense at the proximity of the sombre woman.

“The last person to play this piano was your mother,” she said, her eyes fixed on the keys.

“Oh,” said Clara, taken aback, “I’m sorry if my playing has upset you.

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