The North Sea House: a gothic romance

by Camille Oster

  Taking the candle over to the fireplace, she prepared the fire and then lit it. The room had an iciness that the fire would soon chase away. She sat in front of it until it had lit properly, hearing the crack and pops of the wood as it caught fire.

  A creak sounded and it wasn't the fire. Again, ill ease shot up her body and she looked over to see John walking into her room. Again she exhaled, feeling even more silly.

  "What's the matter?" John asked. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

  "Just jumping at shadows," she said darkly.

  "Hardly surprising after the day we've had. I think we will all be locking our doors tonight. I'm going to stay with Archie, in case whoever did this seeks to ensure the job is completed. Brynnell thinks there is a possibility."

  "He doesn't seem to trust everyone."

  "No, he's got a suspicious mind, but if that's going to keep Archie alive, then we can't take any chances."

  "He's a good friend."

  "Yes," John replied.

  "It's strange that it's you he trusts."

  "Why is that strange? Are you saying I'm not trustworthy?"

  "No, I'm saying, you and not the others. Even Horace."

  John chewed his lip for a moment and frowned. "It is just that he doesn't want to take chances." There was more to the answer and Vivienne waited for him to answer. Wait long enough and John tended to elaborate. "Brynnell doesn't find it as easy to trust as he used to. Leaving changed him." So Lewis had said too.

  "So he doesn't trust Lewis and Horace."

  "No, of course he does. He's just being careful."

  Again, she waited for him to elaborate.

  "There was tension some while back between Archie and Lewis. Some girl."

  "Girl?"

  "An actress."

  "And Horace."

  "Well, he can be a bit absent-minded, and he does have very deep interest in plants."

  "That's hardly something to condemn him over."

  "No one is condemning Horace. Brynnell is just being careful."

  The answer didn't satisfy her, but she could tell there was nothing else John could tell her.

  "Well, I had better head back," he said. "You ready?”

  "Yes, go ahead."

  "I'll see you in the morning," he said and closed the door. She heard the locking mechanism turn. It felt a little claustrophobic being locked in, but she had no other choice right now.

  With a sigh, she sat down on the bed, eager for this day to be over. Her body was exhausted and her mind beyond so. It had been the strangest day, and the worst for Archie, who was struggling to survive at that very moment. Hopefully he would make it through the night. He was strong, she told herself, and wanted more than anything to believe it.

  Undressing, she crawled under the chilly covers and sat in the bed, waiting for it to warm, running her feet up and down the sheet to try to generate warmth faster.

  She should have gone out and lit the candles along the hallway, but it was too late now—she wasn't going anywhere until morning.

  Her bed slowly warmed and she shifted down to draw the blankets over her. There was no warm brick in her bed that night, so she had to simply wait to be comfortable. She missed home and the family dog, that she would sneak into her room on chilly nights. Tonight would have been the perfect night for a warm, furry protector.

  As she tried to calm, her mind focused on the landslip that apparently kept them here. What did it mean? How bad was it? How long would it be until it was cleared, and was there anyone who was clearing it? Was it something they had to do themselves?

  So many questions circled in her mind and she had no answer for any of them. Eventually she slipped away to uneasy dreams, where she was in the hallways of the house, searching for something. She didn't know what, but again she heard Miss Trubright downstairs, knowing she didn't want to be seen by them.

  But what she was searching for—she had no idea, going from room to room, all along fearing she would be discovered.

  There was something bad in the house, something that wanted to hurt them, or her. She couldn't tell which, or for what reason. Every moment, though, felt fraught, as if the walls were closing in on her and she was running out of time. There was an urgency she couldn't understand, but hurry, it said.

  She woke with a start, to see light outside the windows. It wasn't morning yet, but it was coming. The sky was lightening and the sun was about to crest out in the distant horizon.

  The wind was gone and everything appeared calm outside. Throwing her blankets aside, she decided to take a look, greeting the cold air of the morning, but dirt around her feet and hem drew her attention. Dirt was smeared on her blankets and she turned the sole of her foot to see black. That was not how she'd gone to bed.

