The Haunting at Hawke's Moor

by Camille Oster

  "Including your son?"

  It ached to admit it, but she nodded.

  "I'm sorry," Elizabeth said and Anne felt another welling of tears. Sorry was perhaps better than some insistence that she was wrong in her perception. Could love and uncaring exist in the same instance? Richard Hawke had defied death itself to keep his family together. Harry resented the discomfort of her social standing, happy to have her hidden away out here, far away from any disturbance she would cause. Would he care if he never saw her again?

  Maybe it was his youth that made him so uncaring. He did love her; he certainly had when he'd been little. She just wasn't so sure that love had survived his maturing. And that hurt most of all.

  Chapter 31:

  Biting the end of her thumb, Anne paced around her bedroom. His bedroom. She could never quite forget that, particularly now that he was so very much on her mind. Now that she knew there were people in the house, real people with personal traits, ambitions and thoughts, she couldn't ignore them. Particularly the woman who grieved. She might not be entirely there as Elizabeth had said, but she was still there, even if only the part that grieved.

  "You must release them," she finally said, swallowing the nervousness she felt.

  There was no response. He was ignoring her. That familiar feeling of being unwanted intruded. She'd felt it for most of her marriage and she hated it. Saying that, he had every right to not want her there. He had no obligation to her, but she wasn't going to fade away either.

  "It is selfish of you to keep them all here. This is your doing. You must release them."

  The faint smell of smoke rose and she suspected she had made him angry. Would he attack her again? She would think less of him if he did, she thought and straightened her spine.

  "So very self-righteous," she heard him hiss. "What you want is irrelevant." His back was turned to her and he had something in his hand he was paying closer attention to.

  "This isn't a matter of what I want. It's about what’s right."

  "And what do you know of what’s right? Have you ever had to make a choice?"

  "That is unfair." She had never been in a position where she was allowed to choose. Things had always been chosen for her.

  "Life is never unfair."

  "Death is supposed to be."

  He turned. "Really? Should my children have died at the young age they did? Betrayed by their mother? Is that fair, Miss Sands? You can wait around for fair play all you like; the people who get what they want are the people who take it."

  Anne’s mouth drew tight. "What of the woman?"

  "What of her?"

  "Are you utterly uncaring? She pines for her child. You must release her, release everybody."

  "Should I sacrifice my children for her sake? And for what? There are no guarantees she will find her child. There are no guarantees there is anything beyond this house. My children could simply cease to exist, fade into nothingness. How exactly am I serving them, or even this woman? Should we risk everything because you deem it right?"

  "Scripture says—"

  "Scripture, if you take it at its word, says I will go to hell. Is that what I deserve? Maybe it is. I am a soldier and there are no innocent soldiers. I choose to be with my children. I choose to protect my children." He turned away from her; there was a brass box in his hand and he was trying to get it open. "I have failed them once; I will not fail them again. They are safe here. We are safe here. Yes, the woman suffers, but no one can guarantee that she will not, no matter what I do."

  "So there is something you can do?"

  He didn't answer. Instead, he tried to pry the box open with a blade.

  "If she is to suffer, then she trades like for like. If she is released into nothingness, it is better than suffering," Anne continued.

  "It is so easy to speak for other people. Let's discuss the price, shall we, because there is a price. Are you willing to pay it? Should your maid? Some passing stranger? A rift is required, and a rift is not something I can make, it must be natural."

  "I don't understand."

  "It is not a difficult concept. Almost biblical. An eye for an eye."

  Anne frowned trying to understand the riddles he was pushing at her.

  "We can do it right now. I did warn you of the consequences of seeking me out. I don't mind; you can place yourself in her stead. You would certainly be more entertaining, irrespective of the trouble you cause."

  The last statement was too distracting to not draw her away from the more dangerous statement before. Maybe because it was easier to address. "Trouble? What trouble do I cause?"

  "Are you not cognizant of what you do? You've organized this whole house to your will. Do this, do that. You must have your way."

  "I have done nothing to this house." Except Elizabeth had said something similar, that she had changed the whole house. "All I did was point out that I wasn't your wife."

  Turning his head, there was mischievousness in his eyes. "But now we are discussing you joining me as my bride."

  Anne gasped. "No, we are not."

  "A trade, you for her."

  "That is ludicrous," Anne said as cloying, cold fear flushing through her entire body. "You are toying with me, Mr. Hawke, and I don't appreciate it."

  "I did clearly mention that you place yourself in my power if you came here. Yet you insist. What am I supposed to take from your actions?"

  "I simply need to discuss the affairs of this house since I am the current custodian of it, including its inhabitants. Now, please push me back into the real world."

  He raised his eyebrow. "And if I choose not to? I did warn you that I might choose to keep you here."

  "You are simply trying to make me feel disconcerted so I won't seek your company again. You want me here as much as I want to be here."

  "I was quite content in my rage, but you have stripped me of that. How could I possibly say what I want?"

  She could see the amusement in his eyes. There was no doubt he was toying with her. "You be careful, Mr. Hawke, or I might just call your bluff."

