The Secret of Sybil

By Norah Black

Sybil has spent twenty-three years watching life pass by from her family’s country estate while they enjoyed all the pleasure and company available to the wealthy in 1920’s America.

But the day her parents and sister are due to return from an extended stay in the big city, everything Sybil has known and accepted begins to change, starting with the unexpected appearance of a handsome stranger looking for assistance.

Who is this man and what could he possibly want from Sybil?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Roja Publishing
• Release date: Feb 9, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524213152

Book preview

Sybil has spent twenty-three years watching life pass by from her family’s country estate while they enjoyed all the pleasure and company available to the wealthy in 1920’s America.

But the day her parents and sister are due to return from an extended stay in the big city, everything Sybil has known and accepted begins to change, starting with the unexpected appearance of a handsome stranger looking for assistance.

Who is this man and what could he possibly want from Sybil?

Episode One

Sybil gazed out the open window overlooking the grounds to the road beyond, searching for the cloud of dust that always preceded the return of her parents and sister from the city. She had long given up begging to join them while they wintered in New York City, knowing her mother would simply give her that look again and adopt that tone as she explained, yet again, that, You are simply too fragile. The air there would only aggravate your lungs and lay you up. It is better for you, for your health that you spend the harsh winter months in the country where there are fewer people putting you at risk for something serious.

It was a story Sybil had heard time and again from her mother, how ill she’d been as an infant and young child. Sybil herself had no memory of such illnesses but the strict precautions to prevent a devastating relapse had been in place as long as she could remember. She remembered the joy she felt when her younger sister had been born and Sybil overheard everyone remarking on how healthy little Helen was. It had always been through Helen that Sybil was able to enjoy the outside world.

Miss Sybil, a familiar voice grabbed Sybil’s attention.

She turned and looked into the rosy face of Trudy, her longtime nursemaid and governess. It was Trudy’s arduous task to maintain Mrs. Davis’ rules in the house while the family was away. That meant being the voice that scolded Sybil whenever she pushed the boundaries put in place for her protection. But while her mother continued to treat her like an errant child, Trudy did what she could to acknowledge Sybil’s frustrations.

By the time Trudy had reached twenty-three years of age, she’d found her way from an overcrowded family farm in Germany across a continent and an ocean to America where the Davis family had earned her eternal gratitude and loyalty when they hired her to care for Sybil. In her twenty-three years, Sybil had only once managed to find her way off of the Davis’ large property and for her trouble earned a severe scolding and several unpleasant visits from the family doctor to be sure her health hadn’t been jeopardized by the excursion.

As Trudy shuffled across the room to where she sat, Sybil reached out and pulled the window shut, taking care to secure the latch.

I have no problem with you keeping watch, but you know better than to sit by an open window like that, Trudy scolded.

She saw the expression on Sybil’s face, a mixture of resignation and disappointment. Trudy had her doubts about many of the precautionary measures her mistress insisted upon, including keeping the windows closed in Sybil’s rooms, but she knew that Mrs. Davis had her reasons and it wasn’t her place to challenge them.

Catching Sybil’s eye, Trudy adopted an expression of mock severity as she added, What would I tell your mother if you fell? A cold or some such ailment she’d expect, whether the window was open or not, but a fall? She’d know the window was open and I’d be sacked. You don’t want to see me sacked do you, my princess? Or are you looking for another to guard your castle for you?

Not even a fire-breathing dragon could be as fierce a protector as you, Trudy, Sybil said with a smile before turning back to catch a glimpse of something, anything through the window.

They’ll be a while yet, Trudy cautioned her. They sent the driver on ahead with a few of the main staff to open the rest of the house up here and air it out. Their train isn’t due in until tonight.

Sybil didn’t look back at Trudy.

Maybe they’ll catch an earlier train. You know how eager Helen always is to get back and tell me everything that’s happened in the city.

And your mother does have a difficult time resisting anything Helen requests, Trudy admitted reluctantly.

And Father will go along if Mother asks. They’d had the conversation so many times before, nearly every time the rest of the family was away for longer than a week. This is the first winter in the city since Helen’s coming out. She’ll be looking for someone new to tell everything to. They’ll take an earlier train if there is one.

I’ll have the cook put something light together just in case you’re right. They’re still stocking the kitchens so someone may have to run to the grocers to pick something up. Trudy ran through the mental checklist of who was on the premises and what they were doing to ready the enormous house for Mrs. Davis’ inspection. I won’t be far if you need anything, she assured Sybil as she turned to go speak with the cook and housekeeper.

It was a very bright day and staring out into the sunlight began to strain Sybil’s eyes. She thought she saw dust rising in the distance but it was too far off and squinting didn’t help. In fact, she was afraid she felt the first stirrings of a headache. One last glance verified that, if there was dust rising on the horizon, it wasn’t getting closer to the house. She sighed and shifted so that she wasn’t sitting directly in the sunlight. She was afraid it would only bring a headache on faster. What she needed was a darker, cooler room.

