The North Sea House: a gothic romance

by Camille Oster

  "Perhaps a cordial for you, cousin?" Archie said. "As you do not indulge. Or a sherry perhaps."

  "A cordial is fine," Clarissa said sharply.

  In fact, this woman did remind Vivienne somewhat of Miss Trubright. The severe hair and the aversion to a tipple.

  "It is so strange to be in this room and dear Cordelia not be here," Clarissa said, looking around the space, and a slight frown as she took in Sophie with her pink, silk skirt, standing by the fire and engaging Brynnell in conversation, or trying to. Sophie spoke and he listened. Her tinkling laugh meandered across the space.

  "Yes, her passing was a shock to the whole family," Archie said. "Very sad."

  "You barely even knew her." There was accusation in Clarissa's voice.

  "We met on several occasions. She was my father's aunt."

  Jenkins arrived and Archie informed him to bring cordial for the recently arrived guests.

  "Where did you just arrive from?" Vivienne asked as Archie spoke to Jenkins about arrangements for the new guests.

  "Thornby. It is a small village," Clarissa said. "Gabriel, my husband, is the parson."

  "Oh, how lovely," Vivienne said with expected politeness.

  "The village will struggle without us, but we felt it was imperative to come welcome my cousin to Cordelia's house." Clarissa smiled and took a sip of the cordial Jenkins gave her. "My Mr. Bollingworth is the very heart of the village."

  Looking away, Clarissa took another sip, her gaze turning disapprovingly again as she considered Sophie. The conversation had drifted to an end, and Vivienne noted that Sophie showed absolutely no interest in return.

  Putting down her glass, she rose and Gabriel followed suit. "I must rest before supper. It's been such a long, arduous journey. Please excuse me."

  "Of course," Vivienne said.

  Sitting down again, Gabriel seemed a little lost without her. His smile was uncomfortable as he noticed Vivienne's attention.

  "Have you been here before?"

  "Yes, lots of times. We've spent a great deal of time here, with Miss Trubright."

  "It is my first time seeing the sea," Vivienne said and received an uncomfortable smile and nod in return. Gabriel stood and walked over to where Lewis and Horace stood. It was a little rude, but he seemed not to be aware of it.

  "I might go freshen up too," Vivienne said, but no one was particularly listening. She left the salon and walked into the large hall and up the staircase.

  The wind howled somewhere down the hall, as if it clawed at the very walls like the beast from her dreams, seeking the people inside. The unease of being shaken awake in this hall just last night returned. Everything about that episode felt uneasy. Stroking her hand along her bare neck, she shook the feeling off. It had just been a case of sleepwalking. It wasn't that usual really—even the fact that she had unlocked her door in the process.

  Her room was quiet and calm, a little chilly as the evening fire hadn't been lit yet. Through the window outside, she saw the sea and its constant beating along the cliffs below. An endless battle they were merely spectators of. But with the awe of the sea's power, there was also something comforting about its consistency, it's constant breath in and out.

  She couldn't imagine being a sailor and being out there in the distance, completely at the sea's mercy. Did God have a place out there or was it simply the purview of the forceful and unthinking sea? Because next to it, she felt tiny and insignificant. Perhaps that was a question for Mr. Bollingworth.

  Truthfully, she didn't quite know what to make of the new visitors. They had an agenda for coming, of that she was sure. Clarissa Bollingworth didn't like her cousin. The tightness around her mouth when he spoke spelled of her dislike. And seemingly, she was the driving force within their marriage.

  Turning away from the window, she went to the bed and lay down for a while, pulling the topmost blanket over her. Sleep was unlikely, but she could rest for a while away from the constant attention required downstairs.

  *

  Everyone was eager for supper by the time it came around. They waited in the salon, all hungry from the day's excursion. It made the party slightly tense and the conversation stilted.

  Lewis was drinking spirits and his eyes were glassy already. Hopefully taking in some food would benefit him. Horace was sitting away from the main group, chatting with Mrs. Dartmoor, whom Vivienne hadn't seen all day. She hadn't come down as they'd returned to the house.

