A stomach full of rich food, her eyes soon tired and she drifted off.
The sound of a slight shift of a body woke her. The fire still spilled a mellow light across the room, not quite reaching into the darkest corners. The sound seemed as if it had come from the chair opposite her. It took a moment for Anne to realize all was not as it should be. Her heart clenched uncomfortably. "Not now," she said with a wince, fearing another episode of panic and dread.
Holding her breath, she listened, convinced she was hearing the sound of another breath. She grimaced with fear. It sounded like someone was in the room with her, but there was no one there. Maybe she really was losing her mind.
No, she had to hold it together. Closing her eyes, she wished it all away. Harry was here; these were just silly notions she had. Probably her own breath echoing off the walls. She couldn't give into this stupid and relentless fear.
"Leave," she heard softly. It sounded like a breathy exhale, the lowest timbre of a voice. Another creak was heard as if someone rose from a chair, and she startled. It was the wind; she was sure of it. Houses creaked and wind whispered. Even Lisle has said she'd heard whispers as wind fought its way inside sills and cracks.
Swallowing hurt as her mouth had dried and she felt chilled to the bone. As much as she told herself it was her imagination, she couldn't really bring herself to fully alleviate the fear. It had sounded so clear, as if there had been a person there speaking to her. Fear gripped deep inside her gut, but worry surged, not for herself, but for Harry.
Forcing herself out of the chair, she left her room and walked down the hall, stopping to listen. There was nothing, just the emptiness of the house and the distance ticking of the clock downstairs.
As she had done so many times in her life, she opened Harry's door and checked on him. He lay fully asleep, his face away from her. Listening intently, she surveyed the room but found nothing there.
It was just her mind playing tricks again. If she had any money she would consider spending some time in a sanitarium to regain control over her fears and emotion, but that wasn't an option.
Returning to her room, she snuck under her blankets and pulled them high—high enough to cover her ears. Her feet were cold and she tried to rub them warm. Curling up tightly, she closed her mind to anything outside of her immediate space. The sounds didn't matter. Houses creaked, wind whispered—that was just what it did. It would all be fine as long as nothing happened until morning, when Harry would be on his way, away from any madness or danger in this house.
In the morning, after breakfast, Anne walked Harry out to his hired carriage waiting outside. "It's been so lovely to see you, Harry. It's a shame it is such a short visit, but maybe that's for the best."
"Yes, I have to get back to Oxford. I can't be traipsing all around the country with impunity. And then there's the wedding. I don't get a single breath of peace," Harry said. Anne could tell he was itching to get away as much as she was itching to have him gone, but for other reasons.
He turned to her. "I am glad you are in a tolerable position," he said, looking down at her. He'd grown so tall. "I suppose it is good for you out here. No one to judge you."
"That is a benefit," she said.
"I don't like it though. It's an eerie house. And ugly. You feel as if someone is watching all the time. Maybe it's that girl." So he had picked up on the unease in the house too, she noted.
He embraced her and Anne took a moment to savor it, draw in the scent of him and remembered what it was like to have a young child seeing her as one of the most important persons in the world. She wasn't that to him anymore, and maybe that was as it should be. As a young man, he had a life of his own to forge. "It has been so good seeing you. Promise you will write. I want to know what occurs in your life," she said when the embrace broke apart.
"Surely there can't be any mail out here?"
"It goes to the nearby village where they keep it for us."
"I will try, but as I said, I don't have a lot of time these days."
The springs of the carriage shifted as he stepped up and closed the door. Anne placed her hand on his on the door's edge. She wasn't sure if she'd see him again anytime soon. He was eager to get away, back to Oxford and the excitement of his life, and she wanted him away from the house and its dangers. Still, her heart ached to see him so eager to depart.
The memory of the voice during the night returned, the one telling her to leave. Maybe it was time to concede what everyone said—that there was something very wrong with this house.
