The Victorian Gothic Collection: Volumes 1-3

by Bowlin, Chasity

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Adelaide couldn’t say what had awakened her. But a sense of urgency seized her as soon as she opened her eyes and sat up in the center of the bed. Eldren was gone. Perhaps he’d gone to check on Warren and that was what had woken her. She couldn’t say. But without even thinking of her actions or considering what she was doing, she shoved the covers back and rose from the bed. Slipping her dressing gown on over the flimsy night rail she wore, she left the room and wandered down the darkened hall. There was a small bit of light filtering through the windows at the end of the hall, but not so much that she could move freely. She kept one hand on the wall for support and for some sense of grounding, she supposed.

  There was no destination in her mind. She simply put one foot in front of the other. But it was no idle stroll. She was being guided, led almost, by something she could not see. But she strangely felt no fear. Somehow, she felt shielded, protected even, as she made her way along the hall. Near the end of it, she turned abruptly and opened a door to her right. Stepping into that darkened chamber, she didn’t open the curtains to let in the light. Instead, she walked unerringly to the fireplace and placed one hand on the intricately carved panel to the left of it. There was some resistance, but by using both hands she managed to shift it slightly and then it moved more freely. The opening it revealed was shrouded with dust and cobwebs. Regardless, Adelaide reached inside it and removed the cloth wrapped bundle from inside it.

  As soon as her hands closed over it, the sense of safety fled. Whatever had guided her there was gone and in its place remained only the darkness and the infinite shadows that shifted and swirled in a terrifying eddy. Whatever had guided her there had abandoned her when danger presented itself.

  The room filled with a presence that could only be described as malevolent. Everything she had experienced to that point paled in comparison to the immediate threat she felt.

  “I’m not afraid of you,” she lied. She was afraid. Terrified, in fact. But her fear gave it power over her and she was not allowing that to happen anymore.

  The paintings on the wall, shrouded in dust covers, clattered and banged before falling to the floor.

  “Parlor tricks and theatrics,” Adelaide challenged. “But you’re here, so tell me what you what.”

  Leave it. It doesn’t belong to you.

  The whispered words surrounded her, almost as if it had been whispered in both ears at the same time. “You are dead. Nothing in this house belongs to you.”

  The very walls rattled around her. Surely the noise would wake the entire house.

  It was no longer a whisper against her ears, but an enraged shriek. It pounded at her, making her ears ring and her head ache as she sank to her knees under the onslaught.

  “What do you want of me?” she cried out. “Why are you here now tormenting me?”

  You’re blood ties you to this place. You should never have come here.

  “Well, I did! And now I’m not going anywhere as you tried to kill me the last time!”

  The voice took on a different tone, one of smugness. You will die here as all the others have, by your own hand… driven mad with fear. And then you will be mine to use forever, just as the others are.

  There was something in those whispered words that teased at Adelaide’s mind. But suddenly it fell into place. The voice sounded decidedly feminine, and yet it was supposed to be Alwen who haunted Cysgod Lys. “Who are you?”

  It does not matter who I am. Soon you will be nothing more than the memory of a person, a shattered wraith roaming with the others.

  With that whispered threat, the shadows seemed to shrink back into the walls as the fire in the hearth flared sharply.

  Adelaide let out a breath she hadn’t even been aware she was holding. Pulling herself up, she clutched the cloth wrapped bundle to her chest and left the chamber. She was shaking as she made her way back to their own rooms. When she entered, Eldren was standing there in the center of room, donning his dressing gown.

  “I was about to come looking for you,” he said. “I was worried. Where on earth did you go?”

  “I woke up and just felt… compelled I suppose. I found this in a room near the end of the hall that has ben shut up for years. It was hidden behind a panel in the fireplace.”

  Eldren frowned. “You can’t wander this house at night, Adelaide. It isn’t safe.”

  “I know. It was fine in the beginning… I think someone else was with me. Someone benevolent, I believe. But then it came back. And I was alone with it. But if I can’t wander in the night, neither can you,” she said sharply. “You were gone when I woke.”

  “Warren has regained consciousness,” he said softly. “The maid came to fetch me just a few moments ago when it occurred.”

  “How is he?”

  “Groggy. Confused. He remembers nothing of the attack, only that he and Frances had left the dining room to come upstairs.” Eldren paced as he revealed that information, clearly disturbed by it. “We’re no closer to proving Frances a villain than we were to start with.”

  “We’ve been wrong, Eldren.”

  “About Frances?” He asked, clearly shocked and disbelieving.

  “No. About it. It spoke to me tonight,” she admitted.

  “What do you mean spoke?”

  “I’ve heard whispers from the start. That very first night on the moor and then again in Chester and so many times here… but this was different. I heard it’s voice in my mind. And I know something about it now that we did not know before,” she said in an excited whisper.

  “And what is that?” he demanded, clearly far from mollified by her enthusiasm.

  “When it spoke to me tonight… those dreadful whispers, I realized something about this spirit or entity, Eldren. It is decidedly feminine. I can’t tell you how I know that, but I do. All along, it’s been a woman, or rather it was a woman, some time ago.”

