by Amy Cross
"Good morning, Madame," says Margaret as she enters the room. "I trust you slept well."
I get out of bed as Margaret gets my clothes ready. "No," I say, feeling a little absent-minded. "I had terrible dreams again."
"I do hope those stop soon, Madame," says Margaret as she helps me dress. "Nightmares can be awfully vivid."
"They can," I say as my dress is fastened. "Or maybe the nightmares are real, and this life is the dream."
Margaret doesn't reply. Such ideas are clearly above her. She's a good servant, but not a particularly intelligent woman and I wouldn't expect her to understand my torment beyond the issuance of a few platitudes and niceties. I wish I had someone to talk to properly, but there is no-one. Since my dear mother died last summer, I have been without a true companion.
After breakfast, Edward and I set off on the last leg of our journey. We are traveling to his family's ancestral house, which Edward hopes to one day turn into our home. There is the unfortunate matter of his uncle Dunstable, who lives in the house and who must die before it can become ours, but Edward wants me to see the place and cast a womanly eye over the possibilities. As his wife, I will of course obey. Edward is a good man and a good husband, and my father - whose opinion I greatly value - loves him as if he were his own son. If only Edward could save me from the nightmares.
It takes us two hours to make the last leg of our journey. Our carriage winds its way along small country roads, and I'm overcome with the feeling that this house must be out in the middle of nowhere and, consequently, a little difficult for anyone to visit. When throwing parties, we will have to consider the needs of those who would wish to join us, and we will perhaps have to accommodate them a little more keenly.
"There it is," says Edward, looking out the window. "Gabriel Hall, my family home."
I follow his gaze and see the most wonderfully large mansion. It is tall and wide, with huge windows and the most beautiful green gardens. My heart instantly falls for the place, seeing the potential to turn this into a true home and also a social marvel. But as the carriage comes to a halt outside, and as Edward helps me down and I look up at the house, I am slowly filled with the most immovable sense of dread.
"Evangeline," Edward says, clearly sensing my concern. "Is something the matter?"
I stare straight ahead. This is the house from my nightmares. The exact house, down to every detail. It exists, and it has found me. And if it is real, then what other horrors might be waiting inside?
Chapter One
As Edward directs the footmen in unpacking our belongings, I find myself left alone to explore Gabriel Hall. I move cautiously from room to room. The house has such a strong presence, I feel as if it is watching me. Although Edward's uncle Dunstable lives here, the place seems dusty and undisturbed, as if no-one has been here for some time. Yet there are signs of life, as if the occupants did not think to properly pack up before they departed.
In many ways, it feels wrong to be here. How can a house that has existed for months in my dreams, suddenly become a reality in the English countryside? It is as if someone reached into my mind, pulled out the house and set it here. Yet Gabriel Hall has been around for many years, and was designed long before I was born. So how is it that I recognize every room? How is it that I have such vivid memories of being here, albeit in my dreams? And if the house is real, then might not the other elements of my dream also be real? Are Sophie and Patrick alive? The thought of meeting them in the flesh makes my blood run cold.
Stepping into the dining room, I immediately recognize every detail. This is not merely like the house in my dreams; it is the exact same house, with the same paintings on the walls and the same carpets. This is the exact room in which, last night, I dreamed of Sophie smashing the window to get away from Patrick. Walking over to that particular window, I lean close and look at the glass. It is, of course, unbroken. Those things in my dream did not actually happen. And yet everything feels so vivid. Were my dreams a form of premonition? Or am I just losing my mind? My mother went mad in her later years; perhaps this mental instability is something that I have inherited?
"I have no idea where the old fool's got to," says Edward, entering the room. He seems frustrated, though not surprised. He has often told me that Dunstable is unpredictable and unreliable, so I presume this absence is just the latest act in a long line of poor etiquette.
Startled, I turn to Edward and for a moment - just a moment - I almost expect to see not my dear husband but, instead, Patrick's looming presence. "Did he not know that we were coming?" I ask, my heart racing.
