The North Sea House: a gothic romance

by Camille Oster

  Vivienne rolled her eyes at the notion. They were being jested about, but it wasn't ill-natured. Sophie didn't appear to like it, though. All this Vivienne could see unfolding in front of her eyes, how she was growing as a competitor in Sophie's eyes. But they weren't competing, not really. One did not compete for friendships. A friendship with one did not exclude another, but Sophie saw no middle ground. It was becoming an issue in their own friendship and Vivienne had no idea how to fix it. Retreating completely wasn't a reasonable way to conduct a friendship and it would only make Sophie disrespect her more.

  Maybe Brynnell was right in that it was hard to deal with other people's expectations. This wasn't really something Vivienne had faced before, or maybe Sophie was right in her accusation that Vivienne just hadn't noticed before.

  "The innocent are always the happiest people," Horace added. He'd been so quiet, Vivienne had almost forgotten he was there. "Children are always happy, aren't they? Laughing and joking. The world is a wonderful place to children."

  "As it should be for all of us," Archie added. Another silence fell, because all knew it wasn't. The innocence of children fell away to greed, worry and concerns about where one stood in society. As a child, one was simply loved and that was all that mattered.

  "Well, if you think me that innocent, you will surely be disappointed," Vivienne said.

  "Some cannot tell the difference between perception and reality," Sophie stated. There seemed to be a barb directed at her with the statement, but she couldn't entirely figure out what Sophie meant by it. Was she implying that Vivienne's innocence was an artifice, put on to fool people? It was quite unjust if that was what she was implying. By the look of the people around her, it didn't seem they were leveling such accusations at her—except perhaps Sophie, but that was an issue of competition.

  "I find people perceive in others what they are themselves," Mrs. Dartmoor said. That could very much be interpreted as a jab at Sophie. "If we are light and jovial, we see that in other people. Others, in turn, perceive the lightness and it spreads."

  "As does the dark," Brynnell said.

  "I find gloomy places affect me more than people," Sophie stated. "It's like the house has absorbed the coldness of the surroundings and the people that were in it."

  "It is just a house," Archie said. "Mrs. Dartmoor is right. Our own perceptions determine how we see it."

  Vivienne had to agree, though. There was something gloomy and uncomfortable about the house, but she didn't want to say so to Archie, whose good fortune meant he now owned this house. Maybe both Sophie and Mrs. Dartmoor were right in that their own jovial behavior would eventually be absorbed by the house and chase the gloominess away.

  It was difficult to compete with the stern depiction of Miss Trubright looking down on them. Perhaps it was best that the portrait left with the Bollingworths when they went.

  Chapter 16

  VIVIENNE'S DISTURBING HABIT of sleepwalking was effectively solved by asking John to lock her in and take the key with him. It had some inherent risks in case there was a fire or some other disturbance that would force her to leave the room, but she trusted implicitly that John would come get her if something happened.

  She'd slept like the dead. Had not woken once, which was remarkable considering how bad the weather was. The villagers had been right when they'd expected bad weather was coming. It was here. The wind roared outside and the waves pounded like thunder. Even from inside the room, she could hear them.

  The room was cold and she felt currents from drafts as she got out of bed and moved to the window. It was dark outside, the sun having little chance of fighting through. The sea was white and foamy, undulating constantly.

  It was curious that they were safe in this house when the seething sea was so very close. The windows hammered against their fastening and she didn't dare open it in case they got ripped off their hinges by the wind. A gust slammed into the window and for a moment, she feared the glass would shatter.

  Moving away, she walked barefooted to the fireplace and went about lighting it. It was a task the servants performed in the morning at home, but they were so short staffed here, there was no one to consistently tend the fires.

  It took a while for heat to build up, so Vivienne returned to the bed and sat there for a while, simply listening to the pounding waves that smashed into the cliffs. At one point, she even suspected that spray from the sea hit her window.

  A small knock sounded on her door. "Viv?" John whispered.

  "Come in."