  How?

  This meant she had to be wandering again last night. There had been dreams of her searching for something, and she must have gotten out.

  Stepping out of bed, she walked to the door. Somehow it must have gotten unlocked. Testing the handle, it wouldn't turn. No, it was still locked, but her feet attested to her being out of bed during the night.

  Could she simply have walked around the room. Would that account for how dirty her feet were? Her room didn't seem that dirty. That had to be it. What else could it be? It might look clean, but it the corners, it had to be dirty.

  Crouching down, she saw no footsteps along the floor, and when she ran her finger along it, some dust was there, but not enough to create the black stains on her feet.

  But she was locked in. Perhaps John hadn't locked it properly and had found her wandering. It was the only explanation she could think of.

  Chapter 22

  VIVIENNE WAS DEEP IN thought as she followed John down to breakfast. He'd just come to unlock the door and let her out. Archie was still alive.

  "Brynnell is with him right now. I think he's able to eat, and he's not looking quite as pallid as yesterday."

  "That's a relief. It must mean he's recovering."

  "I hope so," John said, but there was a deeply worried look on his face. "Poisons apparently can destroy organs."

  Someone had told him this, because it wouldn't be something he knew.

  Beyond this, he didn't say anything. Certainly not about her wandering the halls last night. "Did something happen last night?" she asked.

  John looked back at her, but there was nothing in his eyes. "Not really. Archie coughed a bit."

  "You didn't come to my room during the night?"

  "No. Did you hear someone outside your room?" He looked worried now.

  "No, I slept like the dead." A weak smile grazed her lips, but as he turned away, she frowned. Her dirty feet must have come from wandering around the room. That being the case, it wasn't worth mentioning.

  Unless someone else had a key and had come to unlock the door. But why would they? For what purpose would they do that? Unease spread across her shoulders. Had someone come into her room while she'd been sleeping, and then locked her in again? But why and to where would she have wandered?

  Surely someone couldn't do things to her person while she was sleeping, or she would wake. Surely. The truth was that she didn't know. Normally she didn't sleepwalk. It had only happened a few times when she was a child. Now it had occured twice—that she knew about.

  Or had someone snuck into her room to place poison amongst her effects. Renewed fear crawled along her skin. They had to find who'd done this. And she couldn't bring herself to believe that Mrs. Sims was responsible. What reason would the woman have to sneak into her room and plant poison?

  At the dining table, people were sitting around, but no one was eating. The food sat steaming on the sideboard.

  Mrs. Bollingworth sat with her tightly drawn lips and her husband next to her. Lewis and Horace. Even Sophie had risen early today. And Mrs. Dartmoor, who was normally the earliest riser.

  No one was taking food and eyed it suspiciously.

  "Oh for heaven's sake," Vivienne said an
d walked over to the sideboard and filled her place.

  "God knows what that woman has put in that food. It will likely kill all of us," Mrs. Bollingworth said.

  Ignoring her, Vivienne sat down and started eating. They watched her for a moment and then Horace followed suit, the others slowly joining him. Mrs. Bollingworth refused, even as the others ate without incident. It was a curious strategy as there was no other food to be had but what Mrs. Sims cooked. Turning her nose up at it now was little more than spite.

  "I suppose we had better go see how bad this slip is," Mr. Bollingworth said. Clearly they were eager to leave.

  "Yes," Lewis said. "Although not a single person around this table has any inclination toward manual labor."

  "I can do a bit of digging if required," John said.

  "As can I," Horace said. "Digging I'm quite good at."

  "I think it's only you that is utterly futile when it comes to your hands," Sophie said. Well, their bickering was returning to normal. It seemed Sophie was regaining some of her composure from the shock yesterday.

  Lewis grumbled.

  "I think you will have to sit with Archie while we go have a look at this slip," John said.

  "Is no one going to deal with that monster downstairs?" Mrs. Bollingworth demanded.