"I sent word," Edward replies, walking over to join me at the window. "He didn't respond, but Dunstable never does. I was quite sure he'd be here, though. It's not as if the old fool has anywhere else to go. Nobody will spend any time with him; they've all tired of his buffoonery. But there's no sign of him, or of his servants."
"Did he have many servants?" I ask.
"With a house this large?" Edward replies. "Certainly. More than he could afford. But they all seem to have gone off somewhere."
I nod politely. "Edward, perhaps we should leave," I say. "If your uncle isn't here, perhaps it would be impolite to just take up residence in his home, however temporarily. Perhaps we can come back another time -"
"Nonsense," Edward says somewhat brusquely. "We're here now. Dunstable will show up sooner or later. And it's my family's home. We're perfectly entitled to be here. Dunstable is little more than a glorified lodger, given permission to live out his days here by my poor, loyal father." He pauses. "As I've said before, Evangeline, I will not mourn the day when Dunstable passes and the house is finally mine. Perhaps. if we are lucky, his absence is due to an unfortunate accident, and we shall not have to go through the unpleasant experience of actually spending time with him."
"You must not wish him dead," I say, a little shocked that Edward would say such a thing.
"You haven't met him," Edward replies, smiling. He takes a deep breath. "No, my dear, we shall stay here for a week, as planned. I want you to get to know the place. After all, it will be our home one day."
"Will it?" I ask, but I immediately realize that I should sound more enthused. "Yes," I say. "Of course it will." I smile, hoping that Edward believes it to be a genuine show of happiness.
He smiles. "Think, Evangeline Think of this place when it is ours. We have the money to make it grand again. And you have a strong feminine eye, so you can ensure that people will flock to marvel at Gabriel Hall for parties, rather than to gawp at the state into which it has fallen." He looks across the room, and there's an unmistakable hint of sadness in his eyes. "Dunstable has a lot to answer for. Look at the state in which he has left this place. Where is that blasted old fool?"
"It's hardly a ruin," I say. "It just needs a little work here and there."
"You know," Edward says, staring at me, "when we first arrived, you went quite pale. You looked like you'd seen a ghost. Is everything alright?"
"Of course", I say. "I was just overcome by the magnificence of the house."
He laughs. "Well, I'm not surprised. It's a marvelous place, or it will be when we get old Dunstable out. Can't you see us being happy here, Evangeline? Can't you see us raising children and throwing the most wonderful parties?"
I nod. "Of course," I say, looking nervously around the room. Just a few hours ago, in my dreams, this room was burning. Now it seems so peaceful and calm. I must try not to be too silly about the whole thing. Dreams are dreams; they are fanciful little things that have no impact upon the real world. "It's really the most exquisite place," I continue, hoping to persuade Edward that I have no concerns. "It requires a great deal of work, but I am no coward when it comes to such an endeavor. We will have to make changes, of course."
Edward smiles. "I will leave those matters in your capable hands," he says. "I bow to a woman's touch. For now, if you will excuse me, I must go and take another look for Dunstable. He must have left a note or some other indicato
r of his whereabouts. The man is the most frustrating fool I have ever met. I need to speak to him on numerous matters of urgency, yet he and his servants appear to have run off without a care in the world."
"Sir!" calls out a voice from the doorway. We turn to find that Edward's servant Lively has entered the room. "I have inspected the kitchen," he says, "and it is in quite a state of disrepair. It will take some time to have it up and running, but there are few supplies. For dinner, we shall have to make do with what we brought with us, and I shall send a boy to the nearest town immediately."
"How far is the nearest town?" I ask.
"Seventeen miles away," Lively says.
"Then we are indeed far away from civilization," I say, feeling extremely uneasy. As well as Edward and myself, we have three servants; hardly sufficient to keep a house like this running.