Sybil abandoned her post by the window and slipped down the stairs, quietly making her way into her father’s library. It was her favorite room in the house but her mother didn’t like her being in that part of the house. She didn’t want Sybil disturbing her father while he worked, though he rarely worked at all, let alone at home. She didn’t want Sybil getting underfoot when it came to the household staff, convinced that she would somehow get sick if she came into contact with any of them.

So Sybil waited patiently for those time when her mother was out of the house to enjoy the library with it’s inviting shadows and welcoming corners. Books were an indulgence that even her mother couldn’t find fault with as a means of keeping Sybil occupied and she could locate her favorites while blindfolded. Her fingers trailed along the worn leather spines as they felt their way to a book that didn’t really belong with the others. Lifting it from the shelf where it was protected from her mother’s critical eye, Sybil retrieved a book of fairy tales that Trudy had given her as a gift after her ill-fated adventure in the world beyond the property line.

It was in Trudy’s native German, a language that Sybil learned because Trudy insisted the stories lost something in their translation. Though Trudy only had a limited education herself, Sybil proved to be an apt and independent pupil. It wasn’t until Helen needed instruction of her own that instructors with more experience were hired. Sybil preferred Trudy to the parade of tutors brought in for Helen. But Helen wore out her instructors the way she wore out new pairs of shoes: quickly and thoroughly.

After three different tutors in as many months, Sybil petitioned her parents to allow her to return to lessons under Trudy’s guidance. Though she had expected a fight, Sybil was surprised by the relief and eagerness her parents expressed at her request. Their only condition was that Trudy consult with whomever was instructing Helen at the moment to be sure Sybil’s education was consistent with what was acceptable. Though they would have preferred Sybil learn French like Helen, German proved to be a suitable alternative and Sybil’s command of German was far more impressive than Helen’s handful of French phrases.

Sybil settled into the chair behind her father’s desk and eased the book open. Gently turning the delicate, almost translucent pages, she was transported back to the day Trudy had given it to her.

A gardener had found her asleep in the tall grass just beyond the line of trees that marked the edge of the Davis’ estate. After a thorough tongue lashing from her father and an unprecedented and never repeated lashing from her mother, Sybil lay crying on her bed, refusing to speak with anyone. Helen sat by the barricaded door talking at her for a while before Trudy sent her on an errand and forced her way into the room. Sybil had rolled over, keeping her back to Trudy, ignoring the way the mattress sagged as she sat on the bed and brushed her hair away from her face.

She didn’t say anything but just sat there, silently comforting rather than scolding or explaining away the Davis’ harsh reaction. Instead Trudy asked about something that had piqued her curiosity. Why did you ask your parents to have your lessons with me? Sybil was surprised enough to look over her shoulder at Trudy and nearly answered before remembering her self-imposed vow of silence and burying her face in her pillow again. You’re a bright girl, Sybil, Trudy continued. I’ve had a better education than most but the instructors your parents have brought in for Helen are all properly educated. They can teach you more than just what you’ll need to run a household and manage staff; they can turn you into a proper, accomplished young lady. So why would you turn your nose up at an opportunity like that?

With her head still hidden from sight, Sybil mumbled, I didn’t like the way they would look at me.

Trudy’s hand paused and her brow furrowed in confusion. The way they would look at you?

Sybil propped herself up on her elbows, her loose hair falling as a barrier between her face and Trudy’s insightful gaze. They all look at me as if there’s something wrong with me. As if I’ll break before their eyes. They watch and wait but they don’t see me. At least, not the way they see Helen.

They’ve probably been warned by your parents about how delicate you are, Trudy said as she brushed aside Sybil’s dark hair and looked into her reddened face. It was impossible to tell whether the uncommon color was a result of the time spent crying or Sybil’s earlier exposure to the sun. They’re likely afraid that something they do will cause you harm. It can be intimidating to those who don’t know you like I do.

You don’t look at me like that, Sybil pointed out.

But that’s because I come from a place where we understand these matters. It’s something we’re taught from a young age. Sit here for a moment and dry your tears. I have just the book that will explain it all.

A few minutes later Trudy had placed the worn book in Sybil’s hands and waited. Sybil held her breath as she opened the book to the first page. It wasn’t what she’d expected and as she turned a few pages, searching, frustration and confusion creased her brow. What is this? What does it say?

I told you, Trudy said as she sat down alongside Sybil. I brought this book with me when I came to this country. It’s written in German, but I’ll teach you to how to read it on your own. Until then, you’ll have to make do with my translations.

