The Haunting at Hawke's Moor (18 page)

After taking the daily milk to the
kitchen, Anne decided to go for a walk. It was perhaps not the best
day for it, but it wasn't nearly the worst weather the moors could
generate. There was no wind and the mist sat like cloying wetness.
It obscured vision and left the world feeling small and cramped.
Before she knew it, she was following the old and overgrown path to
the small cemetery. The low, curved iron fence around it only came
up to her knees and she stepped over into the overgrown plot. The
grass was halfway up the stones, although Alfie's grave was still a
fresh mound of earth.

Anne chuckled at the thought that if
she died, she would be buried here, right next to her murderer.
Walking over, she looked down on his grave stone. His name was
written in bold letters. She wondered who had commissioned the
grave stone. He'd been thirty-six when he'd died. So young and had
died in a brutal war. She tried to recall the things she knew about
him. He'd burned in his house along with his children. It was the
most awful death she could think of. The letters in the strongbox
had warned of betrayal in his house. Was that what had killed him,
betrayal? Actually, she could sympathize. She'd been undone by
betrayal in her house as well. It was a harsh reality to know that
you weren't safe even in your own home.

Moving over, she saw the gravestone of
Elizabeth Hawke, who'd been fifteen when she'd died. Anne had seen
her spirit, had seen her trying to stop her father from attacking.
Mr. Harleston had said there was someone protecting her and it had
to be this girl.

Suddenly, Anne felt immense sadness.
Sad for the loss of life and that this girl's spirit was stuck
protecting strange women from her hateful father. That was not
right and it left Anne feeling drained. If Mr. Harleston could do
anything to release her, that would almost be worth all the trouble
of this.

Shaking the chill off her, Anne
returned home. The house loomed in the distance and she could see a
man in the yard. The mist made it difficult to see him, but it was
a man. Stopping short, she tried to calm her beating heart. For a
moment, she feared the ghosts, but after checking herself, she knew
the ghosts couldn't be seen during the day.

As she forced herself to move close, she saw
it was Mr. Turner and breathed a sigh of relief. He stood watching
her approach. "Hello, Mr. Turner," she said. "I had not expected
you."

"I brought you a cut of beef," he said
gruffly. "Thought I'd see how you were."

"That is most kind of you."

He looked annoyed, as if he didn't like
being referred to as kind, but it really was. They hadn't had meat
for a little while now. She accepted the bundle wrapped in muslin.
"I have been wondering if my cow would benefit from a
companion."

"They like company."

"I might have to consider purchasing
another. Perhaps a bit old and not much use other than
companionship."

"Or you could consider a bull."

"I don't think I can afford a bull."

"I did not mean buying one."

Anne looked confused for a moment, until she
realized what he meant. She flared red. "No, of course. That seems
logical." She felt mortified having this discussion with him, but
he was a farmer, and these things were part and parcel of what he
did.

"Normally have to pay for such service, but
I'm sure the old lad won't mind. Just bring her to the far dale and
you'll find him."

"Thank you," she said and there was an
awkward moment when Anne didn't know what to say.

"Best be going, then," he said and
made to turn.

"Mr. Turner," she said and he paused,
looking annoyed, which he usually did. "This house is haunted."

"Aye. So they say."

"Do you know any of the history of what
happened here? There was a fire."

"Aye. The tale says he was betrayed by his
wife to his enemies."

Anne blinked. "His wife?"

"She betrayed him to parliament's men
and they came and burned him."

"And her children."

"'Spect that weren't her intention,
but betrayal is rough business. Don't think she were thinking the
house would be half destroyed either." With a nod, he kept walking.
Anne just stared after him. That couldn't be true, could it? It
seemed too outlandish.

If it were true, it would explain his
pathological hatred of women. It was kind of ironic that a woman
who had been betrayed by a man was now haunted by a man who'd been
betrayed by a woman. Anne closed her eyes and stroked the palm of
her hand across her forehead. What an utter mess she found herself
in.

Obviously two hundred years hadn't
done much to temper his anger. He was still furious and she bore
the brunt of his fury. He doesn't seem to attack Lisle, but then
perhaps that was because she didn't set herself up in the master's
bedroom. Would he leave her alone if she slept elsewhere? It was
worth a try.

The mist didn't clear all day and the
sun set quickly. One minute it was light and then it was dark, and
the kind of dark where there was no light at all outside, the
windows inky black. Anne ate supper in the kitchen with Lisle. They
had beef stew with parsnips and it was lovely. Her belly hadn't
felt so contented for a while, and they had beef left for a few
more days.

Anne didn't know what to say to Lisle. The
girl would only accuse her of madness if she discussed her
experiences. It seemed this ghost focused its attention on Anne, so
perhaps Lisle was safe. "It think it is best that you stay out of
the master's bedroom. I am going to sleep in one of the other rooms
tonight."

Lisle stopped chewing and looked at her. She
didn't say anything, just returned her attention to her stew. Anne
told her about Mr. Turner's suggestion for the cow.

