by Amy Cross
“We shall have to ride long and hard,” I stammer, still hoping to put the horse at ease. “Bristol is a fair distance, but we shall all have better lives once we arrive. Perhaps Daniel can even use you, perhaps having a horse will make it easier for him to find a job.”
Once we're outside in the rain, I lead the horse away from the house and bring him to a halt near the tree-line. He seems highly agitated, unable to remain still, and I lack the necessary experience to calm his nerves. All I can manage is to stroke the side of his face and whisper kind words, in the hope that he might come to trust me. Uncle John has owned this horse for many years, without ever even bothering to give him a name, and the poor beast has been treated abominably. I can only hope that if I show as much kindness as possible, the horse might begin to trust me a little more.
Hearing footsteps nearby, I turn and see Matthew trudging through the dark garden, making his way toward me.
“Did anyone hear you leaving?” I ask, keeping my voice low.
He shakes his head as he reaches me.
“You must not be scared,” I continue, still stroking the side of the horse's face. “We are to -”
Before I can finish, I spot movement in one of the house's upper windows. Despite the all-encompassing darkness and the driving rain, I can just about make out the shadows of figures in my bedroom, and a shiver passes through my chest as I realize that the creatures must have returned for me already. Doubtless they are wondering where I am, and I cannot imagine how they will react if they find me missing.
Suddenly I see the shadows shift slightly, and I realize they have turned to look at the window, almost as if they know that I am out here.
“Get up,” I whisper, before turning to Matthew. “Get onto the horse.”
“I'm scared,” he replies.
Rain is pouring down harder than ever as I step closer to him.
“I will keep you safe,” I explain, realizing that I am asking a lot of the child. “Please, Matthew, you have to understand... I have never told you this before, I have simply assumed that you understood, but your father is not a good man. He is a monster.”
I wait for a reply, but he simply stares up at me.
“He is cruel,” I continue, “and vindictive, and his house is a terrible, dark place. I do not know if Blackwych Grange is the cause of his terrible behavior, and I do not need to know. We shall leave this place forever, and I promise that we shall have a good life in Bristol once we find Daniel. Your dear, late mother would have wanted you to get away from this house. Matthew, please, just climb onto the horse and we can ride away.”
Again I wait, but his features seem strangely calm.
“I'm sorry,” he says finally.
“Sorry?” I hesitate for a moment, once again seeing a hint of his father in his expression. “For what?”
“For telling him your plan.”
I pause, before taking a step back. Gripped by fear, I look toward the house and see the shadows still watching from my bedroom window, and then I turn to run, only to find myself face to face once more with my uncle.
“I knew this day would come eventually,” he says firmly, with a faint smile. “The others will be very excited.”
Before I can say anything, a hand reaches around from behind and places a piece of cloth over my face. I try to struggle free, but some foul and noxious smell quickly fills my nostrils and I feel my legs go limp as I slump down to the mud.
Chapter Twenty
Gasping as I jerk awake, I open my eyes and see the dark ceiling of my bedroom. I instinctively squeeze my eyes tight shut again, but at the same time I lean my head back and feel dried mud clinging to my naked flesh. A moment later I hear the clicking sound of dry bones all around me in the room.
They are here.
I am back in the house, back on my bed.
And they are all around me.
Taking a deep breath, I tell myself that I must find the courage to open my eyes. No matter what I might see, no good can come of this feeble acquiescence to the visitors' desires, and I must finally show the courage that I have long sought. And yet, no matter how hard I try, I cannot get my eyes open again. It is as if some invisible force holds them shut, or perhaps the rest of my body – knowing a little more about the nature of these visitors – seeks to protect my mind. Still, I must be stronger and braver and better, so I slowly tilt my head down until my chin is resting on my breastbone, and then I focus once more on forcing my eyes open.
Suddenly a voice whispers next to my ear.
“Patience,” someone says nearby. “He's waited all this time. He can wait a minute more.”
I let out a faint gasp, and this time I manage to get my eyes open. All I see is the room's far wall, but at least I have my eyesight back. I can hear figures rustling and moving all around me, and bony hands running across my flesh, and all the bravery has now run from my chest. I could just close my eyes again, and refrain from looking at the creatures, but a moment later I remember that the worst thing would be to let this misery go on and on. I was so close to escaping, so close to leaving Blackwych Grange forever, and now I am back at the heart of the house.
Slowly, then, I turn and look at the figures that surround my bed.
A shudder runs through my chest as soon as I see the twelve skulls staring back at me. Their dark, empty eye-sockets watch me impassively, and their bony features remain absolutely still and calm. I blink a couple of times, trying to clear my blurred vision, and then I start to pull myself back. My arms and legs feel strangely heavy, however, and after a moment I am forced to slump back once more against the bed.
“She's awake,” one of the skeletal figures whispers. “Should we proceed?”
“She tried to run from us tonight,” another answers. “She cannot be trusted.”
A couple of them turn and look toward the figure at the bed's far end, as if perhaps he is in charge. He simply stares at me for a moment, before slowly nodding.
