The North Sea House: a gothic romance

by Camille Oster

  But it was disturbing the lengths they would go to acquire the key, and then to return it to Mr. Jenkin's keyring again. They had to be quite dexterous and clandestine to sneak into his room when he was purportedly a light sleeper. Unless he was drugged as Brynnell had suggested.

  Dressing quickly, she waited for John to come retrieve her. There was something very uncomfortable about being locked into her room, unable to come and go as she pleased. The same was true with the house. They were stuck there, unable to leave. And poor Archie was stuck in his bed.

  She was less worried about him now than she had been, as he seemed to be recovering. But the threat to him could still be very real. No one had seen the poison delivered, so how could they trust anything they ate or drank? Each thing they put to their mouth was an exercise in faith. Worse was the fact that they didn't know why this was happening. Whom exactly they were targeting and for what reason? A journal in Mrs. Bollingworth's room, pushing her down the stairs and then poisoning Archie. If it was all directed toward Mrs. Bollingworth, then that made some sense, but they didn't know what this person's objective was.

  A slight knock on her door told her John was there, and she told him to enter. The key turned in the lock and the door opened. John smiled. "How was your night?"

  "Completely uneventful. How's Archie?"

  "A bit better. More color. Brynnell is with him now."

  "Right," Vivienne said, noting how she felt like blushing every time Brynnell's name was mentioned.

  They walked down to the dining room together. Everything in the house seemed peaceful, but it was as if at any moment, she expected something to occur—another proclamation of ill deed. It almost felt as though she was holding her breath, waiting for something horrid, but nothing untoward greeted them in the dining room.

  Horace, the Bollingworths and Mrs. Dartmoor were eating in silence. As per usual, the food sat on trays on the sideboard. Hunger tightened her stomach at the wonderful smell and she walked over and placed what she needed on her plate.

  "Are we heading out to the slip shortly?" Mr. Bollingworth asked.

  "I believe so," Horace replied and silence descended again. No one had anything particular to say that morning and kept to their own thoughts. It would be a day of hard work for the men and Vivienne expected that she would have to spend the day with Archie again. It was dull, but she understood the necessity of it.

  The women would be staying behind and none of them seemed to particularly enjoy each other's company.

  Finishing quickly, Vivienne decided to stretch her legs before being cooped up in Archie's bedroom all day. Under normal circumstances, it would be a scandal spending time in a gentleman's bedroom, but that didn't extend to nursing invalids—or guarding their safety.

  Excusing herself, she asked Mr. Jenkins for her coat and waited in the main hall as he retrieved it. The tick of a clock echoed in the cavernous space. It wasn't a welcoming space. Opulent and imposing, might be better words. She felt small in the main hall, the proportions purposefully built to daunt visitors.

  "Here you are," Jenkins said and helped her put it on. Again, there was no point grappling with a bonnet as it would end up strangling her most of the time.

  The air was fresh outside and the oppressive feeling of the house lifted. A seagull flew above her, struggling with the wind, which blasted at her as she turned the corner of the house. It was rather blustery that day. Not anywhere near what it had been with the storm, but it wasn't a gentle summer's breeze.

  A cart and horse stood close to the equipment shed and Clive emerged with a pair of shovels in his hand. "Hello," he said and smiled.

  "Hello, Clive. How did it go with the bird you rescued?"

  "It died. Couldn't live without his mother."

  Perhaps that was true for Clive as well, which was why Mrs. Sims was so very defensive of him.

  "That's sad," she said.

  "Nature can be cruel, my mam says."

  "Yes, it's sink or swim."

  "I can't swim," he said.

  "I'm not terribly good at it either. Highly doubt I could manage in the sea here. Are you preparing to work on the slip?"

  "Yeah," he said, placing the spades on the cart. It's a big slip. Gonna take a lot of work to clear it." There was excitement in his voice, and Vivienne suspected anything out of the ordinary was exciting. Whatever was happening in the house wasn't exciting—anything but.

