The Haunting at Hawke's Moor (20 page)

"If you had perhaps been a bit more… lively,
he might not have had to seek diversion elsewhere."

Anne felt offense flare up every part of
her. "That's not what marriage is, Harry."

"Or perhaps, in light of things, it is.
Look, mother, I can't stay. I must return to Oxford. I have work I
must do."

He stood and approached Lady Willowford,
taking his leave. He returned briefly and kissed Anne on the cheek,
before retreating. He wasn't looking her in the eye; he just wanted
to be gone from there. Anne couldn't help feeling hurt, by both his
accusation and his eagerness to be away.

The remainder of the reception was
miserable. Anne was left on her own, unapproachable by the others
there, except the vicar, who came and spoke to her out of
obligation. Anne knew that she could be given a room if she
insisted on it, but she felt unwelcome as it was—the social pariah,
grudgingly included because she was family. She just wanted to be
away from there, felt stifled and judged. There was little sympathy
in the world, she decided.

After finishing another cup of tea, Anne
placed it aside and rose. She approached Lady Willowford, who said,
"Are you leaving, my dear? It is a shame you could not stay longer.
You are welcome to stay the night."

Anne smiled at the offer. She didn't know
this woman, who obviously out of respect for Aunt Hortense was as
gracious as she could be. "Thank you," Anne said, "but I should
return to Yorkshire."

"Of course. I will see you to the carriage.
Mr. Horn, please call the carriage for Miss Sands."

Lady Willowford rose and took Anne's
arm. They walked to the entrance, which was opened by a younger man
dressed in black. "I am sorry for your loss. I shall miss dear
Hortense desperately." She was quiet for a moment. "I was also
sorry to hear about the bad business you were a part of." That
about summed it up: bad business. "You aunt would have wanted you
to have this," she said and reached into a fold of her skirt,
pulling out a bank note.

It was twenty pounds. "Are you sure?"

"Quite. I am sure you could use it more than
that strapping boy of yours. Fine lad, but his father can provide
for him."

Twenty pounds was an absolute life
save. They were running low on everything. "This will be very
helpful." Anne had to brace herself; kindness, when there had been
such a lack of it, was hard to bear. "You are very kind." She had
to push the tears away, compose herself.

"Nonsense. The carriage will take you to the
train. I am sorry you cannot stay, but I do also understand it is
uncomfortable. I wish you the best, Miss Sands. Strength."

Anne nodded and ascended the carriage,
closing the door behind her. She gave a wave to Lady Willowford and
the carriage took off. She was exhausted, but still relieved to be
away. The women had all been wary and curious about her and what
she represented—the worst thing that could happen. How many of them
wondered if she was better off dead?

A long arduous journey lay ahead. If she
were irresponsible, she would get a room at an inn, but that would
be a waste of money. Twenty pounds seemed a great deal, but every
penny of it had to be accounted for. But at least they had the
means to put some of the land into use now. For that, she would
sleep on her feet if she had to. Thinking of the practicalities of
what had to be done was much easier than thinking of Harry and
everyone else's opinion of her.

Anne arrived home with all the
provisions they were running out of. She'd even bought herself a
bottle of sherry and hired a cart and driver to bring her home with
supplies that would last them a few months. It was near dusk when
she thanked and said goodbye to the driver, who wanted to continue
to the Turner farm. Apparently they were related.

The house looked as she'd left it. A
sharp worry had her wondering if it had found a new target to
torment in her absence.

"Lisle?" she called as she walked in the
door. It was silent for a moment and Anne felt her panic rise,
until she heard footsteps above. Lisle eventually appeared and Anne
sighed her relief. "Everything alright?"

"What would have happened?"

"Nothing," Anne said. "I brought supplies.
We need to carry them in. There is coal coming in a few days, too."
Anne was too exhausted to even think about it, but she forced
herself. After this was done, she could rest. Since the moment she
had left Lady Willowford, she'd been in the company of someone.

Once all the supplies were in the
kitchen, Anne retreated to the parlor, taking the bottle of sherry
with her. She poured herself a small measure and sat in a chair by
the fire. It had been an awful few days, after another set of awful
days. Now she was back to dealing with her original problems and
she didn’t feel she'd been allowed to absorb the loss of her
aunt.

At the general merchants, there had
been a letter for her. The handwriting showed it wasn't from Harry,
so Anne assumed it was from Mr. Harleston. She should open it and
read it, but she was too tired to concentrate. No, she was too
exhausted to sit in the parlor and wanted to undress and wash the
journey off her skin and hair. Retreating to her room, she undid
the stays that kept her confined and breathed deeply.

If there was anything in the room, she
didn't feel it and was too tired to feel concerned about undressing
in front of a dark man with murderous intent. Right now, she didn't
care. Pouring water in a bowl, she cleaned her skin and ran a wet
cloth over her hair.

Sleep wouldn't come immediately. She was
overtired and perhaps too sad. What she really needed was to let go
of all the hurt and awfulness she'd been holding in.