  The lock clicked over and he quickly entered. "What a day. I think we'll have to spend the whole day in the salon. The wind is absolutely howling. The villagers were right. And they knew from the level of the tide. Isn't that amazing?"

  "I suppose you get to know such things when you live here," she said.

  "Alright. I will leave you to rise and I'll see you down at breakfast." Reaching over, he left the key on the fireplace mantle. "I take it you did no wandering last night. It is a disturbing development. We were convinced you had left such things behind."

  "And I have the most disturbing dreams." And Miss Trubright seemed to be the focus of them, because she was there in each one. Truly, she hoped that portrait would be taken down and sent from the house soon.

  "Maybe this place doesn't agree with you," John suggested.

  "Perhaps," Vivienne said with a frown, remembering the conversation from the previous night, where Sophie had suggested the house had absorbed the gloominess of the people who had lived there. In her dreams, Miss Trubright was a truly gloomy person, even frightening, but that could all be her mind painting the woman that way, based on the portrait in the dining room.

  In fact, Vivienne knew very little about the woman other than her name, and how she presented herself in that portrait.

  But then Mrs. Bollingworth despised this house too, saying something had always been wrong with it. What had she meant? She'd refused to elaborate.

  "What's the matter?" John asked. "You look so concerned."

  "Nothing," Vivienne said and forced a smile.

  "Well, there is nothing we can do with this storm. We simply have to sit it out and try to enjoy ourselves as much as possible."

  "You are right, of course. I will be down in a minute."

  Vivienne waited until John left before she got up and dressed. It seemed even darker than before outside, almost as if dusk had already come and was pressing out the light. She didn’t like it.

  The corridor outside her room was utterly dark, the only light from a candle having been placed on a side table. The main hall was dark too, and she had an odd recollection of the main doors being open to endless nothingness.

  Looking back, she almost feared seeing that nothingness now. There was a deep fear of it inside her, but she didn’t understand what it represented.

  But there was nothing usual behind her. Just a corridor. Continuing to walk, she shook off the uneasy feeling and made her way to the dining room. Horace, Mrs. Dartmoor, Archie and John were there, having their breakfast. Sophie and Lewis were normally late risers, as was Mr Bollingworth, lately having been imbibing more than he normally was allowed to, Vivienne guessed. Brynnell was also absent, which was more unusual.

  At the sideboard, she placed a kipper and some bread on her plate and took her seat at the table. Candles were placed down the length of it.

  "We can hardly see our feet in front of us today," Archie said. "One hell of a storm. Bryn is crazy for having gone out there."

  "He's gone out?" Vivienne asked.

  "Went out early this morning."

  Vivienne frowned. "In this weather?"

  "I think he wanted to see the storm. We have perfectly good windows. Honestly I think he just tires of our company and prefers wandering around in a storm than to spend another moment with us."

  "I hope he's alright," Vivienne said.

  "He's survived us conquering most of the Afghan cities, so I'm sure he can face down a storm," Arch
ie said dismissively.

  Mrs. Dartmoor excused herself and left the dining room without looking back. Vivienne had learnt that her late husband had been a soldier, too. It could be that the discussion of such things upset her. Now she was torn about whether to go after her and see that she was alright, but also concerned about giving her the privacy she wanted. In the end, she decided to give Mrs. Dartmoor a little space and then would go seek her out after some time had passed.

  The dining room remained silent as they finished eating, until a yell was hard. Archie was first out of his seat. They were all drawn from their seats as screaming continued, finding Archie in the main hall, staring at Mrs. Bollingworth on her knees halfway up the stairs.

  "Someone pushed me," she said, her voice high with hysteria. "They pushed me down the stairs. I could have broken my neck."

  "Are you alright, Mrs. Bollingworth?" Archie asked, running up the stairs.

  "Where's Gabriel?" she demanded, not letting Archie take her hand.

  "He's still in one of the guest rooms, I believe," John said. "Would you like me to go get him?"

  "Of course I want you to go get him!" she said harshly. "Someone just tried to kill me."

  "I'm sure that's not the case," Archie said.