  Sophie was the only one making an effort to be lively and cordial, while Mrs. Bollingworth and her husband sat quietly and waited.

  "Supper is ready to be served," Jenkins said as he appeared at the door.

  "About time, I'm bloody famished," Lewis stated as he rose, leading the way. "I'm ready to tear in like a farmhand at harvesting time."

  "Somehow I doubt you've ever done that degree of exertion," Sophie said.

  "What does exertion have to do with it?" Lewis challenged.

  Archie took his seat at the end of the table, and Clarissa decided to take the seat at the other end of the table underneath the portrait of Miss Trubright, which was definitely a statement, but Vivienne wasn't sure which kind.

  Her actions were noted, but no one felt it could be addressed. Mrs. Bollingworth apparently felt she had the right to claim the seat signifying a higher status than the others at the table. Perhaps because she was family, but she was still a guest at Archie's table.

  Neither was Jenkins in a position to challenge and served the soup course right after serving Archie.

  "It's such a delight to have more visitors," Sophie said, finally breaking the silence that had descended on the table. "How long are you intending on staying?" Her voice was light, but it wasn't mere conversation she was making. It was a guarded barb on Archie's behalf, Vivienne suspected. Sophie might pick her friends to pieces as she saw fit, but as an external threat had come in, she was circling the wagons.

  "We are not sure, are we, my love?" Mrs. Bollingworth said, turning her attention to her husband, who seemed unable to respond, because it was his wife who made such decisions. "It is simply so sad to be here without dear Cordelia."

  "I understand you miss her," Archie said. "You were very close, I recall. As such a dear friend—"

  "More like a daughter," Clarissa added.

  "—I would like to gift you her portrait." His eyes traveled to the large portrait of the woman in question behind her.

  "No, I couldn't possibly," Clarissa replied. "It goes with the house, of course. It was the house she wished to gift to me, but you insisted on taking it."

  A silence descended around the table.

  "I have inherited it by right."

  "An entailment she could not combat, but make no mistake, it was not her wish."

  Around the table, the gathered party's gaze went between the cousins. Archie's mouth was drawn tight, and Clarissa had sheer determination on her face.

  "The entailment has stood for a long time. Practically a constitution of the house."

  "What do you know of this house?" Clarissa challenged. "Nothing."

  Archie's lips pressed together and released, and he took his glass of wine and sipped. Even Jenkins was tensely watching the exchange. "A house I will get to know intimately as it is now mine." It was a crude statement, but he'd been driven into a corner. Did Mrs. Bollingworth expect that he would hand the estate over to her based on her claims her aunt wanted it to go to her. "And clearly Miss Trubright could not, or saw no real reason, to challenge the entailment."

  Clarissa's lips drew together in a tight line. "Well, do not get too comfortable, cousin. This house is not really yours. It belongs to another part of the family entirely. Aunt Cordelia was simply a custodian of the house. It could well be that your claim on it slips like sand through your fingers."

  "I have no idea what you are referring to," Archie said tersely, clearly at the end of his tolerance with his cousin. This was incredibly rude, challenging him like this—publicly, but Vivienne
suspected that had been Clarissa's intent. Perhaps to shame him into handing over the estate. It appeared she had miscalculated. There would be little purchase for her claim amongst his friends.

  "The true heir for this place is someone else entirely. Jonathan Fitzgerald. Oh, were you not aware, cousin?"

  The upward tilt of his head suggested not.

  "The minute he returns, your claim simply melts away. So don't get too comfortable. It was the reason dear Aunt Cordelia wanted the house to go to me, because, as I said, we are merely custodians."

  "And who is this man?" Sophie challenged.

  "Miss Trubright's young cousin, of course. This has been the estate of the Fitzgerald family for centuries. Come now, cousin, don't pretend you didn't know."

  "Jonathan Fitzgerald disappeared thirty years ago." So Archie clearly knew of this man.

  "Bright young man, from what I hear. He would be in his fifties now."