  "We will have to make inquiries," John said.

  "I think someone needs to watch her while she cooks for us," Mrs. Bollingworth added.

  "I think you would be perfect for the job, Mrs. Bollingworth, being that you are so domestically inclined," Sophie said. "If it were me, she could be sprinkling poison over every dish and I’d be none the wiser."

  Poor Mrs. Sims, Vivienne thought, having to endure Mrs. Bollingworth watching her like a hawk as she worked.

  "We should perhaps call her to account for her activities and how the food was prepared sometime today," Mr. Bollingworth asked. "If she is innocent, she will be able to prove that."

  Vivienne frowned.

  "How can you prove you haven't done something?" Mrs. Dartmoor added.

  "People cannot help but show their true colors when the pressure is applied," Mrs. Bollingworth said.

  "But the only one who has been ranting and raving is you," Sophie said. It was a direct insult and Sophie wasn't hiding it.

  Mrs. Bollingworth gasped. "Well you have someone try to push you down the stairs and see how you act. Creeping around my bedroom when I’m not looking."

  "What do you mean?" Vivienne asked.

  "That journal. Someone left that journal in my room."

  Right, the journal. Vivienne had forgotten about it in the commotion which happened after. Nothing had been left in her room last night, though. If someone had come in and she'd sleepwalked, they must have returned her to the room and locked her in again.

  "I think we will have to question Mrs. Sims later in the day and settle this," Lewis said. "We cannot doubt every spoonful we put in our mouths, can we?"

  Mrs. Bollingworth's raised eyebrows showed she felt victorious.

  "We had better head out and see this slip in daylight," John suggested and the others agreed. He turned to his sister. "You will sit with Archie while we do?"

  Vivienne nodded. If anyone thought it strange that he asked her specifically, they didn't say so. But there seemed to be only three people Brynnell trusted with the job, her, John and himself. It made her feel a little honored that he trusted her. "I will head up there now."

  Leaving the dining room, she made her way up the stairs, feeling her nerves surge, both at seeing Archie so ill, but also at seeing Brynnell. It seemed she had developed a little infatuation with him. It was a development she would strictly keep to herself.

  He looked over from the chair he was sitting in as she walked into the room. Vivienne smiled. If only she didn't feel so awkward around him. "Breakfast is served. The others are preparing to venture out to survey the slip. I suspect Mrs. Bollingworth wishes to fast until they can leave."

  Brynnell snorted. "Well, we had better get her on her way, then."

  Putting aside what he'd been reading, he rose from the chair. "Please watch carefully anyone who comes into the room."

  She nodded. As he left, she walked over to Archie and sat down. He looked awful, with a gray tinge to his skin. His eyes shifted, dark and hooded under his heavy eyelids.

  "You're awake," she said, and happiness spread through her. "We were worried for you."

  His throat bobbed as he tried to swallow and he closed his eyes.

  "Some water?"

  The barest of nods affirmed it and she poured water from the decanter into a glass and held it to his lips. He was too weak to lift his head, so she had to assist him.

  "There has been a slip," she said. "They are going to see if they can clear it. I will stay with you in the meantime."

  Too weak to speak, he only looked over for a moment and then closed his eyes again. The moments stretched and she realized he'd slipped off into sleep, which was probably the best thing for him.

  Walking over to the chair Brynnell had deserted, she sat down and tucked her hands underneath her thighs, exhaling a slow sigh. Everything seemed to have come apart at the seams in the last day. She couldn't trust the people around her—she couldn't trust herself.

  The storm had passed, but it had left uncertainty and destruction in its wake. Poor Archie. At least he was getting better. She wished this meant he wasn't in danger anymore, but they couldn't say that for certain—until they knew the poison had not too badly damaged him. But he was awake, which was an improvement.

  Mrs. Sims barely knew Archie. Why would she want to kill him? It certainly wasn't for some misplaced loyalty to Mrs. Bollingworth and her claim that this house should rightfully belong to her. The woman clearly despised Mrs. Bollingworth.