But what is it about? Sybil insisted. She’d found a page with a faded woodcut illustration of a creature unlike any she’d ever seen. She turned a few pages more and discovered a grand stone castle with high towers overlooking a rolling countryside.

These are sometimes called fairy tales here. They’re about princes and princesses, magic and fairies, curses and castles, Trudy explained as she turned that pages and pointed out more illustrations.

I still don’t understand, Sybil said. The book was pretty but felt like it was just a distraction, not the explanation she’d been promised.

Some of the princesses in these stories remind me of you, Trudy began. Some of them have been locked away in towers or are sent away to be raised far from the palace. It’s usually to protect them from a curse or an evil sorcerer or sorceress that wishes them harm. But in spite of everything, the princesses are beautiful and kind. They inspire awe and reverence in all those they meet. Much like you. Sybil looked up from the book, her skepticism written across her face. Trudy laughed quietly and tilted Sybil’s face up so they were looking straight into one another’s eyes. It is not easy to live with the rules that have been put in place for your protection, but you appear to do so with such ease. It’s an amazing feat to witness, especially in one so young. That is why they look at you as if they don’t know what to make of you. You are unlike anyone they’ve ever met and they’ll never meet another like you again.

A smile crept into Sybil’s eyes and through her cheeks to her lips. What happens to the princesses? Her eyes slipped away from Trudy’s to the window where the setting sun sent rose-colored light streaming through the panes at a sharp angle. Do they ever get back to the palace? Are the ever let out of their towers?

Always, Trudy assured her. But... she cautioned, recapturing Sybil’s full attention. It’s never what they think it will be. Some escape and the dangers they’d been protected from find them. Others are lucky and find happiness. Each princess’ story is different.

But, having been cheered up, Sybil refused to let Trudy’s warning dampen her spirits. Do they find princes?

In many instances, the princes find them.

Can you read one right now? Sybil pressed, turning the pages back to the beginning and pushing the book into Trudy’s hands.

The woman chuckled and began to read the text in the tongue it was written. Sybil laughed, urging Trudy to start again but to go through the words slowly in both languages.

From that day on, Sybil turned to the worn book when she needed comfort. When her parents and Helen would travel to Newport for a few weeks as some oil tycoon’s guests and she was left behind, she would imagine they were traveling the realms in search of a potion that would break the curse that kept her confined to her tower. Trudy was her steadfast guard and companion, a dragon to challenge anyone who would do her harm in the absence of the royal couple. Of course, as she grew older, the fantasy faded but not the reassurance that flooded through her whenever her fingers skimmed the familiar binding, traced the lines of the illustrations, and turned the fragile pages.

Her mother approved of the book in the beginning. It kept Sybil from complaining about the disparity in the rules she had to follow as opposed to those Helen had to obey. But as time passed, Mrs. Davis became exasperated whenever she saw Sybil carrying it around from room to room. Oblivious to her mother’s sighs, it was Helen who suggested the book be kept hidden, a secret for just the two of them. Though she was uninterested in learning German, Helen did enjoy the stories as Sybil related them and was willing to listen to her older sister practice the tales in either tongue. The book migrated from one hiding place to another, staying in each new spot a little longer than the last as their mutual interest began to fade. Finally, Sybil settled for hiding the book in plain sight, adding it to the crowded shelves of her father’s library.

Sybil now knew that no prince would come to free her from her solitude. If she married, it was likely to be arranged by her parents since she was never invited out into society. Besides, fear for preserving her health would keep her at home if an invitation were to be extended. After Helen married, Sybil was sure she’d be deemed healthy enough to leave the house and pay a call. Their neighbors and friends couldn’t be counted upon to understand and accommodate the various conditions necessary to avoid aggravating Sybil’s sensitive constitution, but Helen knew what posed a threat almost as well as Sybil herself. It would be a while before Helen was married, though. She’d only just had her coming out so it must be several years at least.

Sybil dropped into a luxuriously overstuffed chair near the library’s only window, heavily draped in a thick, dark velvet that matched the room’s dark but soft décor. She reached out to pull the drapes aside. Trees nearby kept that particular window shrouded in shade without obstructing the view of the drive that led up to the front of the house. She would have plenty of warning if her parents and Helen arrived earlier than expected. The fabric swung back into place and Sybil settled deeper into the chair. The book naturally fell open to her favorite tale, a testament to their longstanding relationship. She smiled and began reading, hearing the words in her mind, a strange hybrid of the German she read and the English of her thoughts.

Somewhere during the third tale, Sybil thought she heard the actual footsteps of the journeying hero. Lifting her head, she strained to make out Trudy or one of the maids in the hallway or one of the nearby rooms but there was something wrong about the steps she heard. They were muffled, but not in the same way the carpets did. It must be someone outside. With confusion and a flicker of fear, Sybil stood and placed the book on the empty chair. It couldn’t be Helen and their parents; she would have heard the car crunching the pebbles on the drive as it approached the house. Whoever it was had come to the house on foot but wasn’t headed around back to the servants’ entrance. No, she could see it was a man and he was making his way to the front door.

