Mama slipped further from my life with each passing month. Her nightly activities left her drained in the morning. Occasionally, she stumbled into my room and nibbled on a piece of breakfast toast. The children's antics filled her conversation. Smoldering with resented, I listened to her in silence.

"Vanda reminds me of you at her age," my mother stated, oblivious to my growing jealousy. "She drew the most charming picture of her Papa and me last night."

Hustling into her bedroom, Mama returned with a rolled parchment. She spread it on the bed and smiled upon it fondly. Angry black coal scribbles filled the page. I ogled it, time stretching out intermittently. I could not discern any figures resembling humans.

"Mama, I..." I lifted the parchment and turned it on another angle. Still, nothing popped out at me.

"Vanda shows great talent, does she not?"

"I..." I stuttered, at a complete loss. "I...I don't know what to say." Slowly, I re-rolled the drawing and handed it back to my mother.

Mama stared at me blankly for a moment. She began extorting the children's virtues again, but I turned my back on her. Then, abruptly spinning on her heels, she exited the room. While she slept the day away, I addressed my history assignment.

Stonehenge—a prehistoric monument—stands on Salisbury Plain in Wiltshire, I read. Tears welled in my eyes. Vividly, I recalled the holiday we spent in the South of England many years ago. Papa loved visiting historical sites. He believed studying ancient monuments meant seeing them up close.

"Did the Pagans really sacrifice to their gods here?" I remembered asking. Slowly, I turned in a circle and gazed upon the massive sarsen stones topped with their heavy lintels. The entire structure seemed imposing to a five-year-old girl.

"We don't know for sure, love," my father explained, squatting beside me. "History holds many mysteries that we are yet to unravel. It makes our past a fascinating subject."

"Are we going to stand here all day, Mill?" Mama burst into our explorations. "The noon hour is drawing close. I want to return to London before the shops close."

"In a moment, my dearest," Papa called back. "Norah has asked a question, and I wish to answer it fully."

"She's a five-year-old child, Millard," Mama sharply declared, "not an Oxford scholar."

"We'll come along shortly, Bella," Papa jovially called back. Turning to me, he continued his description of Stonehenge.

"Now, Millard!" Mama stood on the edge of the ruined circle impatiently.

"Yes, dear," my father meekly remarked. Bowing his head, he followed her from the field. I trotted along behind, my short legs hurrying to keep up.

The memory remained fresh in my mind as I stared down at the pencil drawing in my history book. Did the Pagans really sacrifice to their gods at Stonehenge? I whispered to myself. A tear unexpectedly dropped upon the page, smearing the picture. Hastily, I closed the book and stared at it blankly.

I wanted Papa. I longed for Grey Friar's Vicarage and the happy days of my youth. If only I could sit on his knee again and listen to him read from his history books. Unlike Mama, I longed to learn about ancient times. I always resented her interruption that day on the Salisbury Plain.

I left my books and wandered into the adjoining bed chamber. My mother sprawled across the massive bed in a deep sleep. How pale her skin appeared against the scarlet counterpane. Momentarily, I hovered above her. She looked so different than when we first arrived. Her vitality seemed to disappear overnight.

Cautiously, I sat beside her and swept a blonde lock away from her neck. The pinpricks I noticed previously stood out against her jugular vein. Hurriedly, I located Mama's cosmetic bag and found an antiseptic. Tenderly, I cleansed the angry, infected wounds.

"Norah," Mama mumbled sleepily.

"Lie still, Mama," I ordered gently. "Your scratches are festering. I'm applying an antiseptic."

"Leave it alone, Norah." Briskly sitting up, Mama removed the antiseptic from my hand and set it aside. Tenderly, she touched the marks and muttered the Baron's name.

I stared at her dumbfounded. She caressed the wounds, her eyes filled with a strange love.

"Did the Baron do this to you?" I asked, grasping her icy hands. "Has he touched you? Has he taken advantage of you?" I fired my questions rapidly.