  "Are you telling me my senses are deceiving me? That I didn't just fall down the stairs and scrape my knees raw?"

  Archie didn't reply to her harsh assertion, and succeeded in leading her down the stairs.

  "Gabriel!" she demanded, but her husband was probably not even dressed yet.

  "I'll have Mr. Jenkins bring some tea," Mrs. Dartmoor said and disappeared in search of the man.

  In shock, Vivienne stood and stared at the stairs. It was a long way down and someone could easily break their neck. Deep red carpet ran down the staircase. The notion of someone sneaking up behind her and pushing her out into that vast space was terrifying. A chill spread up from the base of her spine, creating goosebumps along her neck. How could someone be so callous?

  Even though Mrs. Bollingworth said someone pushed her, she didn't know who—otherwise she would have brought it up. They'd had to be behind her. Obviously it couldn't have been anyone in the dining room. Specifically Archie, who Vivienne assumed Mrs. Bollingworth probably believed would be the one who would want to do her harm, because of her tentative and unreasonable claim on the estate. But he had not as he'd been in the dining room at the time. But there were quite a few people who hadn't been—namely Sophie, Lewis, Mr. Bollingworth, Lord Routledge and Mrs. Dartmoor. And the staff, of course.

  As Mrs. Bollingworth wasn't a stranger, it could well be that one of the staff had a grudge against her for something that had happened in the past. But pushing her down the stairs—that was a bit extreme for a slight she'd paid someone in the past.

  Even from where she stood, Vivienne heard Mrs. Bollingworth yelling. Gabriel appeared at the top of the staircase and ran down to get to her. His hair was a mess, which showed he'd just woken and hadn't had time to compose himself beyond pulling his clothes on.

  After him, John appeared, walking down at a slower pace. Vivienne waited for him.

  "Do you believe what she says that someone pushed her down? It's too fantastical."

  "I don't know," she admitted. Again remembering how they had both been accused of being innocent beyond the norm, so perhaps there were motives in people they just didn't see. "What reason would she have to lie?"

  "I don't know, but it would be beyond disturbing if it were true. If not before, I am certain she wishes to leave now."

  "She cannot with the storm. It is too dangerous."

  "But why would someone wish to harm her?"

  "I'm sure Lewis would if he could get away with it, merely for her being annoying."

  Vivienne hit him lightly on the arm. "Don't say such things."

  "See, we are not quite as innocent as people make us out to be," he said.

  "We were both in the dining room at the time, so no one will think we are involved," she said. If she hadn’t been seen wandering the house utterly unawares, it wouldn’t even occur to her that someone would accuse her. But not everyone had been in the dining room and she hoped ungrounded accusations didn't start flying. Still, someone had done this, pushed the woman down the stairs with the purpose of harming her—even killing her.

  Chapter 17

  MRS. BOLLINGWORTH WAS SITTING on a chair in the parlor, her husband fanning her with what appeared to be a magazine.

  "Do we need to call a doctor?" Vivienne asked.

  "There is a storm. I don't think a doctor would come even if there was one nearby," Archie said.

  "Doctor Samuels is in Bellwood Common," Mrs. Bollingworth uttered, still clearly bracing herself from the shock.

  "And as nothing seems broken, it is unreasonable to call him in this weather."

  "Unreasonable!" Mrs. Bollingworth yelled. "I was pushed down the stairs!"

  "And we are all eternally grateful that you have the fortitude and strength to survive such a transgression," Archie said appeasingly. It did somewhat appease her. Now sitting with a cold compress on her head as if she had a fever.

  "It's that imbecile boy, I'm sure of it," she said forcefully. "He pushed me down the stairs.

  "What imbecile boy?" Archie asked.

  "The boy! The boy!" she repeated.

  "I think she is perhaps referring to Mrs. Sims' son," Vivienne said.

  "Should have been strangled at birth."

  "I'm sure it is not Clive," Mr. Jenkins said. "He would never do such a thing."

  "The boy's an imbecile. Who knows what goes on in his head?" Mrs. Bollingworth asserted.

