The Haunting at Hawke's Moor (32 page)

Anne woke before dawn. She'd slept
soundly, but there was still an ache in her head. It was the price
she had to pay for the pleasure of being with him and she was
prepared to pay it. Care had to be taken not to stay too long, but
if she was careful, she saw no reason why she couldn’t spend some
time in the company she craved into her very soul.

Her dress was clean when she put in
on. Somehow he'd managed to clean it, although she doubted he'd
slaved over it with a brush. Probably he'd just wished it clean and
it had been.

Pinning up her hair, she made her way out of
her room and walked down the dark stairs. Lisle was going to the
village today and would be gone for most of the day. She would
leave just as dawn broke.

As Anne stepped down, a figure
appeared in the hall. For a moment she feared it was Alfie, who
still made her nervous, but a softer figure formed, with a long
dress. Elizabeth.

Anne smiled, still slightly
disconcerted when a spirit appeared in front of her. They made no
bones about it when they wanted to talk. "Is there something I can
help you with?"

"What are your intentions with my
father?"

Raising her eyebrows, Anne inhaled, not
exactly knowing how to respond.

"No one in this house can fail to
ignore the change in energy. This house reflects my father and at
the moment, his is being decidedly… exuberant."

Heat flared up Anne's cheeks. "Ah, uh," she
stammered, her cheeks flaming red. She didn't quite know what to do
with herself.

"Exuberant is, of course, joyful. Lack
thereof, is not something I wish to see."

Anne didn't know what to say. This was
not a discussion she felt comfortable having, particularly with a
young girl. But she had to remember Elizabeth wasn't a
fifteen-year-old innocent; she had probably seen all there was to
human nature.

"My father has suffered greatly and I do not
wish to see him suffer again."

"I have no intention of seeing him
suffer."

"Eventually, he will."

"What are you saying?"

Elizabeth frowned. "I just wish you to take
care. Do not toy with him. I fear you will hurt him."

"I have never been in the habit of toying
with people."

The spirit shifted to sit down on the sofa.
"Sometimes happiness is more fearful than anything else," she said.
"It is only from a height which we can fall."

"Isn't it worth the risk?"

"He is not as strong as you think and you
have a unique ability to affect him. He seems to conform to
you."

"I don't understand."

"He seems to become what you want him to
be."

"Well, we seemed to have developed a rapport
that is very… nice," Anne said, looking away in embarrassment.

"You just need to keep in mind that what you
do affects him too, and affects all of us."

"I don't have any intention of developing
anything further, or anything different. This is a nice state,
don't you think? We could continue exactly as we are."

"Yes, let's keep it this way," Elizabeth
said. "Exactly like this."

It wasn't a hard commitment to make.
This new development seemed to serve everyone nicely. Elizabeth
faded and Anne resumed her progress. No, this wasn't a bad state at
all. Every divorcee should have a ghost lover who drove her to
utter distraction every night, watching over her as she slept. This
would be quite tolerable.

There would be no plowing that day as Lisle
was away. Anne had to find some other way of busying herself. In
truth, she couldn't wait until dusk, feeling the excitement sing
along her body already. But Lisle returned much sooner than
expected, and she returned in a carriage, dragging a sack of flour
out of it. How had this happened?

"There's a letter that needs to be delivered
to you," Lisle said as Anne met her outside. "They came
specifically to deliver it."

Anne took the letter from the driver
and offered him some refreshments in the kitchen. He gratefully
accepted and Anne returned to the parlor to open the letter. It had
to be important if they sent someone all the way out here to
deliver it.

Dear Miss Sands,

I regret to inform you
that a claim has been laid against your ownership of the property
you currently reside in by a Mr. Harold Kinelly. It has been lodged
with the magistrate and we have just been informed of it. I need
guidance from you as to how to proceed. I am aware that the
claimant is your son and you may well be aware, and supportive, of
his claim. Please, at your earliest opportunity, advise me how to
proceed.

Your servant and faithful friend,

Charles Charterham, QC

What did he mean a claim against her
ownership? Harry was contesting her ownership of Hawke's Moor? This
couldn't be real, but they'd sent a carriage all the way out here
to deliver this letter. Was this a jest on Harry's part? He
wouldn't do this to her. This house was all she had.

Feeling utterly flustered, she marched into
the kitchen where the carriage driver was sitting having a cup of
tea.

"If it is quite alright, I will return to
London with you."

"I was hired out of Goathland, but you are
welcome to come with me that far."

