The Haunting at Hawke's Moor (35 page)

"You will be safe here," Anne said,
turning to Richard for confirmation. "And you will be able to stay
as long as you wish. It's written in as part of my
will."

Richard cleared his throat. "Anne's
passing will cause a rip and anyone who wishes to be released can
do so at that point. You will not get a chance until the next death
in this house."

Silence reigned in the dining hall and
none of the assembled party volunteered.

"We will release the Lady Sorrow
tonight, so hopefully she can find what it is she is searching
for," he continued.

Anne went to him and took his arm. They
walked out the door and returned upstairs.

"It is getting close to dawn," he
said. Was it really? Time had passed so quickly. "Are you sure you
wish to do this? This can still be undone. You would be ill, but
you would recover."

She turned to him. Just seeing him
made her insides clench. How had she been so fortunate? All the
sadness was worth it for finding what she had here. "I have never
been so sure."

"Then I will show you this world in
the daytime. I think you will be proud of my fields."

"You think so? My skills with the plow have
improved greatly."

"A skill you have all the time in the world
to refine, if you wish," he said with a smile. "I can wipe the
fields and you can start again, if you should so desire."

Stepping behind her, he drew her to
him as they stood watching the distance light of dawn out the
window. Anne sighed into the embrace. Dawn was approaching. "I
cannot be here at the moment of your passing if I am to release
Lady Sorrow, but then I'll return."

"I'll be fine. Do what you must do,"
she said and felt his arms slip away from her. He left the room and
Anne stood, watching the encroaching light.

She felt the moment of her passing as
a release, a heaviness leaving her. She almost felt light enough to
float away, but her feet held firmly to the floor. With this
action, she was leaving behind the sadness and dependency and
turned to a world that had everything she wanted and everything she
needed. It was perhaps a smaller world, but she would be happy
here.

"It is done," he said as he came back.

"Yes," she said and smiled. Light reached
across the land, gently touching everything in its path. "It is
done."

They stood around in a semi-circle in the
hall as Lisle opened the door, letting the visitors in.

"God, this building is grim, isn't
it?" Stanford's awful voice said. Anne felt her hackles rise up her
neck at the very sight of him. Following him was a short woman with
yellow curls. She had a pretty face but wore a little too much
rouge.

"How can anyone live out here?" the
woman said, her voice high-pitched and thin. "I don't think I can
imagine anything worse." Stanford rolled his eyes as if her very
voice aggrieved him.

Anne smiled as she saw it. Perhaps his
marriage hadn't been as successful as he'd hoped and he was already
growing tired of his new bride.

Harry walked in and Anne felt her heart ache
slightly. Her boy was no longer a boy, and he had moved away from
the little creature she'd adored. She still loved him and wished
him happiness in the future, although she feared he'd surrendered
the skills needed to achieve it. "It's so desolate it sends you
mad. Mother was on the point of madness, so perhaps this is a
blessing."

"She probably killed herself," Stanford
said. "It wouldn't surprise me. She was a miserable cow most of her
life."

Richard's grip on her arm tightened and Anne
looked up at his scowling face.

"It matters not," she assured him, the
visitors not hearing her voice.

Reverend Whitling walked into the
entrance, wearing his typical black attire. "Some tea to recover
from the journey," he suggested to Lisle, who went to prepare it.
Mr. Whitling looked sad and Anne felt sorry for that. "She was a
lovely lady," he said.

Stanford looked unimpressed, checking
his watch in his waistcoat pocket, the skin under his chin
wrinkling as he looked down.

"Mr. Charterham is not far away," the
reverend continued. "Once he is here, we can commence with the
burial."

They walked into the parlor and
accepted the tea Lisle served them. She had even baked a cake,
which was quickly consumed.

"It must be awful being out here on
your own," Whitling said to Lisle. "It is all so unfortunate." He
patted her hand as if to give her strength.

"It is hardly unfortunate if the woman
did this to herself," Stanford cut in, flaring his jacket as he sat
down.

"No, you misunderstand. It was her
heart," the reverend corrected him. "An undiagnosed heart
weakness."

"The whole woman was weak."

"Father," Harry chided.

Anne could tell Richard wanted to get his
sword and run the man through, and she gently patted him on the
arm.

Mr. Charterham arrived and they departed for
the graveyard. Mr. Turner was waiting outside with his horse and
cart, the casket on the back.

"Do you wish to go to the burial?" Richard
asked her gently, forgoing his hatred of Stanford to be concerned
for her.

"No, I'd rather not," she replied.

Lisle did go with them and they all returned
to the house an hour and a half later, when she had to gather the
coats of the visitors.

"Poor Mr. Turner, another grave for him to
dig. We are a burden on that man," Anne said.

"I suppose the artwork is worth a few
bob," Stanford said, looking bored.