My mother stared at me for a long, defiant moment. Then, she sank against her pillow in a sullen repose.

"The Baron and I are both adults, Norah," she demurely stated. "We can act as we please."

Mama's behavior toward Baron von Helfin startled me. Where did they go, and why wasn't she teaching the children? Several times, I had seen them riding across the mountain peak.

I gazed down upon her miserably. My heart raced, and I balled my hands into fists.

"I want to go home!" I finally wailed. "I want Gray Friar's Vicarage and Prentiss." A lump built up in my throat, and I swallowed it. "I want Papa!"

"Papa's dead, my sweet," Mama stated emotionlessly. "This is our home now. The Baron and I..."

"It is not our home!" I flared, my cheeks burning with rage. "England is our home. We don't belong here."

"This is our home."

The stark tone of my mother's voice startled me. Her usually soft eyes turned hard as stone, the blue pupils like orbs of ice. Her lips twisted into an angry frown.

"You may leave me, Norah." Mama dismissed me with an impertinent wave. Sinking into her pillows, she averted her face and fell into a deep slumber.

I watched her for several moments before returning to my chamber. Spreading my books across the small table, I fell into a brown study. Helga appeared with my luncheon, but I waved her away. The day passed slowly.

Shortly before midnight, I heard the Baron knock at Mama's door. I cracked mine open and watched them descend the turret staircase. My shoulders sank as I closed the door and leaned against it.

A deep depression settled upon me. Slowly, I undressed and pulled my flannelette nightie over my head. I lay on the bed and stared at the emerald curtains. Faint moonlight filtered through the window slit casting a path across the carpet. Falling into a dream, I walked along the moonbeam. Prentiss Wills stood at the end, his arms open wide. I ran into them. Then, a loud fist rapping against wood brought me back to reality.

Still wrapped in my fantasy, I drifted toward the door. I swung it open, expecting to find Prentiss. Instead, the Baron's ward strode in.

Taken aback, I gasped. Ranulf swept a deep bow and addressed me in lisping English. At first, I did not understand his words. He repeated them.

"The Baron—my uncle—requests your presence," he stated, clicking his heels together. "Immediately."

"Immediately?" I questioned imperiously. "At this hour? Whatever for?"

"He said immediately," Ranulf responded, offering his arm.

I glared at his outstretched elbow disdainfully. His soft, imploring eyes met mine. Stepping back, I grasped the bed curtain and clung to it. The Baron's nephew moved closer and reached out with his hand.

"You must hurry," Ranulf stated. "Uncle has requested both of us."

I hesitated momentarily. Something about the nephew attracted me. His dark eyes seemed to melt as he looked at me. His red mouth twitched as though to form a smile. Tentatively, I reached out to take his hand. Then, I froze.

"I refuse," I remarked coolly. Hastily, I folded my arms beneath my breasts and sucked in my breath.

"You cannot refuse." A perplexed look crossed the nephew's face.

Indeed no one ever refused an order from the Baron. However, I intended to hold my ground.

"I refuse," I briskly repeated. "You may leave my chamber. I do not wish to remain alone with you under these circumstances."

Ranulf hesitated momentarily. His sultry eyes took in my nightdress and the turned-down bed. Crimson flamed into his cheeks. Clicking his heels, he bowed deeply at the waist and spun around. The door banged closed behind him.

Inadvertently, a giggle escaped my lips. Plunking onto the bed, I covered my face with my hands and rocked with hysteria. Poor Ranulf, I thought. I mistreated him.

When I finally fell asleep again, the moonbeam dream repeated itself. However, instead of Prentiss, Ranulf awaited me. I gasped and bolted into a sitting position.

Mama stood at the bed's foot, glaring down at me. Her angry expression told its own story.

"When the Baron summons you, you arrive," she snapped irritably. "Where were you?"

"I was asleep in my bed," I hissed, "where I belong."

