The Haunting at Hawke's Moor (4 page)

The walk back would take a long time
if she kept this pace. She tried to urge the cow to move faster.
There was a stable in one of the outbuildings. Perhaps she should
have prepared before she came charging over here and buying a cow.
But it was done now, and this cow would have to learn to make the
best of it, too.

The wind picked up and it howled
around the windows, progressing unencumbered over the moors. Anne
had spent most of her time working in the stables, getting the cow
comfortable. In hind sight, she had no hay to give the creatures,
so she had to accompany the beast out on the moors to find grass
and ensure it didn't eat copious amounts of clover. In quick
succession, she discovered that her wardrobe was not well suited to
spending any length of time outside in this wind.

The desolation of the place was oppressive.
Not a sound was heard other than the wind and the constant grazing
of the cow, as if they had been forgotten by the rest of the world.
She felt a little that way—forgotten. No note had come from Harry,
to comment either on this development or when he'd come see her.
But then she didn't know if post was delivered out here. Perhaps
she had to pick it up somewhere. There was no one to ask, and if
she were truthful, she feared knowing—feared that there would be no
letter.

The cow seemed content for now and
Anne led it back to the stable, most of which was still a jumble of
old, cracked leather and dust. At some point, the door had opened
and all sort of dried vegetation had blown in and rotted. But she
had managed to clear one of the stalls and had lain a bed of
heather, which the cow had deemed tolerable. She hadn't been all
that successful getting milk out of her teats, but guessed the
change might have been upsetting, or else her attempts were
completely wrong.

The howls of the wind were noisier
when she got inside, being met by silence otherwise. Her steps
echoed through the parlor room that was now bare of the carpet that
had produced such a musty smell previously. It did smell better
now, but there was still a large square in the dust.

Making her way to the kitchen, she ate
some bread and cheese while sitting in one of the chair around the
heavy wooden table that showed decades of wear by cooks serving the
house. It had been scrubbed clean with boiling water and their
meager provisions sat under muslin cloth.

"There is someone approaching," Lisle said
at the door, looking excited.

Anne rose and walked back into the parlor to
the window, seeing the same horse and carriage that had taken them
here.

"Who do you think it is?"

"I suspect it is the parson," Anne said.

Lisle seemed a little disappointed, but
followed as Anne walked to the door to welcome their guest. The
first they'd had, not that they were remotely ready to receive.

The wind greeted them as they opened
the door, the carriage arriving at the gravel at the front of the
house, crunching loudly in patches where it was deep.

A thin man was driving, dressed in
black, a hat drawn down on his head. Tying up the reins, he climbed
down and straightened himself. The parson was a slim man in his
forties with thinning hair. He stepped forward, taking her hand
with a bow. "Miss Sands," he said gravely. "I came in the hope of
introducing myself. I am Reverend Whitling. Pleased to make your
acquaintance. It is always lovely to have new people coming into
the parish." His accent was southern, so he was clearly not local
to the area.

"You must have come a long way," Anne said
with a smile. "We are not ready for visitors, but if you don't mind
a terribly modest state, please come inside. We don't have much,
but we can manage some tea."

"Tea would be marvelous," the reverend said,
looking hunched over with the cold wind. It must have been an
unpleasant drive for him, and Anne appreciated his journey to see
them all the more.

"Please don't say you've come all this way
just to see us," Anne said as she preceded him up the stairs.

"Well, I took the opportunity to come out
this way. My parish is large, but there are a few lonely souls out
this way."

Anne led him through to the kitchen, which
although too informal, was the only habitable room where a guest
could be received. "As you see, we haven't had time to sort the
parlor as of yet."

"I understand it has been a long time since
this place was occupied."

"That is what I have been informed. I have
inherited it from my great aunt. It has been sitting in probate for
quite a while. Something my solicitor discovered after my divorce
became finalized."

