Harkworth Hall

by L. S. Johnson

  It was with relief that we arrived at the door, but when I reached for the knob he laid a hand over it first. “Miss Daniels,” he began in a low voice. “I know you do not know me, and I know, too, you have divined I am not quite as I appear. Nevertheless, I must speak with you.”

  And there it was: my instinct proved correct, yet it only unnerved me further. “We are not in London, Miss Chase,” I said as coolly as I could manage. “Forgive us our lack of fashion. We are too simple for such radical practices.”

  But she was waving her hand, as if to shoo my words away. “I am appealing not to your fashion but your sense,” she said. “I beg of you, do not rush into any decisions regarding Sir Edward. He is not what you think him.”

  “Pardon?” I demanded. “If you think I have, I have designs on your—on him—” I could not even find the words. All the possible permutations of their debauchery rose before me.

  Again she waved her hand at me. “I care nothing for your designs!” she hissed. “But you must demand accounts from him. Demand proofs of his businesses, his character. And for God’s sake, do not go anywhere alone with him.” She took a breath, clearly struggling for words. “Especially not to the sea...”

  Footsteps made us both look up. Sir Edward stood in the hallway. “Leaving, Chase?” he said.

  “Indeed, sir.” Miss Chase smiled, as easily as if we had been discussing the weather. “I was just taking my leave of Miss Daniels.”

  “I wish you a safe and pleasant journey,” I said pointedly, and opened the door without so much as a curtsey. The cool night air was a welcome balm, blowing away much of my agitation.

  “Miss Daniels.” She took my hand in a dramatic bow and kissed it. A kiss that lingered a beat too long, that felt her thumb slide along my palm—or did I imagine it? Certainly, she seemed unchanged when she arose, but oh! My hand burned, it burned, with a sensation I had never felt before. It was everything that Sir Edward’s kiss was not, it set every nerve alight in my body.

  “Ask him about his wives,” she whispered. And with a curt nod to Sir Edward, she was gone.

  CHAPTER IV

  A Secret Revealed

  IT WAS SOME time later when Diana and Uncle Stuart took their leave. Diana’s hands in mine, the encouraging kiss on my cheek and her sly look at Sir Edward... I wanted both to pull her to me and to never see anyone ever again, so great was my exhaustion.

  Once they had departed, Sir Edward announced he would retire, and Mr. Simmons hurried ahead of him to ready his bedroom. Leaving my father to tidy the dining room, I went to the kitchen to see if I could provide Mrs. Simmons with any belated help.

  The kitchen, however, was in an excellent state. Mrs. Simmons and Emily were putting away the last of the foodstuffs, neither looking too tired for the effort. Yet, I was struck again by the quantity of food, and I dropped helplessly into a chair while Mrs. Simmons clucked about dirtying my dress and Emily fixed me with a rapturous smile.

  “We cannot afford this,” I cried, gesturing to the remains. “How will we repay so much on credit?”

  “Never fear, Miss, it wasn’t all on credit.” Mrs. Simmons wiped her hands before patting my shoulder. “That Mister Chase did much of the arranging. He told Mister Simmons it was the least they could do, for imposing so suddenly. He even paid for Emily.”

  “Mam wouldn’t have let me go for free, not with the baby due,” Emily confirmed, tossing back her plait of reddish-brown hair. “Though I think it was Sir Edward’s idea. Oh, Miss, he’s ever so wonderful! So handsome, and so full of—” She cried out as Mrs. Simmons swatted her and went back to her wiping with a scowl.

  I could not speak for my surprise, which at once turned to anguish. First I make a fool of myself, then all her strange warnings, and now I was indebted to her. I tried to tot up the full cost of the night, but my mind could not make the numbers come. I kept coming back to the humiliation and weariness I felt, and what was the cost of that?

  “Let me undo those knots,” Mrs. Simmons said, helping me up, “and then you get yourself to bed, Miss. You look done in.”