“Who are you?” I stammer, looking up at the nearest figure and seeing the hollows of his eyes. “What do you want?”
The figure meets my gaze for a moment, before he too turns and looks at the man at the far end.
“What do you want?” I shout again, with tears streaming down my face.
I try to clamber off the bed, but I can barely move my body at all, and a moment later another of the figures places a bony hand on my shoulder, forcing me down.
“I have to get out of here,” I gasp. “Whatever you want, I don't have it. Whatever -”
“Quiet!”
The closest figure presses me back against the bed, and then I turn my head just in time to see one of the other skull-headed men leaning closer.
“Wait,” I stammer, “I just -”
Before I can finish, however, I spot a fabric join on the side of his face. After blinking a couple of times to clear my vision, I realize that the skull is in fact some form of cloth mask, and I see the same thing on the others when I turn and look at them. Suddenly these skeletal men seem like nothing more than figures wearing some kind of fancy dress, although this realization does nothing to calm the growing sense of fear in my chest.
A moment later, I see a flash of movement at the far end of the bed, and I turn just in time to see one of the figures removing his mask, revealing the smiling face of Uncle John beneath.
“Perhaps,” he says calmly, “it is as well that the effects of the mixture have worn off. For once, she should be fully awake for this.”
Next to him, another figure removes its mask, and I see Miss Tremayne grinning at me.
“Such a sweet girl,” she coos, tilting her head slightly as if to get a better look at me. “I hope our little discussion didn't disturb you earlier, my dear. I simply needed to determine your state of mind before I introduced tonight's honored, and very esteemed guest.”
“What are you talking about?” I ask, trying yet again to get up. “What are you doing to me?”
“The same
thing we've done to you so many times before,” Uncle John explains, stepping aside to let another, slightly taller masked figure approach the bed. “You've been so obliging to my guests, Elizabeth. To Mr. Cole, and Mr. Harcourt, and Mr. Livarry. Please, do not embarrass me tonight, not when there is so much at stake. Not when I have the honor of such a great man in my home.”
Behind him, the taller figure reaches up and removes its mask, revealing the familiar face of Sir Bernard Lardsley. I remember seeing him in the village a few days ago, but now he stares at me with a hint of famished anticipation.
“She is indeed beautiful,” he whispers, taking a step closer. “We shall have much to discuss after I am done, John. I'm quite sure we can do business together. This offering of your niece is a very clear sign of your respect for my work.”
“No!” I shout, somehow managing to sit up a little, despite the gloved hands that are trying to push me back down.
“The powder has worn off,” Uncle John tells Sir Lardsley. “If you prefer her to be more docile, as she has been on previous occasions, I can -”
“No,” Sir Lardsley replies, already climbing onto the far end of the bed, as if he means to crawl toward me, “I rather think I should like her to struggle a little. One doesn't want one's offerings to always be so supine, does one?” His smile broadens, becoming a full, toothy leer. “Besides, it's rather dull when they just lie there, with limp bodies and closed eyes. I shan't even mind if she calls out.”
He reaches closer and grabs my ankle.
“Stop!” I scream, pulling away.
“Should we leave you?” Uncle John asks.
“There is no need,” Sir Lardsley hisses as his eyes widen. “I don't mind if people watch as I enjoy my gift. This poor, impressionable girl is quite a conquest.”
He grabs my ankle again. This time, unable to slip loose, I start thrashing wildly, desperately trying to get away. Other hands reach down to hold me against the bed, but this only strengthens my sense of panic. Finally, just as I feel as if I am about to be overcome, I twist my free leg and kick hard, striking the side of Sir Lardsley's face and sending him sprawling back. He lands on the far end of the bed, and then he tumbles down and hits the floor.
As the others rush to help him, I twist free and throw myself over the side, slamming down hard against the boards. Hands reach for me, but I slip away and stumble across the room. All around me, the world seems to be swaying, but somehow I make it out into the corridor and along toward the top of the stairs. My mind is racing and I feel as if my body is doubly heavy, and I am quite certain now that I must have been drugged. Even my nostrils are burning, thanks to whatever foul concoction was used to knock me out. Stopping for a moment, I try to get my balance, but a moment later I hear footsteps in the distance.
“Elizabeth!” Uncle John roars angrily, hurrying toward me. “This behavior is intolerable! You will return to your room at once! Do not embarrass me in front of my guests!”
Ignoring him, I clatter down the stairs, although I almost trip several times until finally I reach the hallway. As I stumble toward the front door, however, I stop as I see the pale, innocent face of my cousin Matthew staring back at me.
“Are you alright?” he asks plaintively.
“I...”
Struck by a sudden sense of great nausea, I lean against the wall. The nausea passes quickly, and I turn just in time to see that the men from the bedroom are now at the top of the stairs, watching me. My uncle is ahead of them, with Sir Lardsley stumbling after him.
“We must get out of here,” I stammer, turning back to Matthew. “I don't know what madness has been taking place here, but -”
Before I can finish, I see that he's holding a cloth mask in one hand, and a dagger in the other.