  "Thirty years and not a peep. I doubt he will make an appearance now. Declared dead twenty-three years ago. A notation was on the deed for the estate. But I expect that you pray for his return."

  "As Aunt Cordelia did, for all of her life."

  "I will ensure to include him in my prayers," Archie said wryly and took another sip.

  This had been the most extraordinary interaction. Vivienne had never seen the like. This was the basis of why Clarissa felt the house should go to herself and her husband, because of an heir that disappeared over thirty years ago. It truly was absurd. It felt a little as though Clarissa was grasping at straws, but by the look of her, she clearly believed her own assertion. And that the power of her belief would sway Archie to give up the house, and his future prospects.

  "Astonishing," Lewis said. "Supper and a show."

  "Be quiet, Lewis," Sophie chided him.

  Chapter 9

  THE DAY WAS DULL and gray outside when Vivienne looked out across the sea. It was calm, opposing the dramatics at supper the night before. None had been in the mood to stay after, so most, as far as she had seen, had retired relatively early. It had been the most extraordinary scene and it was still jarring to think about it.

  And a missing heir. It had been hard to determine how much Archie had known about this. But then thirty years had passed. After thirty years, was it conceivable someone returning? If someone had wanted to be missing for thirty years, would they suddenly change their mind and return? But it could happen. It could be that they'd had such a falling out that they refused to return until that person they quarreled with had died. Unlikely, but it could happen.

  It was poor reason to suggest that Archie should hand the estate over to Clarissa just because she wanted him to.

  Poor Archie to have this sour his joy at receiving this fortune. Clarissa really should keep her bitterness to herself. And to confront him so publicly was bad form.

  The previous evening was likely to dampen the spirits of the whole party today, and it was John's birthday. He deserved better than dispirited company. It was also a reason to overcome the gloom that had descended with Clarissa's arrival. Unfortunately, she didn't seem to know how long she was staying, which suggested she had no immediate plans to return home. Hopefully she didn't think she could have her way by making Archie uncomfortable. This was his house now. He could ask her to leave, which would be shocking and even scandalous, but if she insisted on behaving atrociously, he might have to.

  Shaking those thoughts out of her mind, she decided to dress and go in search of the kitchen. A celebration needed to be planned. Nothing fancy, but Archie seemed incapable of planning much of anything, so Vivienne was going to take the initiative and direct the staff.

  In a way she felt a little guilty placing more on the shoulders of the meager staff. Perhaps she needed to have words with Archie about appropriate staffing levels for any future house parties. Clarissa and her husband joining them couldn't help.

  With her shawl wrapped around her shoulders, Vivienne left her room. There was no one in sight and the house was quiet. The ticking of a clock was the only thing she heard when she reached the main entranceway and the staircase leading downstairs. It really was a fine house. For a moment, she admired the carving of the wood, and those ancient doors.

  By the entrance to the dining room, she heard the quiet murmur of voices, and found Mrs. Dartmoor, Horace and Brynnell inside, calmly having their breakfast.

  "Good morning, Miss Harcourt," Horace said as he saw her.

  "Morning," she said to all and walked over to the side table, where breakfast sat on silver service trays. Hardboiled eggs and kippers, sausages, ham and cheese. A perfectly serviceable breakfast.

  "Have you any plans for today?" Mrs. Dartmoor asked as Vivienne sat down and spread her linen serviette across her lap.

  "Well, it is John's birthday, so I am hoping to organize a small celebration."

  "An excellent idea," Horace added. "What about you, Brynnell?"

  "I plan to ride a little today," he said and didn't elaborate further.

  "Excellent. I am going to start work on a garden design for Archie," Horace offered. "While limited, there are some things he could do. Better than just barren land and the odd bush here and there."

  "That would be wonderful," Mrs. Dartmoor said. “A garden does lift the spirits.”

  "It will perhaps not be a garden in the traditional sense, because most blooms you would expect in an English garden would never survive in this environment."