  "Clive, did you hear that Jonathan Fitzgerald's journal turned up in Mrs. Bollingworth's room?"

  "I heard mention of it."

  "Do you know where the journal was previously?"

  He shook his head. "Don't know any journals. Wouldn't do me any good if I did. Never went to school much. The teacher said it was wasting his time."

  "I'm sorry."

  "Letters aren't for me, mam says."

  "But you have no idea where it was? No one seems to know where it came from. Would there be somewhere something like that would be hidden?"

  Clive smiled. "There's a lot of things hidden in the house. There's even a hidden room."

  Vivienne frowned. "A hidden room? Where?"

  "Down in the cellar, but it's very hard to find. There's even a window that no one sees."

  "What was the room used for?"

  The young man shook his head. "No one ever goes there, but maybe that's where it came from if no one had seen it. Whoever built it was very clever. It's impossible to find if you don't know it's there."

  "Can you take me there?"

  With a frown, he looked around. "Alright, but it has to be fast. We're going soon."

  "We'll be quick."

  Clive led her to the side of the house to what looked like a cellar entrance. It was dark and dank down there, with storage areas for coal and old barrels. It looked like the place hadn't been cleaned for a long time.

  Clive led her past stacks of old, broken furniture and other lumps she couldn't identify.

  "No one comes down here much," Clive said. "I wasn't allowed to when I was little. Mam doesn't like it down here. Says it gives her chills."

  It was rather cold and damp. The smell was unpleasant and mildewy. The kind of place one would grow sick in if one spent a great deal of time. "Probably wise advice."

  "This way," he said, ducking underneath a low beam, where old leather straps were hanging, and what looked like a glass buoy in a net. Cobwebs stretched across the space, but whatever spiders built their webs down here were unlikely to catch much.

  They reached another storage area where more old barrels stood along the wall. And burlap sacks with indeterminable content. Why would anyone build a room down here?

  "The entrance is here," he said, pointing at the wall. There was no door there. "It's hidden. Can you see it?"

  "No," she said, her eyes searching for what he was referring to. "It is rather dark."

  "The lever is here," he said, reaching along the wall and releasing a catch. "If you don't know it's here, you'd never see it."

  A door appeared out of the stones of the wall, the edge jagged. Clive was right in that unless one knew it was there, it would never be found. Light came out of the room as did the sound of the sea.

  There was a musty smell inside, as if it hadn't been aired in years—maybe even centuries. It was little more than a stone-walled room with a window, but the window was facing the sea. They were below the edge of the cliffs, she realized. Out the window, she saw cliffs and sea. This room had to be carved into the cliffs somehow.

  Down below, quite far, the sea rose and sank with the waves. A spell of vertigo hit her as she watched it’s constant motion.

  "Why would they build this room?" she asked. The question had been intended more for herself.

  "To hide things," Clive said.

  There was a rickety desk and a mostly empty bookcase. The furniture was old, very old. There was nothing else, except the stone walls and floor. It was cold and moist, and Vivienne didn't want to be there.

  A layer
of dust covered everything. If one wanted to hide something, this would definitely be the perfect place for it, but she couldn't see a dust-free spot where a journal had been.

  "I think we had better return upstairs," she said, not wanting to spend more time down there. There was something very uncomfortable about it. She even feared the sea coming in through the windows, but it wouldn't. This place had survived here a long time by the looks of it.

  Again they walked through the dirty, smelly cellar to reach the door leading out. Vivienne checked her hair and her clothes for spider's webs. There was some dirt on the hem of her skirt. Less than there had been with her night shift, but that had been shorter. Could she have wandered down here? For what purpose? She hadn’t even known it had existed before now. Surely she couldn’t have been exploring down here in her sleep. That sounded insane.

  Chapter 26

  ARCHIE WAS SITTING UP in his bed, but he was limp like a dead fish, having no energy to move. "I haven't felt this awful in my life," he said. "Felt like I had ants crawling under my skin. I wish to never get sick again as long as I live."

