A Hymn in the Silence

by Kelley York

  Any lingering hesitation James seems to have had vanishes. He watches me in fascination, unable to keep his hands off me, and I welcome every touch. Being silent is a chore. I don’t enjoy having to bite back the sounds James drags out of me. Every trembling muscle and repressed whimper and moan is because of how lovely he feels.

  Release crashes over me all at once. My hands fist into his hair, and I let loose a moan against his mouth, unable to help myself, unable to keep quiet because he isn’t far behind me. This is my favourite sensation in all the world, the exact moment where James is kissing me, and his hands are gripping my hips and he’s panting and spent inside of me.

  I draw up slowly, head tipped back, granting myself a moment to catch my breath. “Much better…”

  “Much,” James agrees, breathless. He drags me down to hold me against his chest, his breath warm against my ear. “I do love you, so very much.”

  Those words send a jolt right down my spine and I smile. My eyes feel impossibly heavy now, and rested with my cheek to his chest, it occurs to me how terribly I already miss sleeping like this. “I love you. Although I suppose this is the part where I banish you back to your room for the night.”

  He chuckles against my hair. “I wouldn’t argue if you wanted to test our luck.”

  I’m conflicted. I sleep worlds better when James is with me, but is it risking too much? I bite my lip, wondering if my willingness to throw caution to the wind is a result of drinking. “I fear I’m not in a position to ask you to go anywhere.”

  James grunts a little, fingers trailing down my spine. “How about I stay until you fall asleep?”

  “Mmm, just like school?”

  “Just like school.”

  James prods me gently from bed long enough to wash us both up a bit before falling back into the covers. With a pleased noise, I wrap my arms around him, tucking my head against his shoulder. “When we’ve been paid, we should take a holiday.”

  “Where to?”

  “Anywhere. France? I hear they’ve delicious cakes there.”

  “I do adore cake.”

  I tip my head to nip at his collarbone. “More than me?”

  “Almost.” He grins. “But not quite.”

  “Tsk.”

  James presses a kiss to my hair. True to his word, he lies there with me, and the sound of his heartbeat and the warmth of his skin lulls me quickly to sleep.

  Thanks to the drink and the lovemaking, sleep comes easily. After James has left, I reach for him, disturbed awake when I find him not there. But—right. He would have gone back to his room, of course. So, I sigh and lie my head back down, eyes drifting shut, and try to resume sleep.

  There’s something off about the room, though. A prickling along my skin that has my eyes opening and scanning every dark corner, every shadow, with my heartbeat kicking up a notch. I’ve woken like this many nights during my years at Whisperwood.

  I slide out of bed, nursing the beginnings of a headache. I step to the window, fumble my glasses on, part the curtains, and gaze into the night.

  Standing in the snow, I make out the faint shapes of several figures, motionless, their marred faces twisted, and their dead eyes lifted to Evenbury Manor. Goosebumps race across my skin and I hold my breath.

  Flora Brewer and her children.

  I throw on my nightshirt and a robe, ducking into the hall and racing through the house, nearly getting turned around in the dark and unfamiliar halls. In the foyer, I throw open the front doors to dash outside. I should have grabbed James but thought I might not have time. Standing there at the bottom of the front steps, barefoot, shivering, I can no longer spot the Brewers anywhere. Surely, I did not imagine it.

  Frustrated, I linger a few moments longer before retreating into the house again, my feet having gone numb. I decide not to rouse James over it; short of dressing and venturing out into the night, we’ll not find them now.

  I attempt to go back to sleep, but it comes in fits and starts. I end up dressing early and heading outside to search around the property as the sun rises. There are footprints in the snow in some peculiar places but given the number of people who were here last night, it’s impossible to know if these didn’t belong to one of the attendees.

  Near the gardens, close to where I spotted the Brewers, are a set of stone benches, one of which I take a seat upon. What should have been a delightfully restful night has turned into me being exhausted and with a headache pinching behind my eyes.

  “There you are.”