  She turned me like a child and unknotted my laces. The rush of air was so powerful I felt light-headed. Had I been so close to fainting all night? Perhaps that accounted for the strange power of Sir Edward’s presentation...

  But no, no, there had been something about it, something awful.

  “Miss,” Emily said in a smaller voice, “if you’re looking for staff at the Hall... I mean, after you’re married and all...”

  And though nothing had been decided, indeed nothing had even begun, I felt a sudden, absolute certainty: no matter what, I would never be mistress of that place; to envision such a thing was to see only darkness ahead.

  Ask him about his wives.

  “That’s enough, Emily.” Mrs. Simmons took me by the elbow and steered me to the kitchen door. “Go to bed, Miss,” she said more kindly. “Everything will be more sensible in the morning.”

  That night I dreamed that I walked down to our little stretch of coast, save that everything was wine-red, sea and sky and land all the same crimson hue. Before me, the waters parted to reveal a deep chasm, and in its depths something pulsed obscenely. I leaned over, trying to see, and just as the pulsing mass split open to reveal a single staring eye, I was falling, falling...

  ...only to awaken in the darkness with my heart racing and my shift damp with sweat. Silently, I prayed that something would simply make Sir Edward vanish, would remove him and his secretary utterly from our lives. Only then was I able to lie back and finally fall into an empty, restless sleep.

  CHAPTER V

  Three Unpleasant Stories

  THE NEXT MORNING, I had to struggle to get out of bed. My mind felt thick, though I had drunk little the night before. More difficult, however, was a general unwillingness to leave the peaceful nest of my bedroom. I dreaded greeting our guest; I dreaded the conversation we might engage in over breakfast. His presence in the house was almost palpable, even through the walls, seeming to cast a pall on everything despite the patchy sunlight that revealed itself when I opened the shutters.

  Just then, I saw Sir Edward’s large frame appear below my window. I instinctively ducked behind the drapes, peeking out at him. He did not look up; instead he strode unerringly in the direction of our coastline. His heavy, black overcoat flapped open as he walked, making him appear like a swooping bird coming low over its prey.

  Only then did I realize that the birds had not returned since the day my father had met Sir Edward. Nothing, not even a wolf, could have so utterly frightened them.

  Nothing, perhaps, save that creature in the water.

  But even as I thought this, I chided myself for my foolishness. It was one thing to dislike the man, another entirely to start imagining such ridiculous things. No wonder I was hiding in my bedroom like a child. My father approved of him, as did the Fitzroys; even Emily seemed smitten with him. Yet here I was envisioning monsters.

  Still, it was a relief to come downstairs and find only my father at the table, buried in his newspaper. A small pile of unopened envelopes sat by his plate—all bills, presumably—and I thought again of last night. How much did we owe Miss Chase, and how would we ever repay her? Because repay her we must. The mere thought of leaving such a debt between us, no matter the reasoning behind her generosity, made me feel sick as little else did. That woman! I glanced at my poor father. How would he feel to know he had spoken so freely with a woman, and one in breeches, no less? I found myself blushing for him, and instead focused on assembling my own plate. It was only then that I noticed I, too, had a letter.

  The elegant handwriting was unknown to me, but there were few who had cause to write me. When I thought through the possibilities, I felt faint. Would he address himself to me after one evening? Was it merely a first shot across the bows? For the first time, I wished I had paid more attention to Diana’s natterings, that I would have some comprehension of how these matters usually advanced. I glanced at my f
ather again as I picked up the envelope, but he seemed engrossed in his paper, without so much as a peek in my direction. His ignorance made me relax slightly. Whatever it was, it couldn’t be an offer.

  I opened it carefully, noting the plain seal, but inside found nothing save three small, yellowed clippings. As I read them over, my nervousness became outright fear, then horror. For each clipping described the death—the violent death—of a newly married woman. Each woman had been robbed, and her throat cut; each had subsequently been thrown into a body of water. I felt nerveless. Inadvertently I looked to the wall, in the direction that Sir Edward had taken, where I knew the waves churned endlessly against our shore.

