A Pretty Mouth by Molly Tanzer Page B

tower at The Beeches for safekeeping; they bring me my meals fairly regularly, but already my dress hangs off my body, so hungry, cold, and lonely am I. Woe is me! I asked my jailers for paper and pencil so I could write my story; this, as it is my last request, they have given me. Thus I have recorded all that transpired during my fateful journey to my home county, where, instead of love, I have found only death. My only conclusion is that Laurent always intended to cast me aside, and gave me the necklace to have a good reason to do so.
    I have no regrets but one as to my actions in life, the things I have enjoyed and done—but trusting such a knave as Laurent and his hateful staff was a greater mistake than any of my amorous encounters. Would that I had taken Mr. Milliner up on his offer to elope with him! I am sure I should be happier than here, alone, in the darkness, awaiting my death.
     
    ***
     
    That should do; I shall copy it out now.
    Date unknown, time of day uncertain, languishing in the crypt
    My plan has not worked, all hope has left me. I must conclude that either my dear editrix Susan did not perceive the cipher I painstakingly included in the handwritten conclusion I composed for “A Camilla Among the Beeches,” or it has not been sent to her as was promised. I suspect the latter; given the extent of the treachery I have experienced, I cannot believe in human kindness any longer.
    Here I shall record what actually befell me more than a fortnight ago, if my sense of time has not been too much disturbed by living as I have been, in the Calipash family crypt. (I have counted meals, but they have been thrown down to me at strange intervals with no difference between breakfast and dinner, as I can no longer stomach much.) It pains me to write about my misfortunes, for this honors a hideous request, but at the very least I know this document will live on in the Private Library—which I have found out was never burnt, and exists today, and is now one book richer. I suppose it is every writer’s wish to compose something that others might enjoy, and though future Calipash heirs may take pleasure in the real account which inspired ‘A Camilla Among the Beeches’ more for my suffering than any greatness of prose, such is life.
    I went down to dinner in my most modest gown, for when I was dressing for dinner I saw how brown and mottled my skin had become. I thought then it was from too much sun during my earlier walk; I know better now. Regardless, Orlando, sweet boy, remarked upon my dress favorably, and we enjoyed our meal.
    But when Lizzie came in with our dessert, I reached for the decanter of wine upon the table—and the jade tortoise pendant fell from my décolletage. Then all was confusion!
    “My God, it is my father’s necklace!” cried Orlando, pointing at the glowing object dangling before my bosom. “How has it come into your possession, Chelone?”
    “It is the potent thing itself!” cried Lizzie, dropping the tray of blancmange. “Bill!” she screeched at the top of her lungs. “Brother! Come! I have discovered it! It is not lost!”
    “What?” said I, backing away quickly from the table. “Orlando! Tell them you gave it to me late last night!”
    “I did not give it to you, nor did I see you after you left this room!” he exclaimed. “I drank and drank, then went down into the crypt after Bill came to me and told me he had forgotten to strip the pendant from my father’s body. I went to get it—and there was my father’s corpse, cold on the marble slab where Bill had put him, but the necklace was gone! And then there was a strange sound … and I startled away from the body—and hit my head—and woke up in my own bed!”
    “Indeed,” said Bill, coming into the room, “I think I have an explanation for that, dearest Lizzie. I’ve just had a visit with Rosemary’s golem.”
    “The golem!” exclaimed Lizzie. “Well, I never!”
    “Explain yourselves,” demanded Orlando.