Free House of Masques by Fortune Kent Page B

no good. There is evil in this house where evil never existed before. Nothing goes as it should anymore. Is there a gypsy curse on all of us?” She shook her head. “I don’t know. I don’t know.”
    Mrs. Lewis walked to the door and looked back at Kathleen who drew the covers higher about her neck. Did she see distress in Mrs. Lewis’s face? Or was hatred there as well?
    â€œYes, a curse is on this house,” Mrs. Lewis said. She opened the door, and as she left she muttered as though to herself, but loud enough for Kathleen to hear. “And that curse,” she added, “was what brought you among us.”

Chapter Seven
    Kathleen survived Dr. Gunn’s treatment for inflammation of the lungs.
    After inhaling the steaming vapor and drinking hot tea, she returned to bed to lie between two rows of hot bricks wrapped in cloth. She perspired. She gasped for air. She wished she had never seen the doctor nor listened to his advice. But then, after a supper of chicken broth, crackers, and warm milk, Clarissa removed the bricks and Kathleen felt a warm glow envelop her.
    She had been purged. Physically the alien substances had drained from her body. Emotionally she found herself ready to begin anew. Her fears and uncertainties of the last few days seemed to have washed away. As she waited for sleep to come she no longer feared, as she had for the last three nights, a recurrence of her dream of death.
    â€œI’m all right today,” she announced to Clarissa on Friday morning. Her confidence of the night before remained; she was eager to discover what the day would offer. She had not dreamed, the air was still cool, and she had a strange new world to explore. I must wear exactly the right dress , she thought, without knowing why the selection was so important.
    She examined her new dresses hanging in the wardrobe, the muslin, the dimity, the silk, considered and rejected each in turn before she chose the India lawn, a soft gray with yellow lace edging the square neckline and the long sleeves. Standing before the mirror, she ran her hands down her sides and adjusted the narrow black sash. She smiled at the reflection of her dark hair and pale complexion.
    â€œCaptain Worthington asked after you,” Clarissa said as they left the bedroom. Going down the stairs, Kathleen hummed a gay tune. The plight of the unfortunate Charley Ross, supposed victim of wandering gypsies, was forgotten.
    â€œDelightful,” the Captain said when he found them on the side porch after breakfast. “You both look delightful.” His face was somber and his brown eyes seemed tired. “Come with me, Miss Stuart, let me show you the Estate.” Kathleen nodded while admiring the Captain’s town clothes—the gray jacket, matching trousers, and black boots.
    He paused beside Clarissa. “Won’t you come, too?” he asked.
    â€œThank you, no,” Clarissa said without looking up from the knitting in her lap. “I must go on with my work.”
    Kathleen thought she saw the Captain’s mouth tighten as he looked down at Clarissa, but he offered Kathleen his arm without comment. They crossed the lawn and followed a path through the trees. “Your aunt suggested I show you the grounds first, then the house,” he said.
    She stopped. Clarissa again. The Captain looked at her with surprise. “Is something the matter?” he asked. “Are you all right?”
    She felt as she had long before when she waited with high expectations for her father to take her on a promised picnic to the walnut grove, only to find him unable to go because of his condition. His condition? Am I still a child , she asked herself, to need these evasions? He had had too much to drink. Face the fact. My father was drunk. At least I can be truthful with myself.
    â€œI’m sorry,” she said to Captain Worthington as she walked on. “I’m fine just daydreaming.” The Captain