He nodded at the bedroom. “Go on.”
The room was dark, and I was about to turn around, not wanting to disturb Camille’s sleep, when I spotted her. My mouth fell open, as though icy water had been thrown over me, snapping me to my senses.
She was dancing.
In the middle of the room.
Not with anyone but also not entirely by herself.
Her arms were out, positioned as if resting on a phantom partner. The silk of her gown trailed after her like a ghost as she spun around the room. Her eyes were shut tight, a beatific smile on her lips. Was she sleeping?
“Camille! What are you doing? What are—”
I turned back to Cassius to see if he could make sense of the scene. His mouth was set in a grim line.
“What is she doing?” I whispered.
“Dancing.”
“But with whom? Camille—”
He reached out, stopping me. “Don’t. If she’s in a fugue, jarring her awake could hurt both of you.” He rubbed at a reddened patch across his cheek. Had I struck him? “Have you ever known her to sleepwalk before?”
I shook my head. “Never.”
As we watched, Camille maneuvered through a series of intricate steps. This was not the make-believe dancing we’d played at in our youths, with our skirts twirling around us until we were breathless with laughter.
She flung herself backward, dipped by a partner who was not there. Her back arched far enough for her feathered hair clip to brush the floor. Impossibly, her right leg kicked up, and she was balanced in this painful contortion on the ball of her left foot. Had she been in the arms of a handsome consort, the pose would have been stunning. But with no one supporting her weight, she looked abnormal.
Unnatural.
Possessed.
Cassius tugged at my sleeve, pulling me down the hallway. I followed after him reluctantly, not wanting to leave Camille alone in such a state.
He raked his fingers through his hair. “Where are the little girls’ rooms?”
I frowned. “Down the hall.”
“Show me, please.”
“That’s Mercy’s room,” I said, indicating the closed door to our left. I kept a watchful eye over my shoulder, certain Camille would come gliding after us in her eerie solo pas de deux.
“Perhaps you ought to be the one to go in.”
I palmed the doorknob, a painful knot of worry digging under my ribs. What was I about to find?
Mercy’s curtains were drawn, and it was too dark to see anything at first. Then a white figure flashed through the shaft of light spilling in from the hall. I jumped back, bumping into Cassius.
Mercy was dancing in her sleep, just like Camille.
I watched her for a minute before racing across the hall to Honor’s room. She was performing a pretty pirouette, eyes closed, mouth slack in sleep.
I crept to Verity’s room, my eyes on fire with unshed tears. With trembling hands, I opened the door and waited for my eyes to adjust.
Verity was scared of the dark and always kept the curtains partially open, allowing moonlight to spill in. Her room was still, and I tiptoed in, praying I’d find her snug and secure in bed. Cassius remained at the doorway, his figure silhouetted against the hallway gaslights.
Pushing back the bed curtains, I wanted to cry. The bed was empty; the sheets were undisturbed.