  I start only for the half-second before my brain recognises it as James’ voice. “Good morning,” I mumble, slouching as he sits beside me. “Sleep well?”

  He yawns. “Well enough. Why didn’t you wake me?”

  “I figured one of us ought to get a proper night’s rest.” I tip my head toward him and point. “I spotted the Brewers outside my window last night.”

  There’s an inquiring twist to James’ mouth. “Did you go and say hello to them?”

  “An attempt was made. By the time I got outside, they were nowhere to be found.”

  He leans his shoulder into mine. “You should have woken me.”

  “There was little to be done. I didn’t want you running off into the night to look for ghosts.”

  “Well, I think we should return to the farm.”

  I sigh. “I suppose so. Virgil ought to receive my letter today. Hopefully we’ll hear from him in short order.”

  “Don’t sound too excited.”

  “I’m quite ready to return home, if I’m honest. I miss our bed.”

  James’ smile is sympathetic. “The money will be good for us. We can take that holiday.”

  I know, just as I also know I’m unjustifiably cranky this morning and a fair bit hungover, and there’s no reason to mope about and take it out on James. I imagine he’s - hungry and it’s about time for breakfast, and as much as I do not have an appetite, I need to eat to keep my strength up. “Let’s go see about breakfast.”

  James catches my elbow and rises, drawing me to him. “Before we go…” He holds up my bottle of laudanum, and the agitation itching inside my chest releases at the mere sight of it.

  “We should have purchased more before leaving Whitechapel,” I observe, opening my mouth. I feel like such a child when James has to dole out my dosages to me, but it’s really my own fault that I can’t be trusted to do it myself.

  “We can nip into town to get more, if necessary,” James assures, administering the drops to my tongue before pocketing the bottle. “Come now, I’m wasting away from starvation.”

  We head inside for breakfast. Unsurprisingly, Lord Wakefield is still asleep. What is surprising is that Adelia is absent; she knew we had plans to return to the house today, and Foss explains she left early to go and visit a friend. Odd, but little we can do about it. I’ll not hold off our investigation.

  Rather than request the aid of a driver, Foss grants us the use of a cabriolet and a horse so we can drive ourselves. I give the reins over to James, having no interest in driving now that my medicine has kicked in and my throbbing headache has begun to fade.

  “At your leisure, m’lord,” James teases, but he takes the reins and navigates us to the Brewers’ farm. I keep the hood of the carriage down, wanting to enjoy the weather which, while still chilly, is a fair bit warmer than it has been the last few days. I tip my head back, eyes closed, and enjoy the ride.

  Upon arriving at the farm and pulling down the long driveway, I spot a horse tethered near the house, not visible from the road. I slip from the cab with a frown. “James.”

  He hops down beside me. “We appear to have company.”

  Unsettling, that. I square my shoulders. We march to the door, determined to catch our guest unawares in case they try to flee. Before we get too far, the door swings open from the other side, and I find myself fa
ce to face with Adelia, who greets us with an unimpressed stare.

  “You two took your time.”

  I lean back with a surprised twitch of my eyebrow. “Lady Adelia, you—What are you doing here so early?”

  She steps aside to let us enter. “Father and Mr. Foss would never have allowed me to come, so it only made sense that I slip away on my own.”

  “I would have got you out. It’s dangerous to be here alone.” I slip inside, noting she’s already opened the windows to air the place out.

  Adelia scowls. “I’m sorry if you think I’m in need of an escort.”

  “While I appreciate your bravery, I would request that no one, male or female, be in this house without us right now.” I pause, gaze roaming over her. She’s dressed quite differently than I’ve seen her before. Flat shoes, hair pulled back in a practical, easy style, and a simple, homely dress more befitting a house servant than a lord’s daughter.

  Adelia catches me staring and frowns. “I thought it wise to wear something that lent itself to better mobility. I borrowed it from one of the maids.” She turns away. “Anyway, I’ve searched the house top to bottom, so I know we’re alone. However, someone has obviously been lurking about because there were footprints outside when I arrived.”

