Bone of My Bone

A short story by Anna Ojinnaka

Emma Sterling took a deep breath. She was standing before Arndell Manor, which was still a structure to behold despite its state of disrepair. Large, with a pale limestone façade, and near-perfect lines of symmetry, Emma felt intimidated by it, and she was no stranger to the finer things in life. Not that you’d know that by looking at her. All she had with her was a small leather trunk, and the dress she wore was a dark and miserable affair. It was worlds away from the pretty frocks she usually wore.

You’d be forgiven for thinking that she was a woman in mourning, for she looked as if she’d just lost everything in the world that was dear to her—but that couldn’t have been further from the truth. While it was true that Emma’s much talked about engagement to a wealthy judge had just fallen through, it had been her decision to call off the wedding. She just couldn’t go through with it, not when she felt that there was so much more that she could potentially gain at Arndell Manor. The risk of failure was high, but a high risk was worth taking for a high reward.

She reached for the knocker and knocked the door thrice. Although her sources had said that her cousin had returned to the manor, there were no outward signs that the building was occupied. No smoke streamed out from the chimneys, most of the curtains were drawn, and there didn’t seem to be anyone tending to the grounds. She began to wonder if her sources were incorrect, but then she saw a curtain shift from the periphery of her vision; the door creaked open a moment later. Emma certainly didn’t expect the person behind it to be her cousin himself. Did he not have any staff at all? Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of him. He had dark blond hair and eyes that were a gunmetal grey. Aside from the slight stubble on his cheek, and the fine lines around his eyes, he was just as she'd remembered.

"Francis," she said, "You really have come back."

He looked surprised to see her, which was to be expected. She had come all the way from London without any notice, and certainly without invitation. She wasn’t even sure if he’d let her stay.

"Emma, what on earth are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be in London? You're getting married this month, are you not?"

Emma smiled. It pleased her to know that Francis had some idea of what was going on in her life despite them having no contact for seven years. It felt more like a lifetime. Gone was the floppy haired youth he had been. Before her stood not only a man, but a stranger. She was eager to reacquaint herself with him.

"I was," she admitted, "but not anymore. It was called off."

"I’m sorry to hear that."

"Francis, who is that?" came a voice from inside. It was that of a young woman.

"Don’t worry, darling. I’ll be back in a minute," Francis said over his shoulder.

Emma couldn’t resist craning her neck to take a look at the mystery maiden, but she only caught a glimpse of a waif-like figure skipping away into the gloom. Emma was aware that Francis was not alone. There had been rumors circulating that he had taken on a ward of sorts during his time overseas. Nobody knew who she was or where she had come from, only that she had some type of rare disease, and that she accompanied him wherever he went.

Francis turned his attention back to Emma, his brows furrowed. "I’m sorry. We were not expecting guests."

And there it was. Emma could already feel him trying to push her out, but she hadn’t come so far only to be turned away.

"You’re not really going to send your dear little cousin away, are you? I know I should've sent word to you before coming here, but I just couldn't wait. It's been so many years and I just had to see you again while you were on home soil. I didn't want you to disappear before I had the chance.”

Emma could see that Francis was mulling it over in his head. "Well, I suppose," he said after a moment, "it wouldn’t hurt for you to stay for the night."

Emma broke into a grin and threw her arms around him. He stiffened at her touch, but she brushed it off and attributed it to the fact that they hadn’t seen each other in years. The closeness they had shared as children had obviously faded, but that was a natural part of life. She made sure her smile didn’t falter when she pulled away.

Francis cleared his throat as if embarrassed and then offered to carry her trunk for her. "I’ll show you to the guest room."

Emma was filled with an odd mixture of glee and apprehension as she crossed the threshold of the front door. If he was letting her into his home, then perhaps there was hope that he’d also let her into his heart. She just hoped that it wasn't as frigid as the inside of the manor, otherwise she would stand no chance. Her breath spiraled out of her mouth when she breathed out, and she wished she had thought to bring some of her furs.

"None of the fires have been put on yet," explained Francis, "but I'll have one put on in your room."

Emma raised an eyebrow. "Aren't you cold? After all the exotic places you've been to, I would've thought you'd grown accustomed to warmer climes."

Francis's lips curled up into a little smile. "Not all of them were warm. Norway was particularly cold during the winter. I like to think that I now have a tolerance for either extreme."

Emma followed Francis up the staircase. He led her down a corridor where all the windows were covered with newspapers, blocking out the fading sunlight.

"Did you do this?" she asked.