“Forgive my hand on your mouth all those nights,” he says, holding the mask up to reveal another fabric skull. “Father said I have to wait my turn before I can join the others in enjoying you properly. He calls it my initiation.”
He steps closer, while keeping his eyes fixed on me.
“He also said that since you came to live with us, you've helped him sign so many business deals. People really like it when he invites them over and lets them play with you. He even says I can play with you one day.”
He holds the skull mask over his face.
“One day I'll take over Father's business,” he continues, blinking at me through the mask's eye-holes. “I'm learning so much from him.”
I open my mouth to ask if he's serious, but suddenly he takes another step toward me.
“Your pupils are enlarged,” he continues calmly, as his smile grows. “Your hair is a mess, cousin, and you look panicked. But don't worry, there's no need to tidy yourself. You're always so much prettier when you've been poisoned.”
Grabbing the knife from his hand, I turn just as Sir Lardsley approaches me from behind.
“Your uncle promised me some time with you,” he says with a grin, as Uncle John and the others watch us from the stairs. Reaching closer, the old man places a gloved hand on the side of my face. “I think this is going to be a wonderful little deal, my dear. And I'm so very glad that you'll be awake for it all.”
I stare at him, too horrified to react. I have vague memories of seeing the masks before, and I'm starting to realize that perhaps Uncle John has been drugging me and using me for many years. Maybe even for as long as I've been under his roof. All the bruises and cuts that I found on my body when I woke each morning... I finally understand their cause.
“It's okay,” Sir Lardsley continues, leaning closer as if he means to kiss me on the lips. “It's nothing you haven't done before. You'll just be awake this time. That's all.”
I freeze, feeling his hot breath on my face.
And then I drive the dagger into his belly, pushing it as deep as possible before twisting the blade and ripping it up through his chest.
Part Four
Daniel Jones - 1853
Chapter Twenty-One
“What do you mean? If she's not here, then where is she?”
“I'm sorry, Sir,” Lionel replies, standing firmly in the doorway, “but I'm not at liberty to say. Miss Elizabeth is simply not here any longer. If you have no further business, I shall bid you good day.”
He steps back and makes to close the door, but I reach out and place a hand on the wood. The frame creaks a little, and a cold wind blows past me, rushing into the house.
“I've traveled four hundred miles to see her,” I say firmly. “It has been two years since I was last here, and I promised her that I'd return. Even Sir John Marringham can't begrudge me one visit every other years, no matter how much he might despise my family. Now tell me. Where can I find Elizabeth?”
He sighs. “Sir -”
“Then where's her uncle?” I continue. “I know he's here. There's no way the great and noble John Marringham would ever leave Blackwych Grange.”
“His Lordship is unable to receive -”
“Are you going to let me inside,” I say firmly, with my hand still pressed against the door, “or am I going to have to force my way through?”
***
Blackwych Grange hasn't changed at all. It's almost as if, in the two years since I was last here, the place has been preserved in amber. I swear, every item of furniture is in exactly the same position, and the air remains thin. There's something about this house that has always made my blood run cold, and I'm not the only one. Everyone in the village knows that this place just isn't fit for decent, honest men. If it weren't for Elizabeth, I would never have returned.
High above on the walls, portraits of previous Marringham generations stare down at me. Sir Henry Marringham, Sir Edward Marringham, Sir Edmund, Sir Charles, Sir William... The family might have gained many titles over the years, and a great deal of respect and influence, but that doesn't mean that I must esteem them in any manner whatsoever. In fact, I rather think that this entire family has been a curse on the area for generations gone by. And
this house -
“What do you want?”
Getting to my feet, I look back across the drawing room and see the loathsome sight of Elizabeth's uncle, Sir John Marringham, framed in the doorway. From the sneering expression on his face, I can immediately tell that he's annoyed by the fact that I, a common trader, have dared enter his grand, crumbling home. Fortunately, I'm well accustomed to his disdain, and I care not one jot for his opinion.
“Where is she?” I ask.
“You're from the village, I believe,” he replies, making his way to the drinks cabinet in the corner. “I rather fancy that I remember your face, you were -”
“You know full well who I am, John,” I say firmly, taking care to omit his formal title. “Don't even pretend otherwise. Two years isn't that long. I'm sure you haven't forgotten the punch I laid on you, either. Shame the bruise has gone down.”
He opens the cabinet and takes out a glass. As he does so, a faint, arrogant smile crosses his lips. I swear by all that is holy, this man has changed not one jot during my absence. It was perhaps too much to hope that he might have seen the error of his ways, but that sickly, confident grin is enough to bring anger to my heart.
“I usually let Lionel fix my drinks,” he explains after a moment, as he removes the stopper from a bottle of whiskey and pours himself a glass, “but sometimes a man must do these things for himself.” He pours carefully, before replacing the stopper and lifting the glass. As he closes the cabinet again, it's clear that he has no intention of offering me a drink. Another of his studied, pointless little slights.
Not that I'd accept any form of compliment from this craven man, anyway.