"Dunstable will be here soon enough," Edward says. "The crazy old man doesn't have the means to be away from Gabriel Hall for long, unless his servants have all abandoned him and he's passed out in some ditch with a bottle in his hand. In which case, we have only the inconvenience of a funeral to overcome." He smiles. "An inconvenience that I would gladly withstand if it meant getting rid of him."
He turns and walks out of the room, with Lively following, and I am left alone by the window. My own servant, Margaret, will be upstairs unpacking, and I do not wish to disturb her, yet I feel so incredibly alone here, and uneasy. There is something about Gabriel Hall that troubles me; indeed, it is as if the house has been haunting me since before I even set foot here. Nevertheless, I am not a silly or stupid woman, and I will not let such thoughts overcome me. The house is perfectly safe. It is just a house. It can't hurt anyone.
I turn to leave the room, but at that moment something catches my eye. On the floor, almost hidden behind a curtain, there is a small black object. I step over to take a look. It appears to be a small lump of coal, or a pebble. Leaning down and picking it up, I'm shocked to find that it's wet, but as I turn it over in my hand I realize that the moisture is not water but blood. I drop the pebble and stare at the red stain on my hand. What is this house, really? And what kind of things have been happening here?
Chapter Two
Dinner is a meager affair, but necessarily so since the house is ill-stocked with supplies. Lively assures us once again that a boy has already been dispatched to the nearest town and that tomorrow he will return with all that we need in order to have a fine meal. Both Edward and myself understand that Lively could do no more; he is a good servant, and it is something of a miracle that we have food this evening at all. With Lively here, I feel somewhat safer than might otherwise have been the case.
As the evening progresses, I find myself becoming a little more comfortable at Gabriel Hall. The place is by no means a disgrace: it is a noble building, as befits a family of Edward's standing. There are many large and airy rooms, with a great deal of potential for hosting engagements. Some care and attention is needed to the paintwork in a number of areas, and the decoration - which has been arranged by Edward's uncle Dunstable - is very much lacking in both style and grace. But these are cosmetic issues, and the house itself seems sturdy and extremely promising. I believe I can do something with Gabriel Hall, and that it can become a highlight of the surrounding area. All that I require are patience and support from my husband.
Yet as it becomes dark outside, and the candles within cast long shadows, I find my old fears returning. As shadows build in the corners of the rooms, and the sky outside turns from blue to gray, it is as if the house itself is changing its mood. There is an eerie coldness about the rooms, and the large rooms suddenly seem inordinately empty, as if they are waiting to be filled. I find the place starting more and more to resemble the house of my nightmares, and as I pass from one room to another I recognize specific places where, in my dreams, I saw Patrick and Sophie locked in their confrontation. I tell myself over and over again that I must not be so silly, but it is difficult to remain strong when confronted so boldly by the stuff of nightmares.
Edward is busy checking the state of the building, which means that he is off with Lively as they try to determine whether Dunstable's poor stewardship has caused long-lasting damage. I therefore find myself spending the evening with Margaret, forcing her to stay with me. I can tell that she finds this unusual and awkward, but I simply do not wish to be alone in this house.
Coming from such different backgrounds, Margaret and I of course have very little to discuss. She doesn't understand my world at all, and I understand hers only too well. She is a poor, simple woman with no complex ideas or sophisticated emotions. I am tempted to inquire as to her opinions on a range of subjects, including art and politics, but I refrain; it would be cruel to torment her by trying to get her to think of such things. For all I know, her brain might overheat and she might suffer permanent injury. Eventually, however, our conversation comes around to the matter of the house.
"Tell me what you think of Gabriel Hall," I say, as she and I sit by a fire in the drawing room. "Don't hold back. I want to hear your true views. I won't be angry, and I won't tell my husband."
I can immediately tell from Margaret's expression that her views of Gabriel Hall are not entirely positive. She still seems nervous, though, as if she fears retribution if she makes a negative comment. This is understandable: she knows her place, and she does not want to speak out of turn.
"Please, Margaret," I say, "I would like to hear your views. Nothing you say will leave this room."