Francis nodded. "It's for Lamorna's sake. Direct sunlight isn't good for her complexion. I'm always reminding her to wear a veil when we're out."

Emma almost stumbled right into Francis's back, not just because it was hard to see where she was going in the darkened corridor, but because the name ‘Lamorna’ struck a chord within her that didn't resonate well.

"Lamorna? As in the cove?"

"That's right. Why do you ask?"

Emma was afraid to answer that question. Lamorna was where Francis's first love had died, or more accurately, where she had ended her own life. She didn't want to bring up such a morbid topic of conversation.

"Nothing. It's an unusual name, that's all," she replied, as quietly as she could. She was glad that Francis's back was turned to her as he fumbled to find the right key to her room.

"Well, she's an unusual girl," said Francis with what sounded like pride.

The door to the room whined as it was opened, and Emma wrinkled her nose at the stale air that wafted out. It was like the room hadn't been opened in over a century; the furnishings looked antiquated enough. She could imagine Louis XVI resting comfortably in the room, with its gold-gilded furniture and floral motifs. The floorboards creaked like old bones, but Emma was glad that the window was unobscured, allowing the weak afternoon sunlight to flood inside.

"When will I get to meet her?" asked Emma.

Francis set her trunk by the bed and then handed her the bedroom key. "You'll see her at dinner."

Emma loved a good feast, with an assortment of meats and sauces, cakes towering three tiers high and all sorts of plump, fragrant fruits piled high in bowls. Now, a feast wasn't what she was expecting from Francis, what with his lack of staff and the fact that she had shown up on such short notice, but neither was she expecting the sad bowl of soup that was presented as ‘dinner’. It was clear, devoid of any texture, and tasted like cabbage water, which was probably what it was.

Francis seemed to take delight in her displeasure at the meal. His lips twitched as he explained, "I know it's not much, but it's the best Helga could do on such short notice."

"You could at least try to sound more apologetic," said Emma in jest. She dipped some bread into the watery soup, which was cooling down rapidly. Lamorna still hadn't shown up for dinner, and Emma was getting fidgety in her seat waiting for the girl to arrive. There were so many things she was dying to know about her. Most importantly, the exact nature of her relationship with Francis.

"Is Lamorna not coming? The soup will be frozen if she doesn't come down soon. Now I feel bad that we started without her."

"She won't mind at all," was all Francis had to say about that.

Emma was about to pop another soggy bit of bread into her mouth when she saw a figure emerging into the dining room from the corner of her eye. She turned her head to get a proper look, as she reckoned that it must've been Lamorna coming to join them for dinner. Her eyes caught sight of a dark-haired, melancholy beauty, and she let out a gasp.

"What's the matter?" asked Francis.

Emma struggled to speak. How could she explain that she was seeing a ghost? Did he not see that his doomed first love, Carmen, was in the room with them?

"Francis, who is this?" asked Emma. Her voice was like a hiss.

"This is Lamorna, of course. My ward."

The smile Lamorna had been wearing when she came into the dining room had vanished upon seeing her reaction, and Emma suddenly felt very silly. Carmen had been dead for the past seven years. Lamorna simply looked like her. She even had the same beauty mark under her right eye.

Emma cleared her throat. "It's nice to meet you, Lamorna. I'm Emma, Francis's cousin."

"Distant cousin,'' said Francis.

"Yes, Francis likes to remind everyone of that, although we were very close when we were younger."

Lamorna finally moved forward to take her seat next to Francis and smiled, flashing pearls of white teeth. "Oh, really?" She glanced at Francis. "Francis never told me."

Emma didn't know what to say next. Had Francis not mentioned her at all? The thought was dispiriting. Fearing that tears would soon spring to her eyes, she grabbed her wine glass and gulped it down in one go. As bad as the food was, at least the wine was a good vintage.

"So, tell me, Lamorna, where did you and Francis meet?"

Emma could feel Francis shooting daggers at her. He was clearly incensed by her question, which only piqued her curiosity even more. Emma took in every detail of Lamorna's face while she waited for an answer. Her skin was a beautiful olive tone, just as Carmen's had been. It was completely smooth and clear of any blemishes too. One might even say that she was an improvement on Carmen's beauty, if such a thing was even possible.

Lamorna's smile faltered. "I suppose it was at the hospital."

Emma raised her brows. She hadn't expected that. "A hospital? How unexpected."

"Not really," said Francis, "I used to practise as a physician. Lamorna was put under my care. She was the only surviving member of her family after an outbreak decimated the population of her town."

"I'm so sorry to hear that Lamorna. Forgive me for bringing it up. I can't imagine what you had to go through."