  Then there was the issue of how she, herself, had gotten out of the room. Because try as she might, she simply couldn't believe her feet would have gotten that dirty by simply walking around her room. Her feet had been black, as if she'd walked through coal.

  She should tell them, but she felt too nervous to. This wasn't her fault. She had been in the dining room when Mrs. Bollingworth claimed someone had pushed her, and she hadn't been anywhere near Archie or the food as he'd been poisoned. Wandering included, none of this could be her doing. It simply couldn't be.

  Chapter 23

  THERE WAS PRECIOUS LITTLE to do in Archie's room and Vivienne had paced and studied the scene out his window. The sea was calmed—well, relatively. The waves still pounded the cliffs, spray coming all the way up at times, but it didn't have that ferociousness it’d had during the storm.

  Fishing boats were out in the distance, pulling in their catch and she wondered if they could leave here by sea if they had to. There didn't look to be anywhere to moor, though, or any way to reach the intermittent beaches at the bottom of the cliffs.

  Having been cooped up for a few days now, she itched to get some fresh air, but such concerns were not paramount. Ensuring Archie had what he needed was more important. And right now, he needed someone to watch over him.

  The quiver of porcelain broke the silence of the room and Vivienne turned to see Mrs. Sims in the doorway. "I made him some broth," she said. "Very light, but it will give him some strength."

  Walking over to the bedside table, she put the tray down. Straightening, she looked down at Archie. "He's not in a good way, is he?"

  "He's better."

  "I'm glad to hear it. It's quite a shock what's happened. It's got nothing to do with my Clive, I'll tell you that much."

  "Actually," Vivienne started. "I believe Mrs. Bollingworth blames you now." It was only fair to let her know what was being said.

  "Does she now?" Mrs. Sims said and turned with her hands on her hips. "Well, I can assure you I don't poison people."

  "I don't think anyone—other than her—believes you have."

  "If it had been my food, all of you would have fallen sick. And no one has ever fallen sick from food I've pr
epared."

  "To clear things up, I think they intend to have you account for the food preparation procedures," Vivienne said carefully.

  "Well, they better not come making baseless accusations at either me or my boy. I won't have it. Certainly not based on that sniping little cow."

  "There seems to be no love lost between yourself and Mrs. Bollingworth," Vivienne ventured.

  "Mrs. Bollingworth—Miss Chambers she was then—has always believed that the station one holds in life is the same as character. That God places some people above others. And she believes that if God places challenges in one's way, then she believes it is justified."

  From the tone, Vivienne assumed this was referring to Clive. And Mrs. Sims confirmed it. "My Clive's a good boy. Wouldn't hurt a fly. Has gone out to help the men with the slip. Always lends a hand and is happy to help. Not like some. Miss Trubright always doted on her as a child, and she was gentle enough to start with, but she picked up Miss Trubright's hard ways."

  "Miss Trubright was hard?"

  "Always. Little kindness in that woman. Orphaned quite young, from what I heard. Lived here most of her life."

  "Even when Jonathan Fitzgerald was here."

  "Oh yes, he let her stay. Didn't have anywhere else to go. He was a lovely boy. Mischievous and rowdy, at times, but he meant no harm. Miss Trubright never approved. Less so after the affair came to light. I don't think she ever really liked men. Some women are like that, aren't they? Some have said someone broke her heart when she was young and she grew cold after. I don’t know if that’s true or just idle talk."

  "Did she object to the affair?"

  "I didn't work here then, but she can't have approved."

  "But Mrs. Bollingworth never knew Jonathan Fitzgerald?"

  "No, it was well before her time." The woman wiped her hands on her apron. It was an unconscious habit, one she probably did several times a day. "The broth isn't poisoned. I can try it myself if you don't believe me."

  "I believe you," Vivienne said.

  With a nod, the woman turned to leave and Vivienne stopped her. "Before you go. Do you know if there is a second key to my room?"