  Vivienne sat in the chair with her book in her lap. Poor Archie, too weak to do anything. Even speaking was a trial for him. "Do you wish any more of your lunch? Or should I ask Mrs. Sims to come collect it?"

  Slowly, he shook his head, having had as much as he could take.

  "Perhaps a cup of tea after you rest for a while," she suggested with a smile.

  With a sigh, he looked up at the ceiling of his canopy bed and closed his eyes. Herself, she rose and paced, her thoughts turning to the hidden room down in the cellar.

  "Shall I collect Mr. Percival's lunch tray?" Mr. Jenkins asked from the doorway.

  "I believe he is done with his lunch," Vivienne replied with a tight smile. "Mr. Jenkins," she started as he entered the room and the man stopped and turned to her. "Clive showed me a hidden room down in the cellar."

  "Ah yes, the hidden room," he said. "This house has always had its secrets and it's often best not to delve into them. While the house sits on bedrock, the structure of places like the hidden room has not been surveyed or tended to in decades, maybe longer. It isn't safe."

  "Them?"

  "Miss?"

  "You said them. Are there other such structures?"

  "Not that I have seen, but there has been reference in the past to a tunnel. If it's true, it likely caved in a long time ago."

  "What's its purpose? Why would someone build such a room, such a tunnel?"

  "I believe to hide people. A useful thing to have in past tumultuous times."

  Vivienne listened and absorbed what he said. "This house does seem to have quite the tumultuous past. With missing heirs and civil wars."

  "I suppose one could say so," he said. "Still, you shouldn't be visiting the cellar, Miss. It's a dirty, dangerous place. Not a place for someone like you."

  "I will agree with you there. Don't worry, I have no reason to go back. I simply wondered if that was where Jonathan Fitzgerald's journal had come from."

  "Can't say as I know. I don't go down there if I can help it. Although I cannot see why anyone would hide his journal down there."

  "No, perhaps not, but no one seems to know where it came from."

  "It is a mystery. Miss Harcourt," he said with a nod as he carried Archie's lunch tray away.

  Archie slept and Vivienne took her seat again. It felt a little as though there was something she should understand, but she couldn't grasp it. But then she'd never been so focused in her life, and a large part of that was related to the kiss. What did it mean? Was there some way she should respond to it? She'd never really been kissed before—not like that.

  The hours slowly passed and the men all returned at around four, looking bedraggled and exhausted. It had been hard work for them, and most, frankly, weren't used to hard work. Brynnell looked less worse for wear, but then he was used to the life of a soldier.

  "My poor dears," Sophie said, coming from the salon as she approached them. "My heroes."

  Vivienne stood on the upper landing of the staircase, having left an awake Archie. Someone could hardly poison him while he was awake, but he wasn't strong enough to fight someone off if they were intent on harming him. Not that she was probably much good in a fight either, but having her there would still put someone off any further attempts.

  He was getting stronger. That afternoon, she'd been able to feed him some tea and biscuits. Things were never quite that bad if one could have tea—a good barometer between terrible and it could be worse.

  With heavy legs, John walked up the stairs toward her.

  "Did you manage to clear it?"

  "No, far from it, but we removed a great deal of earth. It will take days still. The men from the village are joining in from the other side."

  "I hope Mrs. Sims is aware that you will all eat like horses tonight."

  "I'm famished, honestly."

  "There's some tea and biscuits in Archie's room if you'd like. The tea might be tepid."

  "I don't care. Anything will do. Then I might have a quick rest before supper."

  In fact, everyone retreated to their own spaces, while Vivienne returned to keep Archie company as he slept again. He was more aware when he was awake, but he still slept intermittently.

  When Brynnell appeared, his hair was wet as if he'd had a bath. His hair was even darker than normal, and he looked wonderful. It was as if it was a peek into a more private him. Vivienne blushed.

