Silver Threads ↠ Matthew Fairchild [1]

NINETEEN

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A L L   P L A C E S   H E L L

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By the time Willa, Lucie, and Thomas had reached Chiswick House, it was near dark. The sun had set, and the mansion was a tarnished silver against the dying light of the sky. Leaving the carriage at the curb, they silently made their way to the long road flanked by twisted trees to the main house.

Willa grimaced as she looked around, her eyes flickering over the humped shadow of the greenhouse in the distance and the ruined Italian gardens in the other direction. The manor and its ground were a sight that the dark haired girl had almost wished she hadn't seen.

"Poor Grace," Lucie muttered. "This place is a rathole. Actually, I wouldn't wish it on a rat."

"That is because you like rats," Thomas pointed out. "Remember Marie?" Willa hummed in response, images of the small white rat they had named Marie Curie that Christopher had kept in the Devil Tavern flashing through her head. They had fed the rat on bread and chicken bones and Marie had been friendly enough to rest on Lucie's shoulder and even bustle in her hair. Eventually Marie had died of natural causes and they had buried her with pomp and circumstance in Matthew's back garden.

"This is a place for a duck," Willa insisted, her eyes menacing as she looked around. "An awful place for an awful little creature."

Thomas shot the girl a look of amusement while Lucie just ignored her sister's antics and instead said, "But I don't know if we ought to feel sorry for Grace. She broke James' heart."

"For someone with a broken heart, he seems in remarkably fine fettle," Thomas said. "Honestly, he actually seems more cheerful."

Willa thought back to Cordelia and James in the Whispering Room and couldn't help but agree. She felt Lucie glance her way and knew she was trying to determine if the topic of James was too much for her to handle. Willa hadn't exactly explained the situation to her sister, but she was sure that Lucie at least knew that something had happened between the twins. That is if no one else had already told her what was going on.

"Still," Lucie finally said. "It is the principle of the thing."

They had reached the greenhouse by then, a long structure of glass and wood. Long ago it had provided the Lightwood family with pineapples and grapes in winter. Now there were holes smashed into the glass walls, and the once-clean windows were smeared and dark. A massive padlock hung on the door and Willa went to reach for her stele, but Thomas put a hand on her wrist to stop her.