On one hand, she wished she could step into the carriage with Harry and be away from here, but she couldn't. He had no means of supporting her and it was unfair to ask him to. None of this was his fault.
Instead, she turned back to the house, which looked muted and dark in the pale light of the morning. The message had been clear. Whatever it was, wanted her gone. Well, her desperation was enough that it would take more than a few whispers.
Chapter 11:
Pale light filtered in through the window as Anne woke. Everything was quiet; there was no eerie feeling in the room, and the house was still. Again she had to consider whether she'd imagined everything, but everyone had the same feeling about the house. How much evidence did she need?
The question was what she could do about it. Like everyone else, she had read about the fantastical, the world beyond. Séances were popular in the right circles, seeking connection with the afterlife. Mediums performed cleansings, seeking to lay wayward spirits to rest. The truth was that this house had a wayward spirit, someone who appeared to walk these rooms at night.
Perhaps she needed to write to one of these mediums, get them to perform a cleansing, assist the spirit to their rightful place and to leave this house in peace. There were a number of famous mediums, their tales told in the periodicals, devoured by voracious readers. It was an idea. Doing something about this issue seemed the practical thing to do. All houses came with their pests—rats the least of her problems, it appeared.
Dressing and moving down to the parlor, Anne wrote a letter seeking help. She wrote about everyone's discomfort, their feeling about being watched and whispers in the night. Alfie was tasked with taking the letter to the coach. It would take him most of the day, but he didn't seem to mind. He still looked ill, his face grave. "Are you sure you are sleeping?" she asked him as he stood in the parlor, waiting for the missive put in his charge.
"Fine, ma’am," he replied.
"Perhaps we need to give you greater portions." He ate voraciously as it was. They certainly weren't starving him during suppers, when he ate and Lisle watched him with hurt disdain. The relationship hadn't repaired. It certainly wasn't Anne's place to pry.
Anne watched him through the window as he started walking. He seemed to be mumbling. It seemed unkind, but maybe it was him that caused all the unease. They'd been fine before his arrival. Perhaps she should send him away. There was a possibility he was being mischievous, trying to drive them away. Not everyone in this district was welcoming to incomers.
If the medium came and found nothing, she would know. Things would be infinitely more difficult without Alfie’s labor, but if he was uncouth, or otherwise malicious, he couldn't stay.
The days passed and Anne watched Alfie, unable to let her suspicions go. The house had also seemed quiet. There was the occasional disturbance in the room at night, but Anne drew up her blankets and stayed inside her cocoon of safety, her heart beating as she tried to calm her breath, telling herself that it didn't matter. She would not be driven out of her house by man or ghost.
"Where’s Alfie?" Anne asked as she walked into the kitchen, her stomach rumbling in eagerness for supper.
"He’s not here yet," Lisle responded.
Anne wondered if Lisle was avoiding Alfie. She might be wise to. "I will collect him," Anne said with a smile. Lisle seemed to be getting over her ill-placed jealousy and nodded.
Icy wind whipped at her skirts as she opened the ki
tchen door and stepped out into the dark yard. The chickens had found their roosting places for the evening. They more or less had free reign around the entire estate. Hopefully they would collect more animals over time. Sheep for wool, pigs for meat and horses for transport.
"Alfie," she called as she walked toward the stable, knowing he should be well back from bringing the cow to the fields. There was a faint light coming from inside, but nothing was heard. "Alfie," she called louder. "Where has that man gotten to now?" she muttered to herself.
Walking into the stable, she looked around, seeing Alfie's form standing in the stable, a muck rake in his hand. "Why didn't you answer me?"
He didn't move; didn't even turn to look at her, just stared at the wall. "Alfie," she said again, but nothing.
Tentatively, she took some steps closer. He stood with the rake in his hand, just staring, his lips slightly parted and his eyes glassy. "Alfie?" she said, touching his arm. He startled violently and Anne jumped back with shock.