  “Adelaide, it’s been recorded for centuries by members of family that the events that occurred here were attributed to Alwen.”

  “It isn’t Alwen who is haunting Cysgod Lys. He may be here, but he is not the force behind all of these occurrences. It’s a woman… I know it. And I think whatever this is,” she said, gesturing toward the bundle, “will prove it.”

  The account she’d read of the Llewellyn family history had been a 17th century translation of a 14th century text. Had the person who translated it simply done a poor job of it or had their intent been to mislead the readers? Had they been a pawn used by the dark entity to conceal her identity? It was clear that this being, whatever or whoever it was, often manipulated the living to do their bidding. Frances was playing a very dangerous game, Adelaide thought. She was placing her trust in something that would only ever be betray her in the end. But then Frances would undertake her fair share of betrayal as well. Of that there was little doubt.

  Eldren lit the candelabra on the mantle. He had talked of having gaslights installed in the upper floor of the house. But until they had achieved some semblance of normalcy in the house, having workmen in and out of it was impossible. As it was, they were replacing maids and footmen at regular intervals.

  “Let’s have a look at what you found,” he said.

  Adelaide placed it on the table and carefully unwrapped the bundle. Whatever it was, it was ancient. The fabric was disintegrating at her touch, falling to nothing but dust. Inside, however, the contents were perfectly preserved. The leather bound volume was exquisitely preserved.

  Opening the cover, Adelaide frowned. She could read nothing.

  “What is it?”

  “Old English,” Eldren said. “I learned a bit of it when I was at university, but not well enough to translate something such as this. If Lord Mortimer’s areas of expertise do not extend to this, then I may know someone who can help.”

  “We need to keep this safe… and I don’t think it’s safe in this house,” Adelaide mused. “I don’t know that it’s safe anywhere. But I have to believe tha
t it holds the key to all of this.”

  “We’ll take it into Machynlleth. Father Thomas may be persuaded via a sizable donation to hold it in the church. If it isn’t safe there, it won’t be safe anywhere.”

  Adelaide nodded. “First thing in the morning?”

  “First thing,” he said. “Now come back to bed. We likely won’t get more sleep, but at least we can rest and I can hold you for a bit before the day begins.”

  Adelaide moved toward the bed and carefully placed the book beneath her pillows. She was terrified of damaging it, but even more terrified of leaving it unguarded. “Everyday we are getting closer. I have to believe that.”

  “I want to believe it,” he replied, climbing into the bed next to her and pulling her close. “I have something with you, Adelaide, that I have not had in a very long time.”

  “What is that?” She asked.

  “Hope.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Leola was awake. She rarely slept and if she did, not well. But in places such as Cysgod Lys, where her body all but hummed with the energy around her, sleep was unnecessary. From the moment she’d stepped off the train she’d sensed power, and the closer they’d come to the house the more keenly she had felt it. Now, standing at the epicenter of it, she was overwhelmed with it. The visions she’d been shown by Ulmer, the spirit who had guided her since she was a child, had left her shaken and it was that more than anything which kept her awake.

  The soft knock at her door startled her, a clear indication of how deep in thought she had been. It would be Lord Mortimer. John. While she never addressed him so outwardly, it was how she’d come to think of him during their time together. Her feelings for him continued to grow, but it did not take her extraordinary abilities to know that they were not returned. He would not allow himself to love another because he was too consumed with his own grief. And his guilt. She knew that he blamed himself for his wife’s death and it was that, more than anything else, which held him bound to her memory.

  Opening her door, she found him standing there in his dressing gown, a decanter of brandy and glasses in hand. “I couldn’t sleep and went to fetch myself a drink,” he explained. “I saw the light under your door and thought perhaps the events of the evening had left you equally restless.”

  Leola stepped back, bidding him enter. “This house vibrates with energy, Lord Mortimer. It surrounds me constantly.”

  He frowned. “Is it too much for you? Perhaps I should not have brought you here.”

  “On the contrary, they need me here,” she said. Uttering those words aloud, Leola felt the rightness of them. They did need her. If she’d had any doubt about the fact that moment dispelled them entirely. “And I think I need to be here. I have devoted my life to exploring my gifts and the phenomena that cannot be explained by traditional means. I cannot think of a better place to test the boundaries of both of those things than here at Cysgod Lys.”

  He nodded. “It is remarkable. Even I can feel it, and I am normally impervious to such things.”

  “But not to Lady Montkeith?” She knew that he had his own gifts, though he would not have called them such. John was a barometer for psychic phenomena, whereas Adelaide Llewellyn was a catalyst for it. “When you met her before you sensed she was gifted,” Leola replied.

  “I did. But I confess that I was unable to discern the nature of her gifts. Even now, I cannot identify them properly. It seems as if she is all things at once—clairvoyance, telekinesis, psychometry.”

  Leola accepted the brandy he poured for her. “I think that her gifts are tied to this place… She magnifies and mirrors that which is present, I believe. Without knowing her family tree in its entirety, I cannot say that she has a blood connection to this land, but I sense that she does.”

  “I would trust your sense of it more than I would trust the often manipulated records. I know half a dozen men whose heirs are not their actual offspring,” he said.