  This made him smile and he stepped closer. Not entirely sure why, but she didn't want him closer. "Would you dare? Now, wouldn't that be interesting?"

  Had she made a strategic mistake? Panic flashed through her mind. Her throat was dry as she tried to swallow. "I suspect you are entirely too set in your ways to coexist with company."

  "We already coexist."

  Something was behind her as she took a step back.

  "What exactly is it you fear? I suspect you fear me more than you fear death."

  "What? That's ridiculous." She tried to find some way of moving back, but she couldn't. Looking down, she saw a chair halting her progress. He saw it, too.

  "That does make me wonder. For a married woman, with a child, you are remarkably skittish. Did that husband of yours not even take the most basic care of you? My marriage might have been disastrous, but I might go so far as to say I was a better husband than yours."

  She was trapped, both physically and verbally. She couldn't very well say yes. "You wish to kill your wife."

  "True. At least, I cared enough to want her dead."

  "Cared?"

  "I am growing accustomed to the fact that I will never face off with the traitorous harlot. As I said, life is not fair." His dark eyes sparkled in the light. He was so different now compared to the first time she'd met him, when there was nothing but cold hatred in those eyes. The single determination had given to a much more complex person. And yes, he was still teasing her mercilessly. Even though he threatened her, he would not keep her there, but would apparently take a moment to toy with her. This was the price she paid for seeking him.

  A perverse thought crawled through her mind, unbidden and shocking—the question of what it would be like to be taken care of by someone like him. He was so much more imposing than her husband, in every way. His eyes seemed to actually see her when he looked at her, and she found that difficult to bear.

>   A part of her wanted to know, a part strongly overruled by self-preservation. "Release me," she said.

  "Wouldn't it be more interesting to stay?"

  "I am not a mouse for you to toy with."

  "Haven't you been since the moment you stepped in this house?" He stepped forward and she was still trapped. Much too close. She wasn't exactly sure what his intentions were, but closeness was obviously involved. Her mind screamed at her, but she couldn't comprehend what it was saying. She felt him with every part of her. Goosebumps broke out painfully along her arms as warm hands closed around her cheeks and neck.

  Instinctively, she knew he was about to kiss her. Every thought in her mind had shut down, aching for the touch that was coming. It had been so very long since anyone had kissed her, and never with such rawness. The scent of him enveloped her mind, and her senses screamed at her, expecting the soft touch of lips and the taste of a man. His lips were so close, and with closed eyes, she could imagine the touch, a mere hair's breath away.

  But it wasn't lips she felt, instead the change in the air, the change in atmosphere. The fingers along her cheeks melted away, as did the breath caressing her aching lips, and now she was back in her own room.

  Opening her eyes, she saw he was gone. Her breath was still caught, waiting for the kiss that never came. A sense of being robbed stole through her. That kiss had taken over every part of her and its absence left an empty ache.

  "You're a wicked man, Mr. Hawke," she said, feeling the bitterness in the words. He had toyed with her so completely. And she'd known the entire time, but hadn't been able to stop her own reaction, the powerful anticipation that unfurled deep down inside her.

  Left was the fact that she'd ached for the kiss, while he had teased her with it. She'd shown all the strength of wet paper, and she was mortified by her own behavior.

  Chapter 32:

  The fire lit deep inside her didn't quite relent. It was cruel of him to toy with her, with this, the thing she had always been denied—the softness, the touches, the desire. Were men always cruel?

  She was tired of cruelty, complexity and questions she couldn't answer. All she wanted was a simple life, but things never went as planned. Instead, she ran a boarding house for earth-bound spirits, full of questions she had no answers to.

  The comment about her becoming his bride would be utterly terrifying if she didn't firmly believe he was toying with her. His subsequent action more than proved it.

  The kiss that wasn't still lingered, though, as much as she hated it. It sent tendrils of nervous tension deep down into her belly, twisting sharply when she thought of it.

  That along with the whole situation weighed heavily on her mind. She wanted to cry, but couldn't now that she truly had no privacy in her room. There was no privacy anywhere in the house, so she did the only thing she could: crawled into bed and faced the wall. Her heart was too heavy to deal with, so she just ignored the slurry of emotions inside her.

  All she wanted was sleep, but none came. Why did it elude her when she wanted it most? At least she could dream of a simple life. What would her life be like if there were no spirits in this house? It would only be her and Lisle, and endless days of sparse loneliness. Unfortunately, that wasn't ideal either. She could imagine going days without speaking to anyone. How long would Lisle stay under those circumstances? And then she would be alone with endless years stretching ahead of her.

  Was that how he felt, eternity stretching ahead of him? No wonder he held on so tightly to the ones he loved. Would she do the same if she were able to? Although Harry would hate being stuck in this house with her. And being stuck here with Stanford—that could only be described as a fate worse than death. A bitter chuckle escaped her.

  As different as Richard Hawke was from her, they are very similar as well. They had both been betrayed by the person who was supposed to love and honor them, both stuck in this house because they feared the alternative was worse. But unlike him, she needed to keep on breathing, keep on living—practicalities he no longer bothered with.