Lamorna shook her head. "Please, there's no need to apologize. You weren't to know, and strange as it may be, I have no recollection of my family whatsoever. In fact, I couldn't remember anything of my life when I recovered from the fever, could I, Francis?"

Francis nodded in agreement.

Emma's face was a picture of incredulity. "Do you mean to say that your first memory is waking up in a hospital bed?" With Francis by your side! She wanted to add.

Lamorna nodded. She looked slightly embarrassed, but no blush warmed her cheeks. "I do wish I could remember my life before then, but I consider myself lucky enough to have survived."

Emma was stunned into silence. She felt like Alice falling ever deeper into the rabbit hole. She had the feeling that she had only just scratched the surface of what was really going on. Nobody else said another word, and so the rest of dinner went by in silence. Only the clinking of silverware against porcelain could be heard in the large dining hall. Emma noticed that Lamorna hadn't taken even a sip of her soup or a bite of her bread. She merely sat there with a serene expression on her face, as if watching the rest of them eat was enough to satisfy her.

A shadow fell on Emma when Helga, the only staff on hand, came up behind her to clear away the plates when they had finished their meal. Helga was built like a brick, strong and hard. Emma had no doubt that she was capable of acting as cook, maid, and housekeeper all in one.

Lamorna was quick to excuse herself for the night.

"I'm sorry, Emma, but I'm suddenly feeling very tired."

"Not to worry. I understand. You get some rest," said Emma, secretly glad that Lamorna was heading up so early. She needed to speak to Francis in private.

"I'll be up in a bit," Francis assured Lamorna, "I just need to discuss some things with Emma. She'll be leaving tomorrow."

It irked Emma that he was speaking about her as if she were not in the room. "Actually, I think I might stay a while," Emma blurted.

Francis narrowed his eyes at her but said nothing. Emma was all too happy to let him simmer.

Lamorna bid them both goodnight, and as soon as she was out of the room, Francis rose up from his seat.

"Care to join me in the drawing room? It's warmer there."

Emma nodded and followed him through a dark passageway that led to the drawing room, where a fire was crackling in the hearth, casting the room in an amber glow. Francis hadn't been lying about it being much warmer, and despite its large size, it was wonderfully homely too. Dog-eared books lined the shelves, and not an inch of wall was devoid of art. There were framed pictures of vibrant still lifes and quaint garden scenes, as well as long-deceased Arndell ancestors. Francis settled down in one of the couches by the fireplace before cocking up his head to look Emma straight in the eyes. The flames of the hearth were reflected in his steely irises. His gaze burned. Emma didn't dare take a seat, and neither did he offer her one.

"Why are you really here?" he asked, his voice as sharp as a shard of glass.

"I already told you why I'm here. I wanted to see you. Is that a crime? Haven't you missed me even a little bit? I can't begin to describe how much your absence has affected me."

Francis shut his eyes as if he had fallen asleep, but continued to speak. "Is that why you called off your marriage?" He opened his eyes once more. "I know you, Emma, even after all this time. Only you could've thrown away a chance at happiness over a whim."

Emma shook her head. "I wouldn't have been happy. If you know me as well as you say, then you should know that too." Emma took a step closer to where Francis was sitting. "And what about you? How long are you going to deny yourself happiness?"

Francis narrowed his eyes. "I have no idea what you mean."

Emma scoffed. "Oh, Francis, please. Isn't it obvious what's going on with you and Lamorna? She's the spitting image of Carmen. I know how devastated you were when she died, but that was years ago now. You can't keep holding on to a dead woman, and you certainly can't use that poor girl as her replacement—"

"She is not a replacement. I can't believe you would suggest such a thing."

Emma sighed. "Forgive me. All I mean to say is that maybe it's time you let her go. You're still in your prime; it's not too late to marry."

"Why do I sense a proposition coming along?"

"Just think about it. Lamorna isn't going to be by your side forever. She's already old enough to be married. What will you do when she leaves?"

Francis turned his face away from Emma and stared into the flames.

"All I'm suggesting is that maybe we should put the past behind us and find happiness with each other. You know how much I adore—how much I've always adored you. Would it be so bad if I were to become your wife? That was the plan our parents had for us anyway." Before Carmen came along.

"Emma, stop. Please," said Francis, his brow creasing, "I'm sorry you had to come all this way only to be rejected, but I cannot force myself to love you in the way that you love me. In my heart, there has only ever been, and there will only ever be, Carmen. She is irreplaceable—contrary to what you might think."