"Jesus Mary," he said, his arms up as if protecting himself, looking around him wildly until he saw her.
Anne's heartbeat was thundering in her ears. "I was calling you and you didn't hear me. I called repeatedly, right here, standing next to you." He was clearly touched in some way. "Maybe you need to go lie down."
"I'm fine."
"No, I insist."
He marched out of the stable without another word, seemingly angry. Right now, she didn't care. He had scared her half to death and she needed to figure out what to do about him.
Stroking along the skin exposed along her neck, she returned to the house, feeling uncomfortable having him out there somewhere where she couldn't see him. There was something very wrong with him.
"Are you sure you haven't been letting Alfie into the house at night?"
"I haven't," Lisle said.
"I am not angry; it is just very important that I know."
"I told you I haven't. Besides, he's no interest in me now, prefers to spend time on his own." The bitterness was still evident in Lisle's voice. "He'd much rather be in his room than mine."
"I still hear things at night," Anne said.
"Well, it's not Alfie. He can't get in. The doors are locked."
"Unless he's found some way."
"Alfie wouldn't hurt anyone," Lisle said with confidence. "He's not like that. He's gentle, so very gentle. You don't know him like I do." Anne wasn't so sure Lisle's impressions could be trusted. "He's just changed, that's all," she finished more quietly.
A few days later, a carriage was coming. She watched its long approach, hoping her letter had met with success rather than another visit from the vicar, who would firmly discourage any course of action to address inconsistencies in the house. Obviously, a visit from the vicar would be a delight, but she had pressing concerns she needed dealt with. And she had to know what she was dealing with.
Alfie wandered around outside. Anne viewed him a little like a wolf prowling outside the house. He only ever came inside for supper or unless called. Either way, they would know soon. He wandered forward as the carriage drew closer, ready to take the horse if necessary. Irrationally, Anne felt as if he was standing between her and help. A ridiculous notion, but she couldn't help it.
As she watched, Alfie turned around. Their eyes made contact for a moment. There was no expression on his face.
It had to be the medium. This needed resolution.
"Who is it?" Lisle asked behind her. "Is it the vicar?"
"Hopefully, someone who can help with the house."
Lisle didn't say anything, only shifted around, straightening some things in the room.
As the carriage arrived, Alfie stepped forward to the horse, gently letting the beast smell him. Anne half expected the beast to rear back in dismay, but it didn’t. Through the window, a head appeared, covered in a velvet fez. "Miss Sands?" he said through the window as if he wanted to be sure before he committed.
"Mr. Harleston, thank you so much for coming."
"How could I not when you described such deplorable conditions, my dear lady." Opening the door, he stepped out, his form covered in more velvet. "Such a place like this. It is not a surprise you have experienced some trouble." His mustache was thin, the same golden color as the hair sprouting under the fez, and large, jolly cheeks. "Ooh," he said as he looked around at Alfie, taking a step back. He walked over to Anne and holding his elbow out for her to take as if they were old acquaintances. "Some problems there," he whispered. "That boy's energies are being depleted."
Anne listened intently, but he didn't say anything further, instead turning and looking up at the façade of the house. "Quite something."
"It's been abandoned for quite some time. Most people around these parts think it's haunted."
"So many houses claim to be haunted," he said dismissively. "That boy's not right, though."
"He has been acting strangely."
"Sometimes spirits attach themselves to people rather than houses. It's been known to occur. Has there been any death in his family?"
"From what I understand, most of the family."
"Perhaps not surprising, then."
They walked up the stairs. Lisle had tea prepared, but as Anne walked through the door of the house, Mr. Harleston stopped, his arm slipping out of hers. His eyes lowered to her. "I see what you mean. This is not some foolish claim. There are spirits in this house."
Anne stared at him, not knowing how to respond. "Spirits?" she said. "More than one?"
"Yes, more than one." He closed his eyes.