  "Few English roses would want to survive in this environment," Sophie said as she walked into the room and over to the serving table. "Only someone like her would survive in this environment," she continued, indicating toward the portrait of Miss Trubright. "No one in their right mind would want to live here. But sending Miss Trubright off with Mrs. Bollingworth when she goes, I thought was an inspired idea by Archie. To where she will likely be fully appreciated."

  Vivienne shifted in her seat. "I suspect the painting will be quite large for the Bollingworth house. Not every house can accommodate a painting of that size."

  "Nonsense," Sophie said. "I'm sure they have some wall somewhere they can put her on since they are so aggrieved with her loss. They can then see her every day."

  "See who every day?" Mrs. Bollingworth asked from the door.

  "Miss Trubright," Sophie said with a sweet smile. "I was just saying it was such a generous offer to gift you the painting as you were so close to her."

  Seemingly, Mrs. Bollingworth was not impressed and her mouth was thin as a line. It was not the painting she wanted, but the house it was hung in.

  "These kippers are delightful," Vivienne said, trying to break the tension in the room. "I wonder if they are local."

  "Most likely," Horace said. "There would be schools of herring out there, probably not far offshore. Clupea harengus is, of course, it's Latin name."

  "Yes, thank you," Sophie said sharply.

  "I might..." Vivienne started, but realized that with the tension in the room, no one was listening. So she walked away, finding Jenkins standing to attention by the door. "Where is the kitchen?"

  "Through the door and down the stairs. Is there something I can help you with?"

  For a moment, she considered the questions, but no, there wasn't really anything he could help with. "Not at this time," she said, veering toward the kitchen and walking down the steps.

  The downstairs was painted with a lurid shade of green and Vivienne walked in to a sight where a scullery maid was washing dishes. The scent of frying fish filled the room, where Mrs. Sims stood by a large table covered in flour, kneading dough. They both stopped and looked over at the unexpected intruder.

  "I know it's rather inconvenient with everything that needs doing, but it's my brother's birthday, you see," Vivienne said. The scullery maid returned to her dishes.

  "And you'll be wanting me to bake a cake," Mrs. Sims stated.

  "If it isn't too much trouble."

  "I suppose it will replace the scones I was going t
o make for afternoon tea. We've got some dried currents in the stores."

  "Wonderful," Vivienne said and knew they were waiting on her to leave—tolerated, but not strictly welcome in their domain. "Have you worked here quite long, Mrs. Sims?"

  "Quite a few years."

  "Mrs. Bollingworth told us last night about the heir that went missing."

  "So I heard." Mr. Jenkins must have mentioned the development. Some assumed that servants were utterly clueless about what went on in a house, but they knew everything. Seemed to be true here as well.

  "Did you know of him?"

  "I wasn't working here then," she replied and Vivienne was disappointed. "But I had seen him a time or two. He used to come to the village. Handsome man. Young Mr. Fitzgerald. The girls in the village all swooned over him, but he paid them no heed."

  "What happened to him?"

  "No one knows. Just up and disappeared one day."

  "And that wasn't seen as suspicious? People don't just up and leave."

  "Well, there were circumstances. A love affair, from what I hear. It went wrong. With a lady that lived in the district and was betrothed to someone else. Rumor had it there were some dramatics at a house party and not but a day or two after this dramatic end to this love affair, he disappeared. Folk down south said they saw him taking himself on a ship leaving for Holland."

  "Oh," Vivienne said, frowning as she listened. Thirty years was a long time to leave for a broken heart. For what reason could he choose to be gone for so long, to turn his back on his estate and legacy. Something unfortunate could, of course, have happened to him, or else he'd found some life he preferred to this one. According to Sophie, that wouldn't be difficult. Not everyone could appreciate a life in such a cold and isolated place. "How curious."

  "Others say he threw himself off the cliffs to never have been discovered by anyone and that he haunts the coast along here, still looking for his lady love."

  "What happened to her?"

  "I believe she married her intended."

  The scullery maid turned around, and with her light piping voice said, "I heard she died in childbirth just a few years later."