My mother continued to hover above me. Her unattended hair hung in corkscrews, framing her haggard face. Abruptly, I pushed my pillow behind me and sat up straighter. She wore a skimpy black dress with a plunging neckline and a black veil. In her hands, she grasped a bouquet of wilted roses. I could not recall her possessing such a horrid outfit.

"What happened, Mama?" I finally asked, dreading her response. "Why did the Baron summon me after midnight?"

"Oh, Norah, the most wonderful thing..."

Mama crumbled like a ragdoll and sprawled across my bed. She curled into a ball, hugging herself, and rolled about like a child. A delighted expression crossed her face as she gazed upwards into the emerald bed hangings.

"All my fantasies have come true," she muttered dreamily.

Hastily, I leaped from the bed and clung to the bedpost in alarm. I feared for Mama's sanity. Her eyes took on a wild cast, and a hideous cackle escaped her twisted lips.

"I have finally escaped that drafty old vicarage and your pompous father," she cruelly stated. "Oh, how I hated all those dull sermons and that dreadful fate. I'm free, Norah, finally and irrevocably free."

I cringed at her dreadful, mocking words. All my life, I believed she loved Papa. Her ideal life in the vicarage seemed complete. Gazing down upon her, I viewed her differently. The cutting remarks she used to make took on new meaning. I began to chastise her; then, I noticed the new ring on her finger.

Hastily, I sat on the bed and grasped her hand. A thick golden band connected by the head and tail of a snake replaced my father's wedding ring. I froze, the meaning catching me off-guard. The reason for the midnight summons became crystal clear. Hot tears clung to my eyelashes.

"You have guessed correctly, my little love," Mama exclaimed, sneering maliciously. "Nicolai and I wed last night beneath the blood moon."

The door swung open as she spoke, and the Baron nonchalantly leaned in the opening. His smile widened, showing the tips of his sharp canines. Mama rose and enfolded herself in his arms. She smiled up at him, and he kissed the tip of her nose.

"Aren't you going to greet your new Papa?" von Helfin questioned smoothly. He extended his arm and waved me into their embrace.

Suddenly, I broke into the most horrendous laughter. It welled inside my chest like a balloon and ululated with the wild abandon of an African hyena. Losing all control, I grasped the bedpost, and my knees buckled. The outlandish hilarity continued to echo throughout the chamber until I suddenly hiccupped. Then, my tears let loose. I wept with equal abandon.

Shriek upon shriek filled the air around me. For a moment, I thought Mama made the gruesome noise. She stood above me, gazing upon me pitifully. I met her softened eyes momentarily and realized the screams originated with me. Gasping, I tried to hold onto the last shreds of sanity and failed.

"Isabella?" the Baron prompted, placing his arm comforting around her. "We must depart quickly. Our honeymoon..."

"Yes, of course, Nicolai," Mama murmured, casting one last glance in my direction.

I reached out my arms to her in a last attempt at succor. Nevertheless, my mother gyrated toward her new husband. She stepped into his embrace and turned her back upon me as though in a trance. Instantly, I felt lost and abandoned. Heartbroken, I fell into a faint.

I awoke with the first sunbeams of the morning. Mrs. Balan hovered beside my bed and offered a mug of broth. At first, I refused it, but she insisted. Grasping the cup, I sipped the steaming liquid. Helga peeked out from behind her full skirt, her expression expectant.

"My mother...?" I whispered, hoping I dreamed of the night's adventure.

"She will return shortly," the housekeeper assured me. "The Baron has taken her away to the hunting lodge. They will spend their honeymoon there in seclusion."

"Oh." I sank against my pillow, filled with disappointment.

"You must rest for the day," Mrs. Balan prescribed, her voice expressionless. "You'll feel much better tomorrow."

Helga plopped onto the bed and insisted she would remain with me. However, her grandmother grabbed her arm and pulled her away. I watched them depart through hazy eyes. The broth made me sleepy, and the room began to whirl. I rested my aching head on the pillow, and the world drifted away.