  Leola smiled. As the baseborn daughter of a gentleman herself, she understood it well. “I believe that whatever is inside her remained latent, present but dampened if you will, until she arrived here. And I think the longer she is here, the more her gifts will blossom, assuming this thing doesn’t manage to drive her mad, scare her to death, or perhaps engineer her death in some fashion before hand.”

  John strode to the hearth and leaned against the mantle in a typically masculine pose. “Do you really think it’s capable of such things?”

  A slight frisson of fear, a rare thing for her, snaked along her spine. “I know it is. I’ve seen what it has done to others. And if Lady Montkeith dies here, it will use her up like coal in a fire. And given the degree of power I sense inside her, that fire would burn hot and bright for a very long time,” she warned.

  He sipped his brandy and considered that carefully. “We must endeavor to not let that happen. By whatever means necessary. I fear for her in this place.” He paused once more. “I fear for you in this place, as well, Leola. You have been my friend and companion for many years now. Yet, I have never witnessed a scene such as the one tonight, no matter what sort of place we have been in.”

  “It was quite different,” she admitted. “I’ve never had spirits, or other entities, attempt to so forcefully push themselves into visions. Into my body. It was all I could do to fend them off.” It had been like a hundred sets of hands tugging and pulling at her, clawing at her flesh and clothes. Only the bright shimmering light of the spirit guide who had been with her since she was a small child had kept her grounded then. She would not risk another seance at Cysgod Lys. She would have to use her talents in a more indirect way.

  “No more seances here,” he said, effectively mirroring her thoughts. “I fear it would create more problems than it would solve.”

  “On that we are in agreement, Lord Mortimer,” she said softly. “I mean to begin working very closely with Lady Montkeith. Regardless of how the issues are resolved here, these abilities, now that they are awakening in her, will not be easily put to bed again. For her safety and for the safety of those around her, she needs to understand how to control them.”

  “And you’re certain you can teach her those things?”

  Leola sipped her brandy once more as she considered her answer carefully. “I’ve never seen myself as a mentor, but if not me, Lord Mortimer, then who? Those with such abilities are not so easy to find. By nature, many of us are secretive or shamed into silence. I will help her if I can.”

  He stepped closer and placed his hand on her shoulder. It was not a romantic gesture. It was intended to be comforting. She knew that. And yet, she thrilled at that innocent touch in a way that she knew would leave him both dumbfounded and mortified.

  “I know that you will, Leola. I should return to my own room and leave you to your rest. I hope you may find some peace this night,” he said.

  “Will you find peace, John?” she asked.

  He turned toward her. “You have never used my given name before.”

  “I have not,” she said. “It is time that things change between us. I cannot be your companion this way forever. You must know that.”

  The puzzled frown that crossed his face would have been comical had it not made her heart ache so much. “Have I offended you in some way?”

  “No, John. You have never been anything other than a gentleman. That is the problem, you see? I would have you be something other than that… I would have you see me as a woman first and a mystic second. And I cannot continue this way,” she admitted ruefully. “I am more than just my abilities, and I can no longer ignore my own wants and needs.”

  His hand fell away and he stared at her for the longest moment. If she were the kind of woman given to false hope, she might have sworn she saw something in his eyes—a longing for more. But she wasn’t, and wishing it was there did not make it so.

  “Good night, John,” she said, and there was a finality to her tone. Unable to continue facing him, she walked toward the window and stared
out into the darkness beyond. After a moment, she hard the door open and close. Leaning her forehead against the glass, Leola let out a shuddering sigh and the very last shred of hope she possessed that he would ever see her as more. Tears threatened, but she blinked them away. While there was nothing so bleak as the absence of hope, she would hold onto what was left of her tattered pride.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Frances filled her plate from the sideboard as she listened to the low hum of conversation in the breakfast room. It was subdued between the guests. Lord Mortimer and that woman he’d brought with him appeared to have had, if not a falling out, at least a difference of opinion in some regard. After several tense moments, Lord Mortimer excused himself.

  Of course, Eldren and his bride were sickeningly infatuated with one another at present and it was all she could do to tolerate them. All of that would end soon enough, however. And as he vacated the room in the wake of Lord Mortimer, leaving only the three of them alone in the breakfast room, Frances decided to see what she might be able to stir up. If there was one subject guaranteed to send the new Countess of Montkeith into a spiral it was the impending birth of Frances’ offspring. And she needed them distracted. They were becoming a threat to her and all that she had planned.

  They didn’t understand the power of the house, or where it came from. They had yet to find the center of it. Only she knew that and only because it had shared it with her. Dropping her hand to her abdomen, she pressed her palm over the slight rounding of her belly. It wasn’t a child to her, a living and being thing. It was currency.

  “Are you well?”

  Frances looked up, noting Madame Leola’s concerned gaze upon her. “Quite well, thank you, madame. Tell me, what title precisely do you hold? Madame seems such an odd form of address.”

  “Madame is a terrible title,” she agreed. “But most in my line of work use it, and so I do, as well.”

  “And what line of work is that? Are you a companion of some sort?” The woman puzzled her and worried her. Frances couldn’t tell what she was thinking and that alone was cause enough for concern.