"Yes, of course," she said absently, trying
to fight the tears that were threatening. "I can take the train
from there. Please wait for me before you go," she said and rushed
out.

The moment she had felt safe, this had come
to challenge it all, to tear down everything she had built. Harry
sought to take the house from her. How could this have happened? It
had to be a mistake. Harry wouldn't do anything to hurt her.

Returning to her room, she threw
herself down on her bed for a moment. She just needed a moment to
compose herself. This was an overreaction. She would go and sort
it, and it would all be fine again. It was simply a
misunderstanding on Mr. Charterham's behalf.

Anne was much more composed when she
returned downstairs, wearing her traveling coat and her reticule.
Her umbrella was firmly gripped in her hand as she stepped outside
and continued into the back of the carriage. She drew a deep breath
as they set off. Lisle stood in the doorway and she waved goodbye
before closing the door behind her.

Funnily, Anne had no desire to go to
London, even if this worrying letter wasn't on her mind. She was
now quite content at home. Tonight, there would be no wonderful
evening in her room; instead, she would have an uncomfortable one
on the train, heading to news she didn’t want to
confirm.

It was hard to keep her nerves from
getting the better of her. This was what she'd feared, that
something else would come along and drive her further down now that
she was just recovering from the blows she'd been dealt. The worst
was that Harry was involved, but no, this wouldn’t be something
Harry would device; this had to be on the urging of his father.
Stanford was attacking her again, probably wanting to lay his hands
on this property. Why would he not if he saw some means to get it?
He would spare her nothing if he saw a means to.

Mr. Charterham had assured her it was hers,
but this letter obviously indicated there was some risk.

Without hesitation, she was shown into
Mr. Charterham's office by his clerk. Though exhausted from the
journey, she didn't want to wait to deal with this, having the
uncertainty hang over her for another night.

"My dear Miss Sands," Mr. Charterham
said as he entered through one of the other doors, dressed in a
striped, gray waistcoat, with a chain hanging to a concealed fob
watch. "Please sit."

He brought out a folder and unwound the
string that kept it closed. "I see you received my letter," he
continued.

"I came as soon as I could. I understand my
son is contesting my ownership of Hawke's Moor."

He looked kindly at her and drew out some
papers. "That appears to be the case."

Anne shivered at hearing the
confirmation of it. "Unfortunately, his claim cannot be entirely
dismissed. Your great aunt’s will did not specifically mention you
by name, which is unfortunate, as that would make it much harder to
challenge, along with the fact that he is a descendant, just as you
are."

"Why would he do this?"

"That I cannot answer. But he is your son; I
am sure he means what is best for you."

"But Stanford does not, and he is the one
guiding my son's hands." Anne as near tears, but she forced herself
to remain strong.

"If we go before the judge, I fear he will
rule in your son's favor."

Anne chewed her lips together in
dismay. "He seeks to take my very home from me. That isn't
fair."

"No, it is not. But his claim has the right
to be heard and the judge may well rule in his favor, especially as
he claims owning this property is stressful to you to the point of
harm. The judge will likely put you in your son's care, which may
not be a terrible thing," Mr. Charterham said, trying to be
bright.

Anne only glared at him. It was the false
brightness that felt painful.

"In all honesty, it comes down to if
you have the means to fight him."

That was the statement that took all the
wind out of her sails. She did not.

"Even if you do," Mr. Charterham continued,
"my feeling is that you will lose."

The noise of London was disconcerting
and woke her throughout the night. She hadn't realized how silent
Hawke's Moor was until she left. The thought of losing it sat like
a weight on her chest. What if she had to leave? She couldn't
imagine it.

Bleary-eyed, she stepped into the
train to Oxford. It was time to go to the source and get an
explanation for this action. The compartment was crowded, the train
full of students heading back after visiting London for whatever
purpose. Closing her eyes, she tried to soothe the headache in her
temples. In a sense, she wanted to ignore this whole unfortunate
development and pretend it hadn't happened. Something bad was going
to emerge out of this discussion and she didn't want to face it,
but she couldn't allow herself that luxury.

A train journey was remarkably short
when one dreaded reaching the destination. The station was bustling
and busy and for a moment, Anne felt disorientated, people rushing
past her. Standing aside, she waited for the worst of the crowd to
pass, then emerged out of the station. A hack stood by, waiting for
a customer and she hired him, giving the address to her son's
lodgings, her stomach tightening with every passing moment. She
felt nauseous, as if she wanted to throw up.