  My stomach turns. Had someone, or something, been here and Adelia had fallen victim to it… I dread to think of what we might have arrived to find. Still, I doubt lecturing her on it now will do anything but annoy her, so I take a deep breath. “Footsteps where?”

  “Around the back, oddly enough,” Adelia says. “I saw none that led away or indoors. It looked as though…someone appeared, paced back and forth, and then vanished.”

  Something about that makes me shiver. I glance at the spot on the floor where the Edison girl nearly tore out my throat and remind myself she is dead and gone and no more a threat than the people standing here with me. “Right. Well, is there anything you can discern from the crime scene?”

  “With the amount of blood and damage, I don’t feel it was the work of a sole attacker.”

  I lean against the wall by the door, arms crossed. “Not even a supernatural one?”

  She cocks an eyebrow. “How would I know? There aren’t many studies on the matter.”

  “All right. But not your everyday, run-of-the-mill human being, then. One of them being a woman about your build.”

  She answers with certainty, “Absolutely not. Even in a frenzy, perhaps one or two victims taken by surprise—but an entire family? No.” She steps to the centre of the room. “Recalling what the neighbours told the police, Mr. Brewer was found here, along with three of the children. I suspect when the attackers entered, they took out the children first. Easy targets. They had no chance to run. Mr. Brewer engaged them, while Mrs. Brewer ran into the bedroom to get the baby. One of the attackers followed her. Or perhaps both, once Mr. Brewer had been dispatched.”

  She turns back to us, hands clasped loosely before her. “Had there only been Madeline by herself, Mrs. Brewer or any one of the children would have had a chance to flee. We would have found their bodies elsewhere.”

  I study her, impressed. It’s all common sense, but I suppose I’d not given it that much thought before now. “Nicely done.”

  “Thank you.”

  James clears his throat. “Let’s have a look at those footprints outside.”

  The three of us venture back into the cold and locate the tracks. We follow their lead, into the sparse trees, just as James and I did the other day. The snow has thinned out, grass peeking through in wet dewy patches, which—for our tracking purposes—is not necessarily a good thing.

  We arrive at a clearing where the lack of tree cover has permitted the early morning sun to melt the snow, and I can’t make out the tracks anywhere.

  James stands in the centre of the clearing. “Another dead end.”

  I swear quietly under my breath and cross the clearing, hoping for some sign of where the footprints pick up on the other side. They have to be somewhere. Whoever made them did not simply disappear into thin air.

  As I approach the edge of the clearing, I feel it: needles in my skin, ice in my veins, that invisible string that tugs at my insides, telling me to run because something dangerous is coming.

  A siren-like shriek pierces the air as I whip around, just in time to see the ghost of Mrs. Brewer emerging from the forest.

  The form that straightens up before Adelia is both human and not. A face I have seen close-up only on a morgue table, horribly twisted and beaten. The colour to her skin is all wrong, sickly pale and splotched with decay. Adelia scrambles back, mouth agape, but no sound emerges.

  Before any of us can register anything, Flora Brewer rushes at Adelia and slams her to the ground.

  I wrench a bottle of holy water from my pocket and yank the stopper as I dash toward them, prepared to throw it on the ghost as soon as I’m within range. The moment the droplets land on her skin, Mrs. Brewer recoils with another shriek. James wastes no time in snagging Adelia’s arm to haul her to her feet and shove her behind him.

  Flora rears back. I push myself between her and Adelia and James. Christ, I can never recall any of those fucking verses when I need them. “Mrs. Brewer, we need your help! Stop this!”

  The water only works to deter her for so long. Flora drops to all fours, another ear-piercing shriek tearing from her blackened mouth. She scurries to the left, joints twisting and cracking. I brace myself in anticipation of her charging at me, only just barely managing to find my voice. “I command you, unclean spirit, whoever you are, along with all your minions now attacking this servant of God—”

  But Flora seems to have no interest in me, or James, for that matter. She circles us, her dead eyes never leaving Adelia.

