Descent Into Dust by Jacqueline Lepore

first chain, I looked up and saw, to my surprise, that the field was empty. I scrambled to my feet. “Henrietta!” I called, and, at once, my fine sense of well-being evaporated.
    The object of my labor fell from my hand. I searched frantically along the top of the grass for a cap of golden curls. “Henrietta?” I called.
    Lifting my skirts clear to my knees, I broke into a run. The height of the grass was an impediment, and I was not graceful as I loped through. I had a thought she might have made for the hedgerow and set off in that direction.
    Then something touched me, a presence, burning lightly into the flesh of my back. My steps slowed. I stopped. The air grew electric, and the sense of pressure, the terrible stabbing pain inside my head, sprang to life.
    I swung about to look behind me. I was standing by Marius’s tree. A terrible feeling saturated my flesh, aching a dull pain in my bones—it was coming from there. The feeling was coming from that direction.
    The sound of Henrietta’s voice drifted over to me. “No,” she said in a tone calm and measured, “I do not think it is so.”
    I felt relief, for I had found her, but it was quickly cut off, replaced by a creeping finger of dread that ran up the vertebrae in the small of my back. She was talking to someone.
    I spotted her, sitting cross-legged on the ground among the high grass. Her face was upturned as if there were someone standing just an arm’s length in front of her.
    She went still, as if she were listening. Whoever spoke to her did so in such a low tone I could not hear it. Then she laughed. “I should like that very much!”
    I approached quickly. What trick was this? Was someone hiding behind the tree? I could not see properly, so I cut a wide berth behind the child to trap him. Circling, I stopped short.
    The meadow was empty.
    Henrietta was even now smiling and nodding, as if in response to words I could not hear. But there was nothing there.
    Fear cut into me, a deep, razor-edged terror. When she’d played pretend with Victoria, I understood that she knew it was a game. This looked so real. As if something or someone really were there, speaking only to her…
    I cried out as a sudden burst of pain descended upon me like a hammer’s blow. I went down on my knees with a gasp, clutching my hands to my hair. I felt like I was being wrenched open, as though something inside me were tearing, and then, as I curled forward, mouth open in a silent cry, a sharp final snap burst upon me, as if a twig were rended in two.
    And then I felt no pain, just breathless relief. I lay there, unmoving, for only a moment before I remembered Henrietta and made myself rise. Unfurling myself, I found her motionless before Marius’s tree, enraptured. She still had no idea I was present.
    But now I saw it, as if a veil had been finally ripped aside. A shadow, the suggestion of a male figure, enshrouded in mists, stood in the shelter of the wild tangle of branches of the ancient hawthorn tree.
    I stood on shaking legs. “Henrietta!” I cried.
    She whipped her head around. The shadow dissolved and Henrietta jumped to her feet, her little body going rigid. I reached her, snatching her by the shoulders and pulling her toward me.
    Her head twisted to turn back to the tree. “You made him go away. He was being nice to me.”
    “Who? Is that Marius?” I grasped her shoulders and shook her, perhaps a bit more roughly than was necessary, but my blood was pumping furiously in my veins. “Is this Marius, Henrietta? Please tell me.”
    Something dawned on her and she looked upon me with a new amazement. “You saw him.”
    I was about to reply and stopped. What had I seen? “It was just a shadow, but like a man. Tall, and very dark. Is…is that what you see, darling?”
    She shook her head. “No. He’s very handsome. He talks to me.” She smiled, a chilling, ghostly smile. “He tells me things sometimes. I like it when he’s nice.” Her face went cold. “I’m