She'd lost her only true supporter and
friend, and in some sense she was alone now. Pulling on a fresh
nightgown, she lay down on the bed and cried—deep, heaving sobs.
Her lovely aunt was gone. It was the only link she had left to the
family she'd been born into. Harry was the only family she had left
and she was a burden to him.

Shadows from the candlelight played on
the walls and she watched it for a moment. There were wet stains
from her tears on her pillow. Right now, she wanted to sleep and
not think of any of this, but it eluded her.

Iciness crept into the room and she knew she
wasn't alone anymore. Her tormentor had arrived.

"Go away!" she said sharply and tucked her
hands under her cheek. "I don't want to deal with you, you awful
man."

The creak from the floorboards moved
closer. Sadly, this horrid man was the only thing that wanted
anything to do with her. This was all she got. What was it exactly
she had done to deserve this? Was there something she should have
done better? Had Harry's accusations been right? Should she have
been something entirely different from what she was, and was this
her punishment—for being too… colorless?

Tears welled in her eyes again. Another
creek was heard, closer now. He was moving toward her, probably
ready to attack.

"Just stay in your world. This is
mine," she said sharply. "There is no reason on God's green earth
that you need to come over here. Stay in your part and stop
invading mine. I'm not leaving, so you can just grow accustomed to
that. I don't care what you do. I don't care about you. I don't
care what your wife did to you. You probably deserved it. No doubt
you did something awful to her. I wouldn't doubt it. Men, you're
the worst creatures ever existed. You take and take, and give
nothing back. I don't want to hear about your horrid life or your
horrid wife. Leave me alone!"

A sharp tug on the bed, scraped along the
floor, rocking her on the mattress.

Picking up the pillow, she threw it into
empty space. "I hate you," she yelled and turned away from him,
rolling onto her stomach, facing away from him. "There is no reason
to stay when no one wants you."

It didn't escape her that it was that
exact sentiment that had driven her onto the road when she should
have stayed and recuperated in Devon. That was her, the presence no
one wanted. Fresh tears flowed, and silently sobs wracked her frame
and her knees drew up tightly.

She could still feel him there, but
the attack didn't seem to come. What was he doing, staring her into
submission? Actually, she wasn't even afraid. There were so many
other emotions inside her, fear couldn't even fit. She knew what he
could do and right now, she didn't care.

Something else moved in the room. She
didn't even bother listening, instead grabbed another pillow and
shoved it over her head. A thought snuck into her head of the soft
little rabbit her nursemaid had made for her out of spare cloth
when she was little. She'd loved that little rabbit and wondered
what had happened to it. Was some other child finding comfort in
it, or was it lonely and cold, and unloved out in the world
somewhere? She hadn't meant to discard it; she'd just lost it
somewhere along the way. Right now, she really needed something to
snuggle into, and had to instead use the blanket.

Life had been so simple back then—the world
bright and full of possibilities. She was going to marry a
handsome, loving man and they were going to be happy forever. A
shuttering sigh shook her whole body. Her eyes stung with tears, no
doubt awfully swollen. She would look dreadful in the morning.

The iciness retreated and just like
that, he was gone. Maybe she was too pathetic for her vengeful
ghost to bother dealing with. Was there no honor for ghosts in
terrifying sobbing, grieving women? "Coward," she muttered under
her breath. She didn't want to antagonize him in case he came
back.

Anne felt as if anxiety
was dripping off her. She was traveling, waiting for a train, but
none came. Mist covered the tracks, so nothing could be seen. There
were others there, but they didn't see her. A man walking past, not
even aware she was there. As much as she searched, she couldn't
find a ticket booth to buy a ticket. Around and around she walked,
but there was no one to help her. She could hear the train coming,
but it never came. She would miss it. Without a ticket, she
couldn't get on.

The dark presence came. He was there. There
was no face or even form, but he was there. Darkness. He was going
to hurt her, slash her like the Ripper had, leave her discarded and
ignored. She ran blindly, but he kept following—she sensed him.

She woke with a start. Dawn was
cresting out the window and the room was cold. Getting up, she
padded over to the fire and placed some wood on it. A dull pain
throbbed in her head. Her nose was congested and her eyes felt
puffy.

The ghost had come and then left her in
peace last night. Probably delaying the fight until his adversary
was in a fit state to battle. An unwanted chuckle escaped her.
Maybe her ghost had some honor.

In a sense, she was glad to be back.
While nighttime was horrific in this house, the days were peaceful.
The avalanche of disapproval didn't exist out here and perhaps that
made this a better place to be, even with the included
adversary.

The truth was that she wasn’t entirely
averse to having a fight. She was more prepared now and it had felt
disturbingly good getting her own back at him. He was all her
problems rolled into one. He roared and bullied, but she'd stabbed
him, made him let go of her. It was the only strength she'd managed
to muster and she wasn't letting go of it. Yes, on some level, it
was terrifying, but he was also the one thing she could fight. This
might kill her in the end, but be that as it may. She was tired and
bored of being weak. Although she had been ultimately weak last
night, and he had turned away in disgust.