Emma bit her lip to stop the tears from falling, but they fell anyway. She turned away from Francis, feeling like the biggest fool on earth. She had known that rejection was a possibility, but it still hurt.

"You should leave tomorrow," Francis said gently.

Emma wiped away her tears and smiled ruefully at Francis. "If you don't mind, I would like to stay another day. I don't want to go back to the mess I've made in London just yet. I've upset a lot of people by cancelling the wedding, as you can imagine.”

Francis nodded. "I understand. You can stay so long as you don't mention Carmen again—and only until the end of the week."

"Don’t worry about that. I shan’t speak her name again. I promise you that."

Emma did not rest easy that night, for she was plagued by terrible dreams. She saw Carmen, as beautiful as ever, smiling down at her from the top of a cliff. The wind whipped her ebony black hair in every possible direction, and the sea crashed loudly against the rocks far below her. She opened her rosy mouth to sing…

Emma woke up with a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach. She felt sick to her soul. Along with the rays of the morning sun, a melody streamed into her room through the window. It was not a birdsong, but the sound of someone singing. The song was familiar, and Emma got out of bed at once to find its source. She did not care that she was still in her nightclothes or that her hair was in complete disarray. She needed to confirm that her mind wasn’t merely playing wicked games with her. She hurried down the grand staircase to the bottom floor and let herself out of the manor. It was a beautiful morning by anyone’s standards. The sun was shining and the temperature was perfectly warm. If Emma closed her eyes and concentrated, she fancied that she would even be able to hear the sound of the sea—but Emma had no time to enjoy the lovely weather nor the song of the sea. Another song was playing in the breeze, one that filled her with a dread that she could hardly articulate.

She found herself at the back of the manor, where the gardens were located. The plants were so overgrown that it was practically a forest. Out in the open air, it soon became apparent where the song was coming from: a lone apple tree in a secluded part of the manor grounds. Emma hurried towards it as fast as her bare feet could take her, but she halted abruptly in her tracks when she saw Lamorna perched on a branch, singing her heart out as if she were a diva. The sight was pure déjà vu. If Emma didn’t know any better, she would’ve thought that she was still dreaming.

Lamorna was still dressed in her nightclothes, and the light of the morning sun gave her skin a luminous quality, like it was made of porcelain. Didn’t Francis say that sunlight was detrimental to her skin? It certainly didn’t look that way.

Emma only noticed Helga squatting at the bottom of the tree when the woman made a noise that sounded like the clearing of her throat. She was busy coring a bucketful of apples.

"Good morning, Miss Sterling," greeted Helga, although her face was anything but welcoming.

"Good morning, Helga," replied Emma.

"Oh, Emma!" exclaimed Lamorna, now aware that she had extra company, "I hope I didn’t wake you with my singing."

Emma tried for a smile, but it must’ve looked forced.

"Are you alright, Emma? You look unwell. Surely my singing isn’t that terrible."

"Where did you learn that song?"

Lamorna beamed proudly. "I came up with it this morning. Why do you ask?"

Emma wondered if she should tell the truth. She had promised not to mention Carmen while she stayed at Arndell Manor, so she settled with, "I’ve heard it before."

Lamorna seemed to sober up at that response. She pursed her lips and looked up at the clear blue sky. "Is that so? Where from?"

"From someone I knew years ago."

Lamorna’s gaze dropped back down to Emma. "Was it the lady you mistook me for? Carmen?"

"Francis told you about her?"

Lamorna shrugged. "He hasn’t said much, but I know that I resemble her. You're not the first person to say so."

"You sound just like her too. I thought I was dreaming when I heard your song."

Lamorna plucked an apple from a nearby branch and turned it in her hands. "Do you know how she died?"

Emma thought how best to word it. "She… took her own life."

Lamorna’s eyes widened in shock. "But why?"

"Nobody knows for certain. They found her belongings at the edge of a cliff, and then her body washed up on the shore the very next day. Francis was completely heartbroken, and he blamed himself for her death. They were supposed to run away together, you see, but Francis was held back and didn’t get to her on time. Perhaps she thought she had been abandoned by him. Maybe that's what made her do it. The pain of heartbreak can be devastating."

Lamorna looked visibly distressed by the information. She let the apple fall from her grasp and she called for Helga’s assistance. "Helga, please help me down. I don’t feel well all of a sudden."

Helga stood up immediately, but it was still too late. Lamorna became unsteady and slipped from the branch. She screamed as she hit the ground, but it was the sound of shattering china that concerned Emma more. It was such an unnatural sound. It conjured up images of teacups splintered into fragments.