"Won't you come in, Mr. Harleston?" she said, feeling awkward as she watched the man standing on the stoop outside as if in a daze.
"Best not," he said apologetically. "It may cause a disturbance. There is darkness in this house, Miss Sands, but it slumbers. As they say, let sleeping dogs lie. Others are protecting you."
"Protecting me?"
"Hiding you."
"Is it something I should worry about?"
"There are steps you can take," he said earnestly, urging her back outside. "Sage is very good at calming restlessness, both in this world and beyond. It lulls the spirits." He took a step back. Now Anne could see the anxiety on him. "Calm is the best course, of course. You have been here quite a while without incident."
"Well, there are the odd noises. I feel like someone is watching me."
"I doubt they mean you harm." He turned to Alfie. "He should perhaps leave. The spirits are a bit more exuberant with him."
"I don't understand," Anne said.
"Have you considered closing the house and leaving?" Mr. Harleston said with a smile that aimed not to alarm.
"This is the only property I have available to me."
He looked at her calmly. "That is unfortunate. Never mind. We must do what we can. As I said, sage is a fantastic option. Calm is even better. Spirits only really bother if they are distressed, so high passions agitate. Not unlike cats, in their way. So, calm and collected." Mr. Harleston was walking back to the carriage.
"It is a shame you came all this way and can't stay at least for some refreshments. It is such a long journey."
"I fear entering might cause more trouble where it's not needed. It is better this way. A balance can be found between the living and spirit world. Although perhaps keep men out. Something in that house particularly attaches to men by the look of your stable boy."
Anne's thoughts traveled immediately to Harry, then she felt ashamed that her concern was for her son when Alfie was clearly suffering. "There is no effect for someone who leaves here?"
"Unlikely. Most often it is the location that is the conduit. But as it is, your stable hand is growing weaker; you should send him away, or deal with it."
"How can we deal with it?" Anne asked, her hope flaring.
"Sage will chase them away."
"Them?"
"Well, I don't know exactly, but sage will protect him. Dry and burn it. Have it on his person. He could even bathe
in it, if he wishes. His strength will soon return. Do not worry so, my lady, spirits are as part of this world as the living. It is only a matter of finding balance."
The medium closed the door and the carriage set off. Anne stood with Alfie not far away. "He said we must cleanse your room to ensure no one harms you," she said. She was pleased that it wasn't Alfie that was causing all this, because like her, he probably had few places to go. "We'll sort this."
Getting her cloak, Anne set off to a walk, which would let her absorb all that Mr. Harleston had said, and also to find sage. She was sure she had seen some previously; she just couldn't remember where. If they had to burn sage day and night in censers to make all this fade away, then they would.
Her mind was racing as she wandered away. There was something in the house. A shiver of panic set in and she tried to dismiss it. There was a plan to deal with it and that was what she had to focus on. According to Mr. Harleston, there was both dark and light in the house, the light protecting them from the darkness. She had no idea what to tell Lisle and Alfie. Obviously, they had the right to know the house they were living in was haunted. Another spear of panic flared through her.
Mr. Harleston had been so calming; he left the impression there was nothing to worry about as long as they took the right steps and lived a peaceful life free of passions. Well, perhaps it was a good thing that Lisle and Alfie's relationship had waned. Maybe it was the relationship that had caused so much trouble in the first place.
Chapter 12:
Anne burned sage in every room of the house and in every space outside, including the stable and all the outbuildings. On one level, she felt a bit silly doing it. On another, she would not bypass any advice Mr. Harleston had. There were just too many strange occurrences in the house to dismiss.
"You especially must keep this sage burning at all times," Anne said to Alfie, feeling self-conscious being in his private quarters. He stood by and watched her. "It seems you are affected by the things in this house worse than either I or Lisle. Perhaps it would be safer for you if you left. Mr. Harleston recommended it. He said the house was draining your energies."
The Haunting at Hawke's Moor Page 6