"I think that vase in the parlor is
lovely. It will look marvelous in our dining room," the new wife
said, her eyes searching the house for other treasure. "But
everything else is so old, so old-fashioned. There is little we can
salvage. There's no accounting for taste, is there?"

"We'll find some merchant who wants
it," Stanford said and straightened his suit. "Can we get on with
the business end?" he said brashly to Mr. Charterham.

"Perhaps in the library?" the solicitor
suggested.

"Oh, there are books. Hopefully some
valuable ones," the woman said, taking her husband's arm with
enthusiasm.

"She is simply awful," Elizabeth said as the
unseen followed the guests into the library.

"So Miss Sands' will has a few
stipulations," Mr. Charterham said, sitting down to read the
document to the eager party. "But to summarize, the land, the
house, its content and all chattels are left to… Mrs. Cecilia
Worthing."

There was utter silence in the room, nothing
was heard other than the ticking of the clock from the hall.

Stanford had turned positively red. "Who is
God's name is Cecilia Worthing?" he roared, standing up and
demanding an answer. Harry joined him, looking confused.

"I understand she is Miss Sands' second
cousin twice removed."

Stanford blinked as if he was about to
have an attack of some sort. He continued blinking, one after
another, as if doing so would force this development to go
away.

"Apparently, Miss Sands believed that
this property should remain with the female line of the family, and
so stipulates in her will. There are also provisions for Lisle
Crowe to remain with the property as long as she wishes, and to
receive a stipend from the estate's revenues."

"What does this mean, Father?" Harry
said, his eyes large and worried.

"It means we have to challenge this woman,
whoever she is," he said with violent arm movements.

"I wouldn't recommend it. As a specifically
named beneficiary, you have little claim on the estate."

"We would have won our case. We lodged a
petition."

"But it was never heard, never ruled
on, and the circumstances are now entirely different. You would
have very little justification for the ruling going your way. Even
your son, Harry, is only distantly related to this woman. It would
be very hard to make a case for better management of the estate in
his care. No doubt the lady’s husband would challenge that. And as
only a female will inherit, you have little future claim." Mr.
Charterham didn't look in the least sorry to deliver his verdict on
their chances. "You are, of course, welcome to try."

Stanford's face had now turned purple. "That
stupid, little whore!" he roared.

Reverend Whitling looked shocked and
Harry sat slumped in the chair, as if he had lost his very future.
Well, at least, a trip to Italy. Anne steeled herself to not feel
sorry for him. It was better for him in the long run not to cheat
his mother. Someday, she hoped he'd come to realize the error in
his own behavior.

"But this is ours," the woman said, finally
understanding what was happening. "She can't just give it to
someone else."

"She has," Mr. Charterham said.

"But we need that money."

"And I suspect Miss Sands probably
understood that."

"Spiteful, sallow cow," Stanford spat,
forcing his way out of the room, but ended up tripping over Lisle's
ill placed ankle.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Mr. Kinelly," Lisle
said to the fallen man. "You must take care of the carpets in this
house. They have a way of tripping you up."

Anne shrugged, accepting that perhaps it had
all been a little spiteful, but they deserved it.

"Feel better?" Richard asked as he turned to
her.

"Yes," she giggled, smiling up at
him.

Supper was a solemn affair. Both Mr.
Charterham and Reverend Whitling complimented Lisle on the meal,
but the others sat in sulky silence.

"What can we do, father?" Harry asked.

"There is nothing we can do," Stanford
replied, his voice still icy with rage.

"I'm still taking the vase," the new
wife said defiantly.

"It does not belong to you," Mr. Charterham
pointed out, "and the constables would have to retrieve it from
your house."

The woman paled, probably imaging the
ruckus caused by constables forcing themselves into her house, the
neighbors all seeing through their windows.

"I'm retiring," Stanford said, standing.
"We're leaving first thing in the morning." He strode out of the
dining hall, his wife tottering after him. Harry solemnly slipped
away as well.

Richard turned to the assembled
party—Elizabeth, Alfie, William and Beatrice. "Let's make our
guests feel most unwelcome," he said with a smile, and Anne
squeezed his arm.

To Mr. Charterham and Reverend
Whitling’s surprise, the Kinelly party had departed abruptly during
the night, had run out of the house as if devils were after them,
screaming frantically to wake their carriage driver and running
outside in their nightclothes. Mrs. Kinelly dragging a half open
canvas bag after her, her clothes falling out. One article of her
undergarments still lay on the staircase.

"An unusual family," Reverend Whitling
said to Mr. Charterham as he sat down to the breakfast Lisle
served, "but then they say this house is haunted."

"Can't say I experienced anything."

"Me, neither. Do you think this Mrs. Cecilia
Worthing will take residence here?" the reverend asked.

"She is married and settled in Dover, so I
shouldn't think so. No doubt they will come visit once in a while.
But I suspect this house will be mostly left to whatever ghosts
roam here."

Whitling seemed to shudder at the
statement and Lisle smiled as she bore the teapot away.