"Larmona!" cried Emma, hurrying to the girl's side to assess the severity of the damage. The girl’s nightgown had ridden up during her fall, exposing both of her pale legs. One of them was literally shattered, like a broken plate, but that wasn't the worst part. The worst part was that it was completely hollow inside. There was no blood, no bone, and no flesh. Emma recoiled at the sight of the broken, ball-jointed limb. It was a doll’s limb, like the ones she used to play with as a child.

"Oh, my God," Emma said beneath the hand that covered her mouth. She was unable to mask her shock.

Helga, on the other hand, did not seem to be disturbed by Lamorna’s unnatural physiology. She scooped the whimpering girl up in her arms and carried her back towards the manor. Emma did not follow them back inside. She was as rooted to the ground as the apple tree. It felt as if the earth had just been pulled out from under her feet, and she didn’t want to test her luck by taking a step forward, lest she fall into a never-ending tunnel of darkness. She had to confront Francis about what she had seen, even if it meant mentioning the name ‘Carmen’ once again.

Francis had just come out of Lamorna’s room. He had been inside for hours, probably doing all he could to repair his broken ward, and now the sun was at its peak in the sky—not that it made much of a difference within Arndell Manor, where the corridors were shrouded in perpetual darkness.

"Francis, we need to talk," said Emma.

Francis made a face. "I don’t think we do, as I have nothing to say to you. I suggest you leave."

He turned away from her and sped down the corridor towards the first-floor landing, but Emma was on him like a rash. She wouldn’t let him get rid of her so easily. She grabbed hold of his arm before he could descend the stairs. "Francis, please, don’t walk away. I need to know what’s going on here—before I lose my mind! I need you to explain what it is that I saw."

"Oh? And what exactly did you see? Go on, tell me."

"Lamorna’s leg. It was cracked. Cracked. You can’t tell me that it’s because of her ‘condition’, because as far as I could see, the only condition she has is not being human. What is she, Francis? Some kind of automaton? Is that why she looks like Carmen? You need to let her go, Francis. She’s dead, and she’s never coming back. Creating a replica of her isn’t going to heal your heart. You must realise that you weren't responsible for her death and absolve yourself."

A smirk appeared on Francis’s face. "Do you really think that an automaton could replace Carmen?"

Emma’s body turned cold. "What are you trying to say?"

Francis laughed. "You keep insisting that I let go of Carmen, but you just couldn’t let go of me, could you? But I know now that I am not to blame for Carmen's death. That burden rests solely on you. I've found you out, Emma. I should've known from the start that it was you. You would've done anything to have me."

Emma took a step back. Her body was ice and her throat was scorched earth. Guilt was scrawled all over her face. There was no point denying it. All she could do was try to explain.

"She would’ve destroyed you, Francis. You would’ve lost everything if you’d run away with her. Your family, your home, your inheritance—everything. I only did what was best for you. It was all for you, believe me, please."

"In that case, you should be more understanding of my situation. I learned a great many things during my travels overseas, and my soul may be in peril because of them. You see, Emma, you and I are both willing to do heinous things for the ones we love. I had to exhume Carmen's remains so that she could come back to me, but all that was left were her bones, so I ground them down and turned them into china."

Emma wanted to cover up her ears. "That can't be true. Please, Francis, tell me that you're lying."

The floorboards creaked behind Emma. She knew who was at her back even before she turned around and uttered the name that she loathed the most in the world.

"Carmen…"

An impish smile formed on Carmen’s face. "I should thank you, Emma. You being here has done wonders for my memory. I remember everything now. It really took me by surprise when you pushed me into the sea, but in hindsight, I should've seen that coming. You've always been such a jealous creature."

Emma tried to run past Francis to get to the stairs, but he caught her as easily as a hawk snatches its prey. Locked within the tight bands of his arms, there was no hope of escaping. She let out a sob as fresh tears streamed down her cheeks.

"What are you going to do to me?" she asked.

Carmen tutted. "Why do we need to do anything to you? We know that your heart has been broken for some time now, and the pain of a heartbreak can be devastating--you said so yourself. Maybe that’s why you're going to throw yourself off a cliff." Carmen looked to Francis, "What do you think, love? Do you think that's why she'll do it?"

"It's possible," he replied, the smile evident in his voice, "but no one will ever know for certain."

Anna Ojinnaka has been writing spooky (and not so spooky) tales since her tweens. You can find some of her work in The Ghastling, Love Letters to Poe, and Ahoy Comics.

© Anna Ojinnaka. All rights reserved.