  Ask him about his wives.

  “Gone to meet his maker.”

  I jumped at my father’s voice, the clippings falling from my hand.

  “Funny, that,” my father went on, not looking up. “That was the note I got this morning. ‘Gone to meet my maker. Back later this morning.’ Simmons saw him leave this morning, said he was taking a walk to see the water. And here I was starting to think the fellow had no sense of humor.” He finally looked up, his brow furrowing. “Caroline? Are you ill, child? You’re as pale as death.”

  “I—I don’t feel well,” I managed, fitting the clippings back into the envelope. My hands were shaking. In my mind, I was walking by the water’s edge. Hands would seize me, and that terrible searing pain across my throat...

  My father rang for Mrs. Simmons, who hurried to my side, clucking about my exhaustion and the strain of managing a party. She helped me out of the chair, assuring my father that all I needed was to go back to bed and rest.

  Halfway up the stairs, however, she whispered, “He’s not gone and pulled a fast one, has he?”

  “Pardon?” I looked at her, utterly bewildered, my mind still whirling with horrors.

  “That Mister Chase. Mister Simmons thought the note was from him—he’s not left you with all those bills, or—”

  “Oh! No, it was not that at all.” I struggled to form a sensible reply. “I think it is just as you said. It was such a strain yesterday, and I slept poorly.”

  “And then you got right up, thinking to be there for your guest, when he was off this morning with barely a word.” She clucked again as she shut my bedroom door behind us. “He’s a handsome enough gentleman, but he’s got a strange way about him, and that secretary of his is downright queer. Don’t get me wrong, he was more than a help last night, but there’s something about him.” She shook her head as she helped me undress. “They raise them funny down in London, that’s for sure.”

  I heard her words, and yet they seemed to come from a great distance. My throat ached, but it was only when Mrs. Simmons guided me into bed that I realized I had been rubbing my hand beneath my jaw, over and over, right where I imagined the cut would come. In my other hand, I still clutched the envelope. I put it on the nightstand.

  “You just rest, Miss,” Mrs. Simmons said, fluffing the pillows behind me. “I’ll bring you something light in a little while. Proper rest is what you need.”

  As soon as she shut the door, however, I was on my feet again. I went to the window, then to the door, as if I could somehow flee everything. I was safe for the moment in my room, but for how long? And what of my father, and the Simmonses? What of Diana? If I were out of reach, would he set his sights on her?

  At last, I managed to calm myself enough to sit down on the edge of the bed and open the envelope once more. Miss Chase’s warning had implied that Sir Edward was perhaps a rake—not an unusual specimen even in our remote corner of the world. But these clippings—! I could not believe them, and yet it seemed that she, at least, thought them to be true. But what person, man or woman, could work for such a monster? Unless she sought to besmirch his character and repulse me utterly—but then why go to such lengths, why find such gruesome material? If there were any truth to them, then her employer was for the gallows, and perhaps herself as well.

  If there were any truth to them...

  I studied them more thoroughly, tucking myself back into the safety of my eiderdown before I focused on the grisly paragraphs. The women had all been new brides; in each case the husband had to be sent for, which meant he had been away—or at least, had pretended to be away so as to escape culpability. In one, the woman had been the daughter of a peer, so the article was longer, describing her recent wedding to “a prosperous merchant, newly arrived,” and the family property they had moved into.

  An estate by the sea, with its own stretch of coastline.

  That there were similarities between us could not be denied. Yet in each case I could see no motive other than money, and what did I have to offer in that regard? Surely Sir Edward knew of our approximate circumstances, if not every detail—my father struggled to hold his tongue at the best of times, and a few pints would have brought out the picture in sum.

  It was then that I heard my father’s voice outside, calling to someone. I hurried to the window and watched as he walked towards the waiting Sir Edward, pulling on his coat and hat as he did so. He had forgotten his sword, I saw with a pang. For a moment, I felt a cold dread that they would go back to the coast, but instead they began walking down the road to the village.