  I trust James to keep her safe, but I don’t trust the ghost not to hurt James to get at Adelia. I circle along with her, keeping myself a barrier between her and them, fishing out the small crucifix from my pocket to hold it out in front of me.

  “—by the mysteries of the incarnation, the—the…” Damn it.

  Whether it’s the cross, the holy water, my clumsily spoken verses, or a combination of all three, Flora finally begins to crawl backwards, and I advance. If we must force her to cross over, then so be it. But it would mean one less source of information if we can’t get her to regain some semblance of sanity.

  Flora brings her hands to her face, a scream melting into a sob and then—she vanishes into the trees. Not banished, simply fled.

  I drag in a shaky breath, stumbling back and dropping down into a crouch.

  James straightens, turning to Adelia. “Are you all right?”

  Adelia’s face is pale and her wide eyes look from James to me and back again. “What—What on earth was that about?”

  I scan the trees, just in case the ghost’s retreat was only temporary. The creeping sensation has faded so I’m confident we’re alone again. “She certainly seemed to have an interest in you,” I say as I turn back to them. They both appear unharmed. Good. “Did you and Mrs. Brewer have any sort of disagreements when she was alive?”

  Adelia attempts to dust off the back of her dress. For as calm as she’s trying to appear, I think her hands are quaking ever so slightly. “I think not. I never spoke much to her, but on the rare occasion we did, it was pleasant enough.”

  I squint. I’m not getting the impression she’s lying. It’s possible Flora mistook Adelia for Madeline Edison, but that seems a stretch. Aside from being similar in height and age, they really look nothing alike. “Another unanswered question, then. We’ve definitely lost the tracks. I don’t see them anywhere. This was your first time seeing a spirit. Are you all right?”

  She looks to me, eyes still a touch wide in alarm. “It was… It was something. I don’t really know.”

  “There’s no sense in lingering in the cold.” J
ames removes his hand from where it was, still on Adelia’s upper back. “Let’s return to the farm.”

  Here’s hoping we can communicate better with whatever spirit we encounter next, but that’s likely going to require us staying overnight again. “I’m running low on holy water,” I tell James on our way back. “How many do you have left?”

  “Two,” he says, which is one more than I have. “But we might as well keep our stock full. We’ll stop by the church and see if Reverend Thomas can replenish our supply. Is it time for lunch yet, do you think?”

  I roll my eyes. “I’m sure we can return to Evenbury if you’re hungry.”

  He gives an indignant sniff. “I worked up an appetite, thank you very much.”

  James manages to stave off his hunger so that we can head straight to the church, with Adelia leading the way perched side-saddle on her horse.

  The church is quiet at this time of day, devoid of the Sunday crowds. I hop down from the carriage, intending to offer a hand to Adelia to help her from her horse, but she waves me off and insists she can wait for us there.

  Inside, the church is quiet. The pleasant smell of Damascus rose incense and the twirls of smoke above the candles creates a lovely atmosphere. I may dislike religion, but I’ll admit, churches are beautiful places.

  It looks as though no one is here at a glance, but then Reverend Thomas steps into view from a back room, and he smiles. “This is a pleasant surprise. Mr. Spencer, Mr. Esher.”

  James strolls right down the aisle, perfectly at home. “Reverend Thomas, we were hoping to request your assistance.”

  He meets us halfway, hands clasped before him. “Certainly. How may I help?”

  “We seem to have run short on our supply of holy water,” I say. “We’d hoped you might have some we could use.”

  He blinks. “Holy water?”

  “It’s effective against the spirits.”

  “I see.” He looks startled by that but smiles again easily enough. We take the empty phials from our pockets and offer them up. He excuses himself to the back room again to refill them. While he’s gone, I look around, thinking the church—while small—is certainly well-maintained for a countryside chapel. I wonder if Lord Wakefield’s money is to thank for that.