  "Shall I relieve you for supper?" he asked.

  "Why don't you both go?" Archie said from the bed. "I think I can stay awake long enough to ensure no one poisons my food."

  Brynnell was quiet for a moment, as if considering. "Alright," he finally said. "Miss Harcourt. May I escort you downstairs?" His elbow extended for her and she took it. The solidness of him struck her as she took it and he led her out of the room.

  They said nothing as they walked down the stairs and toward the salon. Unfortunately, Sophie's expression showed she wasn't pleased and Vivienne felt conflicted.

  "So we are leaving Archie to fend for himself, are we?" Sophie asked. Vivienne knew the statement was directed at her, designed to make her feel guilty.

  "Archie insisted," Brynnell said and Sophie had to concede.

  The other men were recently washed as well, exhausted from the day's hard labor. John had enjoyed it—she could tell by his face. Lewis had clearly gotten less enjoyment from the exertion, she guessed.

  Shortly after arriving, Mr. Jenkins invited them to the dining room and no one wanted to dawdle that night.

  "I do hope we're having something filling," Horace said as he took his seat. Mrs. Bollingworth was still taking the end of the table, where the mistress of the house was supposed to sit. It was difficult to argue with such overt ambition, even if completely deluded.

  The creamy fish soup was served and then roast beef, which the men particularly appreciated. It seemed Mrs. Sims had anticipated their appetites.

  Most stayed only for a quick drink after. Lewis was particularly not in the mood for company that night and retired before anyone else. Sophie was trying to be amusing, having suffered through a day in the company of Mrs. Dartmoor and Mrs. Bollingworth. In Sophie's book, that would have been close to disastrous.

  While Vivienne herself hadn't done much that day, she felt exhausted from simply worrying. There was something important she was missing and it preyed on her mind all the time.

  "I think I will retire," John said and rose. "It has been a long day." As he left, he exchanged looks with Brynnell, Vivienne noticed.

  "I'll join you," she said, remembering that John had to lock her in before retiring.

  "I am going to stay in Archie's room again. We haven't bunked together like this since school. Quite nostalgic, I have to admit." Her brother had a habit of seeing the positive in every situation and she loved that about him.

  "He is getting better, so enjoy it while it lasts. He'll want his ro
om back soon."

  "I hope so," John said and smiled. "I am going to my room to refresh a bit first, and then I'll come by before retiring properly."

  Vivienne smiled as he walked away down the dark corridor, and she sighed deeply. She hated this business about him locking her in every night. It wasn't something that could go on and she still couldn't understand why it was happening. Her mind was disturbed in some way, and it had to do with this place. That had to be the reason, because she didn't want to contemplate that this was something that would go on after she left here.

  A noise drew her attention and she turned to look down the corridor. Nothing was heard for a moment and tension rose up her spine. This house creaked and groaned, and it set her nerves on edge.

  A dark figure appeared and she held her breathe before realizing it was Brynnell. "Are you alright, Miss Harcourt?"

  "Yes," she said. "I just got lost in my own thoughts." Perhaps he thought it curious that she was standing around in a corridor in the dark. "They have forgotten to light candles in the corridors again."

  "They are too short-staffed," he said.

  "Yes. I suppose they are doing admirably well with such a large party of visitors and a landslip to keep us all trapped."

  "It will be a few days before the slip is cleared."

  "John told me."

  "How did it go with Archie today?"

  "He is getting better," Vivienne said.

  "Yet we are no closer to finding who the culprit is."

  "Mrs. Sims boy, Clive,"—he wasn't really a boy, but he acted like one—"showed me a hidden room in the cellar this morning."

  Brynnell's head turned slightly to the side as he listened.

  "Utterly bare. Apparently dates back to the civil war. I wondered if that was where Jonathan Fitzgerald's journal was hidden."

  "That is curious. And so are you, I must say."

  "Curious?"

  "An adventuress, then."

  "No one has ever accused me of being an adventuress."