"It's a marvelous house, Madame," Margaret says politely.
"But?" I ask.
She opens her mouth to answer, but it seems she cannot. All her life, she has been trained to keep her lowly opinions to herself - with good reason - and now she is struggling to overcome that training and speak freely.
"Go on," I say.
"Some houses have a character to them, Madame," she says eventually, proving to be more diplomatic than I would ever have guessed. "Some houses are different to other houses." She looks down at her feet. "I'm sorry, Madame."
"Don't be sorry," I say. "Tell me, has anything specific happened since we arrived that makes you wary of the house?"
"No, Madame," she says, still looking at her feet.
"Have you ever had a dream about the house?" I ask.
"No, Madame," she says, and then she looks up at me. "Have you, Madame?" she asks, with a curious tone in her voice that suggests she already knows the answer.
"Yes," I say. "Before we arrived. Long before I even knew that Gabriel Hall existed, I came here in my dreams. You must not tell anyone that I told you this, of course."
"Of course, Madame."
"Frightful dreams," I continue, "filled with frightful people and terrible events." I take a deep breath. "Last night, I dreamed that the place was burning." I look around the room. "I feel almost as if my dreams became stronger as we traveled closer to the house. I fear what I might dream tonight, now that we are actually here."
"Are there people in your dreams, Madame?" she asks.
I pause, unsure as to whether I am revealing too much to this lowly woman. "Yes," I say eventually, "as a matter of fact, there are. Strange lunatics. I have no idea how I dreamed them up. I must have quite the imagination, for they are frightful creatures, the likes of which I have never encountered in real life."
"If you don't mind me saying," Margaret says timidly, "I have noticed, Madame, that you seem troubled in the mornings, and I had guessed that perhaps your dreams are troubling you."
I smile. Edward never notices such things. "Is it possible," I ask, "that dreams can foretell the future? Or that they can resurrect the past? Is it possible that dreams can reflect reality in some subconscious manner?" I pause. "Or that... other people, people from another life entirely, can somehow become projected into one's dreams in a manner that seems to make no sense at all, yet which provokes the most terrible nightmares?"
"I don't know, Madame," Margaret says.
&
nbsp; "I hope not," I reply. "I would hate to think that the creatures from my dreams are in any way real."
"I'm sure they're not," Margaret says, although I can tell from her tone of voice and from the look on her face that she doesn't necessarily believe this. Margaret is a simple woman, and for that reason she is superstitious. She probably believes in the existence of all manner of ghosts and fairies. Myself, I am extremely intelligent and therefore I don't believe in any such thing, although my dreams of Gabriel Hall have certainly instilled a certain caution in my character.
"There you are!" says Edward, entering the room.
Margaret immediately gets up. "I'll prepare the bedroom," she says, looking down as she hurries out of the room. She knows her place, and I have trained her well.
"Were you talking to her?" Edward asks, watching incredulously as Margaret leaves.
"Just some light conversation," I say, smiling as Edward comes over to my chair.
"And she was capable of it?" he asks.
"Quite," I say. "She's smarter than she looks."
"She'd have to be," Edward replies, laughing. "She has quite a feeble face. I certainly wouldn't expect to get any interesting conversation from her, but if you wish to entertain yourself with such endeavors, I wish you the best of luck. Now, I feel it is time to get to bed. Lively and I have discovered plenty of work that needs to be done. If old Dunstable doesn't appear tomorrow, I shall have to assume that he is permanently gone. We might get our hands on Gabriel Hall sooner than we expected."
"That would be nice," I say, although the sentiment is a lie and I actually feel rather nauseous at the prospect of having to spend another minute in this place. To have a building construct itself in your nightmares, and then to come to that building in real life, is an extremely strange sensation, the likes of which I have never before encountered, and the idea of spending a night here is almost impossible to contemplate, yet I understand that I have no choice. This is a house in which I will likely spend a considerable part of the rest of my life, and I simply must overcome my irrational fears.