  "Why would he do such a thing?" John asked.

  "Well, I don't know, do I? I'm not an imbecile. I cannot account for how one thinks."

  A contrary voice inside Vivienne's head wanted to argue, but she refused to let it. "I'm sure this is all a misunderstanding. It was the wind you felt."

  "It was not!" Mrs. Bollingworth roared. "Someone tried to kill me. I want the police to come carry him away. Before he hurts someone else."

  "Not my son, you tarried crone," Mrs. Sims shouted, appearing from behind them. Mrs. Bollingworth gasped dramatically at the insult. "You leave my Clive alone, you bitter cow."

  "See how she speaks. They hate me. They always have."

  Mrs. Sims grumbled, but didn't actually argue. "Clive has been down in the kitchen with me all morning. Where else would he go on a day like this. He certainly wasn't up on the second floor pushing the likes of her down the stairs."

  "I can attest to that," Mr. Jenkins stated.

  "Well, then," Archie said. "I guess we can put that assumption to rest."

  "You are going to take their word over mine?"

  "Well, as you didn't actually see anyone push you, it is hard to argue with those who were with him downstairs."

  The logic was irrefutable, but Mrs. Bollingworth wasn't pleased. "You are making a serious mistake by being dismissive of this. Someone in this house tried to hurt me and as they didn't achieve what they sought, it might be someone else they strike next."

  "Although," Sophie said, having been drawn downstairs with the commotion. "If they pushed you in the first place, it’s clearly you they have an issue with. Their offense likely doesn't extend anywhere else."

  Mrs. Bollingworth looked lost for words.

  "Such a shame you cannot leave in this weather," Sophie continued. "If what you say is true and someone in this house means you harm, it's unfortunate that you must persist in staying." The derision in Sophie's voice was barely hidden.

  "If someone means my wife harm," Mr. Bollingworth said curtly, "then it's the ideal time to strike."

  "I think it best, under the circumstance, that you perhaps keep your wife's company until you can leave," Archie said. "To ensure she's not alone."

  "That's hardly necessary. I'm not an invalid," Mrs. Bollingworth said.

  "What's happened?" a voice said from the doorway. Viv
ienne turned to see Brynnell standing there, dripping wet. His hair black with the wetness. And Mr. Jenkins was spurred into action.

  "Please, my lord, let me assist you," he said, urging Brynnell away, but he wouldn't move.

  "Someone tried to push Mrs. Bollingworth down the stairs," Vivienne said.

  "Who?" he asked.

  "She did not see who, but she, a few bumps and bruises withstanding, has survived the ordeal intact."

  "Daft cow," Mrs. Sims grumbled, pushing past as she returned to the kitchen.

  "I will not be spoken to that way."

  "Well, you did accuse her son of attempted murder based on no evidence at all," Archie said calmly. “Does tend to put people’s noses out.”

  Without saying anything further, Brynnell allowed Mr. Jenkins to lead him away to divest of his dripping wet coat.

  "How extraordinary," Horace stated, clearly shocked by the developments.

  A particularly hard gust of wind rattled the windows and everyone looked over as if someone was trying to get in.

  "This house has survived countless storms," Archie said with assurance. A whole different sort of storm was breaking inside the house. From the dramatics, everyone now seemed to disperse, back to their entertainments.

  Vivienne's thoughts turned to Brynnell and the state he'd appeared in. What had he sought out there in the storm? She'd never go willingly out into a storm like that. Not when there was a perfectly good house to shelter in.

  "Quite the morning," John said as he approached her. "Accusations flying. Mrs. Sims seemed livid."

  "Poor Clive, being accused of that based on no reasoning at all."

  "Accused like that?" Brynnell cut in, now dressed in dry clothes. It seemed a mere moment ago that he'd left. Not a man who dawdled as he dressed.

  "Mrs. Bollingworth accused Mrs. Sims’ son Clive of being the culprit who pushed her down the stairs."

  "Ah," he said. "Well, there seems to be no love lost between the staff and Mrs. Bollingworth.”