  Sleep still eluded her, her mind refused to settle. The bed felt uncomfortable and she tossed around, trying to find some position which relaxed her, but it was no good. After a while, she decided to rise. She needed something to reset her mind, something to get her away from the thoughts keeping her from rest.

  Grabbing her shawl, she peered out the door into the hall. Everything was quiet. As far as she could tell, William wasn't standing out there, ready to assault her. Quietly, she stepped out and walked down the stairs in the darkness of the house. It wasn't entirely dark. The moonlight of a clear night shone in through the windows. The floor was cold against her feet as she wandered into the kitchen and poured herself a glass of milk from the jug. There wasn't much left, but enough for half a glass.

  Taking it, she wandered to the front door and turned the heavy lock. The vastness of the moors was soothing for once, as she sat down on the top step, folding her nightgown under her bare feet. The moon bathed the landscape. The rest of the world was so very far away, it almost felt as if they were floating on a lake of emptiness. Maybe she and Lisle were as part of this house as any of the other inhabitants.

  The door stood open behind her and she ran a risk in him locking it behind her, leaving her to tackle the cold. He had the power to stop Lisle from hearing her; he'd done so before. But she was prepared to take the risk, trusting he would no longer act so callously against her. Did she trust him? she asked herself. Maybe a small part of her wanted to see if she could. Some perverse part of her wanted to know if he would act against her.

  "Thinking of escaping?" She heard him from inside the darkness behind her.

  "Thinking about locking me outside to freeze?" she shot back.

  "You forget that you wouldn't go anywhere," he said and stepped out. He wasn't quite solid and unlike her, his breath didn't condensate. His skin was pale in the moonlight. He was in her world and not the other way around. Sitting down, he leaned back. "Can't sleep?"

  "No," she said and hugged her legs tighter. The cold air made her skin contract, but it was both calming and refreshing. An owl hooted somewhere in the distance. "Why did you choose to build here?"

  "The land was granted to me."

  "But this is not where you came from?"

  "No, my family came from Somerset originally. My father was a second son and served the king, as did I. He was granted this land, but didn't live long enough to build on it."

  "And what happens to you if it's torn down?"

  "Are you thinking about tearing down my house?"

  "Legally, it's my house."

  "No matter what you say, Miss Sands of London, this will always be my house, and I will protect it."

  She turned to him, but didn't see the harshness in his face that used to be there. She expected him to show a stronger reaction. "You don't think I would?"

  "Leave us stranded? No, I don't think you would."

  He had her there. Cruelty simply wasn't part of her makeup, and she couldn't contemplate such an action now that she knew of the inhabitants, even is their hearts didn't exactly beat. "Only because I like your daughter."

  He chuckled. "You're going to get cold sitting out here."

  "Worried about me?"

  "I don't think I could tolerate you stuck in bed coughing and spluttering for days on end." He stood and waited for her to follow. She was getting cold, her skin numbing, so she acquiesced and followed him inside. Closing the heavy door, he turned the lock.

  "We probably don't need to lock the door," she said. "We only started locking it because we assumed the strange occurrences in this house had some outside influence."

  "You must always lock the door; you never know who is roaming the moors."

  Anne supposed in his time, this area was much more perilous. The whole of England had been at war, and any day, trouble could march on this house. For him, one day it had, and the lock had not managed to keep it out. "The world was very different
in your time," she said.

  "I wouldn't know. Nothing looks all that different out here."

  "No, perhaps not."

  It felt strange following him up the stairs to her room, their room. She didn't exactly know how she felt about it. It was certainly strange. This was how it would be with a husband, but he wasn't a husband. He was a ghost, to start with, who teased and toyed with her.

  He moved to the desk and sat down. Having him here was even more awkward than knowing he was there, but unseen.

  "I didn't know you could appear in my realm," she said.

  "I can, but I don't like to."

  "Then don't."

  Raising his eyebrows, he considered her. "Have you grown tired of my company?"

  Opening her mouth, she didn't know how to respond. Saying yes was rude, saying no probably said things she didn't intend on saying. "I am simply saying, if you don't like being here, then go back."

  "Fine," he said and faded before her eyes. She stared at the empty space for a moment, then took off her shawl. Was it really better when she couldn't see him, knowing he was still there? It was harder now to pretend he didn't exist.

  Now she really was too tired to think about it all. Returning to bed, she took up the same position as before, facing the wall. She tried to clear her mind and drift off.

  The sound of scratching wheedled into her mind. "Must you write?"

  "What would you have me do?"

  "There is no one to write to."

  "Who are you to say? Do you know the limits of the world I've created?"

  "You cannot create people."

  "Is there something on your mind, Miss Sands?"

  Was there something she wished to say? Or did she just feel like being contrary? She was too tired to think. "Just please try to write less noisily."

  "You chide me just like a wife."

  Anne's mouth drew together. Was he trying to provoke her? Was he teasing her again?