"I can walk the cow over there
tomorrow," Lisle offered. "At least someone in this house will have
a sweetheart." Lisle got up and put her plate away. It was so hard
to read Lisle. "Perhaps it is time we enquire about another field
hand. I'm sure Mr. Whitling knows of some other person who needs a
position. We should perhaps consider setting some of the fields to
work to, start growing a crop to sell."

"I am weary of bringing more people into
this house."

Lisle sighed. "That's a poor excuse for not
making this land productive."

Anne couldn't argue. "I'll think about it."
She'd been too caught up with her immediate problems to even
consider tomorrow, let alone next week.

Lisle walked out of the kitchen and went
upstairs. Anne rose and took herself to the parlor, where she sat
down. She wished she had a bit of sherry—actually anything would be
nice, but they had nothing but water. When spring came, perhaps she
could pick a bit of elderflower.

Tension was creeping up her shoulders,
distracting her from any thought on the future. Her immediate
problems were insidiously encroaching. That man was upstairs,
probably waking as she spoke, waiting to wrap icy fingers from the
grave around her throat. An urge to have a look at his picture
again surfaced, wanting to keep in mind that there had been a human
behind the hatred. Or was there? Was hatred all that was left of
the man that had been?

Well, tonight, she would sleep in
another room. Perhaps that would give her a peaceful night. There
was a chance her problems stemmed from occupying what had at one
point been his bedchamber.

Still, she didn't relish going
upstairs and conducting her little experiment. She felt safe down
here. Well, not entirely. Alfie had appeared to her down here and
the thought made her anxiously look around her. The house was quiet
now and every corner had grown dark, filled with shadows that moved
as the candle flame did. Lisle had retreated to her room and it was
only Anne and whatever ghosts roamed the halls.

A book would distract her. The idea of
making the fields productive and earning an income was appealing.
They could afford food and maybe even a few books she actually
relished reading, books that would transport her to foreign places.
If she survived the night, she would have to consider what Lisle
had proposed. For now, an agricultural book would while away an
hour or two.

Getting up, she walked toward the hall
and turned the corner. The sight of Alfie made her stop in her
tracks. Tension rose up her back, making her skin crawl. He stood
in the dark hall, not moving, only watching her. His form wasn't
entirely solid, his face holding no expression. This apparition
stood between her and the library.

"Go away," she said, taking a step back.

He raised his eyebrows. "Wish I could, but I
can't." His voice didn't sound right, as if too distant from where
his form appeared.

"You're stuck here?"

The corner of his mouth rose slightly. He
looked up. "He keeps us here."

"Who?"

"You know who. You met him."

"How does he keep you here?"

"He won't let anyone leave. If you die in
this house, you belong to him. He is too strong to break free of."
His attention returned to her. "Don't die," he warned. There was a
slight grin on his lips now.

Anne's throat had gone completely dry and
swallowing hurt. Tension ached across her brow.

"Or you'll be spending eternity here with
us. A sea of never-ending darkness." His sentence ended with a
hiss.

"How can I help you?"

"You can't." He looked up to the ceiling.
"She might though. Be with me." He looked back at Anne and
smiled.

"Leave her alone."

"She loves me."

"You're dead. Leave her alone."

"Why? What do you offer her?"

"Life. You have nothing to offer her."

He stared at her then faded before her eyes.
Anne listened but only heard her heart beating. Bursting into
activity, she raced up the stairs, taking them two at a time.
"Lisle!" she called, banging on her door when she reached Lisle's
floor. If something happened to Lisle, Anne wouldn't forgive
herself.

"What's the matter with you?" Lisle
said, throwing the door open.

"I saw Alfie."

"You're not taking the laudanum," Lisle said
calmly.

"It doesn't help."

"The doctor said you need to take it if you
become hysterical. I'll get you some."

"I don't want the laudanum. Alfie seeks to
hurt you."

"Alfie's dead and buried."

"Lisle, he is trying to hurt you."

"I will not listen to this," Lisle said
sharply. "You're being hysterical."

"I'm not," Anne said, recognizing that, yes,
there might be some hysterics involved, but she had good reason.
"Please believe me, Lisle. He seeks to sway you for his own
designs."

"And which designs are those?"

"To not be trapped here alone."

"You're an awful person," Lisle said and
Anne took a step back, shock that she would be accused such.

"I am only trying to protect you."

"Please leave. I will hear no more of
this."

Anne couldn't do anything but step
back into the hall and watch as Lisle firmly closed the door. She'd
never been accused of being an awful person before. Her intentions
had only been to help, but Lisle refused to listen. Lisle thought
she was mad and refused to listen to anything she said. She
probably wouldn't even listen if Anne terminated her employment.
Not that it was much of an employment as Anne had little to pay her
with at this point.

Feeling deflated, Anne retreated
downstairs and took herself to one of the spare rooms. It was much
smaller than the master's room, with little more space than the bed
and an empty wardrobe. An oval mirror sat in the front of the
wardrobe door, which had a crack along the middle.