  Still I could not rest. I would have given much to put questions to Miss Chase at that moment—hard questions. If there were anything that connected Sir Edward to these crimes, why was it that she had not gone to the constabulary? Did she think to scare me off? Or perhaps she thought I would go to the constabulary myself, only to be made a fool for such an absurd accusation.

  These were not the limit of my options, however. One of the clippings mentioned both the name of the victim and the village she had resided in, which was fairly close to our own. Surely there must be a relation who could speak for her. Though I did not know how long ago all these deaths were—only one showed the year, seven years ago now; the one close by had no date at all.

  I sat down at my desk and wrote swiftly, barely letting myself think. An inquiry, nothing more. Just an inquiry. Demand proofs, Miss Chase had said. Well, I would do just that, though perhaps not in a way she anticipated. Considering the circumstances, I could hardly expect either herself or Sir Edward to be honest, but a relation of this poor woman might be eager to speak.

  I wrote it out a second time, cleanly, and threw the first into the fire. I sealed the envelope and addressed it to the lady’s family. With that task completed, I felt I could finally rest, if for no other reason than to rally my strength for what lay ahead.

  CHAPTER VI

  Poetry

  LATER THAT DAY, when Mrs. Simmons brought up my tea, I asked her carefully, “If a stranger warned you that you were about to, ah... embark on a bad financial scheme, would you listen to them?”

  “Listen, yes,” she said as she settled the tray on my lap. “But heed? The question I would ask is what do they stand to gain from it?”

  My life, I nearly replied, but instead I nodded.

  “Your father’s not about to do anything rash, is he?” she asked, looking at me searchingly.

  “Hmm? Oh no, no.” I started to wolf down my food, only to remember I was supposed to be ill. I was in no hurry to resume my duties caring for our guest. “Are they well, the gentlemen?”

  “I believe so. They returned a few minutes ago, and now Sir Edward has your father pulling out all sorts of papers.” She frowned at me. “Miss, if there’s something Mister Simmons and I should know—”

  “What kind of papers?” I interrupted.

  “Well, funnily enough, it’s mostly maps. I think your father is trying to show him where the pier used to be.” She sighed and shifted my drapes, filtering the grey afternoon light. “Do you remember much of that time, Miss? It was so different then.”

  At once the memory of my mother filled me, so strong, so overwhelming, as to be almost palpable. “Yes,” I whispered. “Yes, I remember.”

  “To everything there is a season,” Mrs. Simm
ons said piously. But she stopped at my bed and kissed my cap before she left the room, as she had not done since those first lonely years after my mother passed.

  I had no time to dwell on the gesture, however, for no sooner had she left there was a knock on my door and my father peeked in on me. When he saw me sitting upright and taking tea, he smiled. I foolishly smiled back and beckoned him in, only to feel my smile vanish when Sir Edward appeared behind him.

  After my wild imaginings and glimpses, though, he seemed far less intimidating. His smile was kind, his presence appropriately reticent for all that my father ushered him in. He seemed to have lost the looming, commanding aura from the previous evening. It seemed impossible that this man could be the same one who had conjured such frightful visions at our table, much less be guilty of far greater villainy.

  My father gestured him to the chair by my bed and took for himself my desk chair. “You are looking much better,” he said, his voice a little loud. “I’ve been ever so worried, and then Sir Edward suggested that we could visit with you and see for ourselves.”

  “Your father was ready to send for a physician,” Sir Edward put in. “But I told him that no full-blooded Englishwoman would be so undone by a mere dinner party. Tired, certainly, but not truly ill.” Before I could reply to this odd sentiment, he held up a book. “We thought perhaps we might read to you?”

  “Oh! Certainly,” I said, settling into my pillows. With my father in the room, it would be an innocuous way to pass an afternoon—and then they would go to dinner, and that would be one day done with. Tomorrow I could perhaps extend my illness, and thereafter a reply to my letter might come... thought what might happen then, I didn’t want to think on.