"I see," the parson said as he sat
down. Anne felt she might as well be honest about her status. It
would likely come out in the end if she tried to hide it. The
parson appeared to keep any judgment to himself.

"How long have you held this parish?" she
asked as Lisle went about heating water.

"About four years. I was in Cornwell
prior. A very different place. A very different people. But one
must go where one is called. Each parish has its own challenges, of
course. Particularly here, as many are too far away to attend
service regularly." Anne suspected they would be part of these
parishioners as the journey would be long and they had no ready
means of travel. "And where have you come from?"

"London," Anne said brightly. "So this is
quite a change for us, as well. It is only myself and Lisle
here."

Lisle poured boiling water into the
teapot and spooned the fragrant flakes in to let them steep for a
while. Anne grew aware that they had no biscuits or cake to offer,
only the very mediocre bread they had sustained themselves with. If
things had been ideal, she would have like to make a much better
impression. "This move certainly has been challenging, but we are
slowly facing each. There is so much still to do."

"Completely understandable. It is no small
task to resurrect a house such as this. I understand there was a
fire here," he said.

"I have seen no evidence of a fire."

"The house must have been renovated since.
It was a long time ago, centuries ago, I understand."

"The man who drove us here mentioned
it. I actually know very little of the circumstances."

"It wasn't unusual. Many of the manors
in the region were burned as the parliamentarian forces came
through, back in the day. Quite a few were never rebuilt. If you
travel around the region, you will see the ruins of manors past
dotted around the countryside. So many of the local gentry died
during that period, so there weren't always people left to rebuild.
The Battle of Marston killed around four thousand royalists. Quite
devastated this region."

"I must admit I am not that familiar with
the topic."

"There is quite a few around these
parts that still hold a grudge, if you would believe, even for
wounds centuries old. Then, not much happens around these moors, so
old wounds aren't allowed to heal."

Anne poured the tea through a small
strainer, offering the small amount of sugar they had, watching as
the reverend gave himself a generous spoonful. She smiled as he
stirred his cup with one of the small silver spoons they had found
and polished.

"It must be very trying being here
just the two of you," he said after a while. "If you could use an
extra pair of hands, there is a young lad I know of, who could use
a position. I think you'll find him capable enough, and a good
heart at the core. That is if you are comfortable having another
person here."

Anne couldn't shake the feeling she
was being manipulated, but she was in dire need of more help.
"There is certainly work for anyone willing to help," she said
tentatively, trying to think through what the impact would be on
their meager food supply, having a ravenous young male in the
house. She could certainly remember the amount of food Harry was
capable of consuming.

"He has been orphaned, you see," the
reverend continued. "In the most tragic of circumstances. Well,
strictly not an orphan as such, but he is alone."

Anne felt her heart soften. "Of
course. As you said, a pair of capable hands would certainly not go
amiss." They would just have to make the food stretch, and they had
the cow now for milk, cheese and butter. The Turners had most of
their other basic needs and she would just have to bargain with the
surly Mr. Turner. Obviously, there would be something in the house
she could trade, although she felt a rush of guilt as nothing in
this house felt like hers.

Darkness settled fast on the moors.
One moment it seemed day; the next, night had arrived and they were
in the middle of a sea of darkness. Not a single light could be
seen along the horizon as Anne gazed out the window. She hoped the
parson had made it home in time. Lisle had retired to her room
upstairs, but the parson's visit had driven Anne to start trying to
sort the main parlor, in case he returned—or better, Harry came to
visit. After dragging the settee to the large main doors, she had
whipped the dust, leaving crisscrossing marks on the faded velvet.
A plume of dust had arisen and been swept away by the wind,
although some returned into the house.

After wiping dusty surfaces in the room, she
felt tiredness ache in her body. She wasn't used to this degree of
work, but she was slowly getting used to it, or her body had just
stopped protesting. Her married life had involved a great deal of
drinking tea and embroidering, flower arrangement and directing
servants. Skills which were all more or less unnecessary at the
moment.