Hand Me Downs

The man remained silent, his hands slipping away from the doorframe as he turned his back to her. Descending the stairs, he began to whistle—a tune instantly recognizable to Isabella. The same melody had played on the music box while she danced in the attic. The coincidence was too eerie to dismiss. Had he been watching her all along? Or was it merely a matter of knowing the song beforehand? But why whistle it at that moment? The music box must have belonged to Olivia. The realization struck Isabella like a frigid gust through a desolate house.

"No, it can't be him," she whispered to herself, attempting to piece together the fragments. However, in the end, the only logical conclusion was the one that had initially presented itself. The man standing before her must be her uncle. The distressing truth unsettled Isabella. Finally, she rose from the attic's dusty floor, hastily exiting the room. She descended the stairs with haste, ignoring the peculiar objects that had previously captivated her in the house's halls. Without pausing, without allowing the eerie paintings on the walls to scrutinize her for too long, she strode confidently out of the house and onto the dark, tangled path through the woods.

Hours passed as Isabella wandered aimlessly. Her delicate shoes endured far too many steps. Gradually, reality sank in, confirming the starkness of her situation—the house, her existence. Tears washed away traces of hastily applied makeup, leaving faint streaks of black on her palms as she wiped them away. Another hour slipped by, and Isabella's panic intensified, her unease mounting. She paced frantically along the winding forest trail, the diminishing light intensifying her desperation. Cold and famished, she yearned for any semblance of illumination. Finally, a sound pierced the oppressive darkness, causing her head to whip around in search of its origin. Frozen in place, she listened as the sound transformed into a menacing melody—one she had heard that very morning. Emerging from the shadows, her uncle, Lord Edward, materialized, holding a lantern that cast a dim, golden glow, partially illuminating his face. He hummed the folk tune from the music box, his tone hushed and slightly off-key. Coming to a halt, he fixated his gaze upon her, mirroring the same unsettling stare from the attic.

"It's growing late, Isabella," he spoke after a prolonged silence.

"Uncle Edward?" she stammered, fearful yet relieved to have found a guide back to the house.

"Let's proceed then; dinner will be served soon," he evaded her question, turning to make his way back to the house. Isabella trotted after him, exhausted and her mud-caked feet throbbing with pain.

They walked in tandem, her uncle striding ahead, and Isabella trailing at the edge of the lantern's flickering glow. She teetered between the warmth and safety of the golden sphere of light and the chilling darkness that enveloped the cramped forest. As the house loomed into view, her uncle slowed his pace, allowing Isabella to draw nearer. Tilting his head slightly, he offered a warning.

"Don't you venture out here after dark," he admonished sternly. "You never know what fate may befall you within these woods."

"Why is that?" Isabella inquired, but received no answer. Instead, her uncle muttered frantically to himself. Snippets of sharp words and fragmented sentences reached her ears—threats, cryptic conversations with himself.

"Don't... cannot know... too young... the machine needs... I'll do it..."

Fear washed over Isabella, causing her to drop back slightly as they reached the gravel driveway, soft underfoot in the frigid evening. Her uncle ascended the steps, and Isabella turned to survey the grounds from which she had temporarily vanished. It dawned on her that her discovery, lost in the woods, was an uncanny coincidence. Presumably, her absence had been noticed, prompting her uncle to search for her. But how? The grounds spanned some five hundred acres—one of the largest estates in the northern counties. Yet, he had found her, his composure unshaken, as if he always knew her whereabouts. Her thoughts trailed off, her breath forming mist in the freezing air. She entered the house.

After a dinner of cold beef cutlets and potatoes, Duncan guided her to her room. Olivia's chest of clothes had been retrieved, cleaned, and placed in the drawers for Isabella's use.

"Your clothes are still being washed, madam," Duncan informed her while lighting two candles in the room. "They should be ready for you to wear in a few days. The stains have proven quite stubborn."

"That's okay, thank you," Isabella replied. Duncan bowed and exited the room. Isabella approached the desk at the room's far end, positioned beneath a tall window overlooking the forest. She began writing a second letter to her mother in Paris.

"Dear Mummy,

I have arrived at Uncle Edward's house. He is terrifying, and so is the house. I don't like it here. When you receive this, please come and take me away. I want to go back to school, see my friends, and perhaps live with Charlotte and her family. She always said I was welcome at their house.

I have to wear my dead cousin's clothes because my cases fell into the mud when I arrived, and they don't fit properly and smell quite awful."

Pausing for a moment, Isabella contemplated whether to mention her uncle's strange whistling, his muttering and self-conversations. Eventually, she decided against it. Finishing the letter, she folded the paper and suddenly felt the weight of exhaustion from her afternoon's escapade through the forest, succumbing to a deep slumber as she collapsed onto the bed.