Sybil hastily returned the book to its shelf and hurried to the hall, whipping her head around in search of Trudy or one of the maids. She was curious to learn who this stranger was and why he was here. Maybe he wasn’t really a stranger to anyone but her? He could be a friend of her parents who had confused the date of their return and was simply paying a call. She might even have listened to a few of her father’s dinner stories in which this man featured.

She crept up the stairs and found a place along the landing just above the foyer so she would be able to hear everything that transpired when someone came to open the door. She glanced out the window to check the man’s progress up the drive. It was hard for her to discern much about him from the little she could see of his apparel. The coat he wore was long and appeared to be designed for driving in an open car. The cap he wore was just enough to conceal his face from her scrutinizing eye. He held a pair of dark gloves in one hand, whipping them against his leg from time to time in apparent frustration.

Sybil watched as his pace slowed and he seemed to be looking into the windows of the first floor. She wasn’t sure what to make of him when his gaze jumped to the second floor window from which she watched. For a moment she was frozen in place. There was something about the way he was looking at her that she couldn’t name but it brought the faintest of smiles to her lips. As soon as he moved to tip his hat to her though, the spell was broken and she jumped away from the window, the sturdy railing digging sharply into her back. She brought her hands up and gripped the well-oiled wood tightly until her racing heart slowed to a pace that, while still elevated, didn’t feel dangerous.

She waited for the bell to sound that would bring someone hurrying to answer the door but instead there was a barely perceptible knocking. It would be impossible to hear such a faint noise from anywhere in the house except the entryway. What could he possibly hope to accomplish with such a weak announcement of his presence? She heard the knocking again, a little louder and more pronounced this time. Shaking a little from nerves, she slowly descended the stairs. With one step she hoped that Trudy or someone would happen by and release her from being obliged to answer the door. With the next step she hoped that they would continue with whatever was keeping them busy so her unexpected adventure could unfold uninterrupted. The two desires warred within her, as the visitor’s polite but insistent knocking became a rude pounding.

The door was heavier than she expected and the shaking in her limbs didn’t help. She opened it only as far as she considered appropriate (she was one of the ladies of the house, after all, and opening the door at all was more than she should have done). When she was face to face with him, they immediately began speaking over one another.

Can I—

I don’t mean to disturb— She saw the briefest glimpse of his smile before his head dropped so he could watch himself toying with the gloves in his hands.

Can I help you? she began again, her voice quieter than her first attempt.

He looked up again and locked eyes with Sybil. She found the eye contact a little unsettling even as she found his eyes slightly mesmerizing. I apologize for my appearance and hope I haven’t disturbed anyone, the man said, providing Sybil with an opportunity to look away from those eyes and take in the rest of him. The long coat was embarrassingly dirty. Mud and something black were splattered about its lower half while dust clung to the arms and his hat.

I’m unfamiliar with this area and decided to take a drive, look around. But I’m afraid my vehicle isn’t as fond of the hills hereabouts. In fact, it has revolted against me and is refusing to move, regardless of my attempts to coax it. He paused, Sybil presumed to give her an opportunity to invite him inside.

Who are you? she asked instead, keeping the door open just enough for her body to serve as an effective barrier so he couldn’t see into the house.

I suppose my name would have been a more effective introduction, he chuckled. I’m Robert Flint. A distant cousin of mine has been inviting me out this way for years and I finally took him up on it but it’s done my car in, he gently guided the conversation back to the purpose for his presence. Yours is the first house I’ve come across in my quest for assistance.

There are several farms nearby, Sybil pointed out. She was aware that her comments were less than helpful and Trudy would almost certainly say she was being deliberately provocative with her attitude, but she there was something about this stranger, this Robert Flint, that unsettled her.

He looked back over his shoulder, up the drive as he responded to what felt like an accusation. I did stumble across a farmhand in a field but he wasn’t very eager or optimistic. Apparently they have a tractor on the property but no one who knows how to drive it, let alone repair it. I thought a larger estate would be more likely to have a driver or mechanic who would be in a better position to assist me. It’s a bit of a walk from here... He trailed off as Sybil pulled the door open further so he could enter the house.

I’m Sybil, she said as Robert Flint tentatively stepped through the entryway and craned his neck to take in the elaborate entryway. Sybil Davis.

She closed the door and led him into a darkened sitting room to their left. He was about to protest about making a mess of the furniture when he realized that much of the pieces in the room were covered with old linens.

"My parents and my sister have been in the city for the winter. They’re due to return tonight and not everything