The Haunting at Hawke's Moor (7 page)

Only the moon lit the manor as she
approached in the dark, taking care not to stumble as she was
carrying both paraffin and matches in one box. She could go up like
a firecracker if she didn't take care.

The door was unlocked and creaked as she
pushed it open. The saddle oil would help with the hinges in the
house, she thought as she heaved the heavy door shut again. The
house was silent and Anne was glad to be home, free of worry she
would be stranded out on the moors that night.

The thought of the absent letter from Harry
weighed on her again and she sighed. He was just very busy, she
told herself, but she knew in her heart that Harry was angry with
her, maybe even disgusted. The boy that had been her reason for
living for so many years wasn't a boy anymore and he had no need
for her. It hurt just thinking it.

Placing the box of provisions on the
table in the parlor, she walked toward the kitchen. Finally, there
was some noise, but it was disturbing noise. Opening the door
slowly, her fears were confirmed with the sight of Alfie lodged
between Lisle's thighs, pounding into her as she lay on the kitchen
table, her bare knees around his hips.

Anne withdrew, covering her mouth with her
hand. She didn't know what to do. Should she barge in there, demand
an explanation? What could she do—fire them? She should, but she'd
have no one here and no chance of replacing either of them.

Alfie's grunts turned guttural and Anne
backed away, escaping upstairs, forgetting to grab a new candle for
her room.

This new knowledge turned her stomach.
And Lisle had been stupid the first opportunity she'd had. Didn't
she understand what she was gambling with? She could be with child
after tonight.

Anne curled up on her bed, her fingers still
over her lips. This could end in disaster, but then maybe Alfie had
good intentions corresponding with these actions. Anne hoped
so.

Anne was stuck in the
corridor again, not knowing how to get out; they just went on and
on. But there was something else now, something after her. It
hadn't been there before, but she felt its presence now, like
darkness emanating from behind her.

Her breath bounced off the walls and she
walked as quickly as she could, fearing that if she ran, she would
provoke it into chasing her.

Finally, she saw a window
covered with netting, bright with the sun behind it. At least if
she could see outside, she would know everything was alright, but
when she pulled the netting aside, it was a mirror showing the
corridor behind her. Dread and disappointment flared in her. She
was stuck and there was no way out.

Then there was the
scuttling noise, like a crab walking, scurrying. She couldn't see
anything, just heard it. Stopping, she listened, but it was quiet.
Whatever it was copied her or waited for her to do something.
Unease crept up her spine, making her heart beat painfully. The
only sound she heard was her own breathing, which sounded
amplified. Then she felt it coming, something was coming. Her fear
soared, overwhelming her senses.

She woke with a start, the scuttling
noises ringing in her ears. Or were they? It was still there, the
scuttling noise. Frantically she moved, seeking the candle with her
hands as icy air prickling her skin. Finding the cold metal of the
candle stick, her fingers searched, but the candle was burned down
to the nub. In her haste in the evening, she'd forgotten to grab a
new one.

Rising, she sat against the headboard
of the bed and tried to calm, tried to be rational. It was only a
dream, a terrible, anxiety-riddled dream. Even knowing she was
being ridiculous, her heart beat painfully in her chest. Taking a
breath, she tried to calm, her hands shaking as she gripped the
blankets closer.

Her legs tucked tightly into her, she took
some deep breaths. These dreams had plagued her of late. Calm,
sweet dreams had turned darker and more tense since her husband had
informed her of the impending divorce. He'd called her to his study
and informed her in a similar way he would dismiss the service of a
servant. There had been no emotion in him at all, just a task he
was taking in hand.

Tightness gripped her throat, but her heart
stopped as she heard the noise again, the scuttling noise, which
echoed across the walls. Her dream had come to life. Maybe she was
still dreaming and only thought she'd woken. Gripping her blankets,
she held them to her, seeking protection and warmth.

Thoughts raced around her mind, trying to
explain this. There it was again. She jumped at the noise, turning
her head to listen, but met aching silence. Her mind screamed at
her—danger. Something was there in her room with her.

What was it? What could it be making
that noise? No, there had to be a rational explanation for this.
Obviously, there weren't crabs running through her room. Stilling
herself, she listened, but heard nothing. It had to be
something—rats maybe. Yes, that was it. There must be rats in the
walls, or ceiling.

She felt silly now, getting terrified
over the noise of rats in the ceiling. Getting out of bed, she
tiptoed to the fireplace and placed a log on the grate, lighting
kindling to set it afire. Alfie had found some implements to clean
the chimney with, which had been a dirty affair, but she could now
have a fire in her room. The quality of wood they had access to
might not be the best, and it burned quickly, but for a little
while, there was heat. She couldn't invest in a cart full of coal
as her increasingly meager funds might be needed for something more
important.

Sitting on the floor by the fire, she rested
her head on her knee. When would she stop feeling so scared? Things
were going okay. She had the house and they were making progress
toward being self-sufficient. There was no reason to be terrified
at every drop of a hat. Hurt maybe, considering Harry hadn't bother
writing. It hurt to think she was going through this ordeal, which
was disturbing her to no end, and he didn't raise a finger to help.
It was only youth that made him so careless, she assured herself.
The lovely, sweet boy she'd raised hadn't been an uncaring monster,
but then half the influence on him had been. She dreaded to think
he was taking after his father.

The fire created some heat and she
returned to her bed to lay down, drawing the blankets tight around
her. She would be alright—everything would come right. It already
was improving, slowly. She needed to stop being so
frightened.

Lisle was quiet in the morning and Anne
walked into the kitchen, having no idea what to say, or even if she
should. She wasn't Lisle's mother or family, or responsible for the
girl's choices.

"I think we have rats in the house," Anne
finally said.

"Is that what you think it is?" Lisle said
sullenly, not pausing in kneading the dough for the daily
baking.

"Lisle, you need to be careful with your
tone. I know our situation is all less than ideal, but I am still
your employer."

"Sorry, Miss," Lisle said, finally
looking admonished.

Although for how much longer she was
employed here, Anne didn't know. She wished the girl wouldn't make
stupid choices, but she was headstrong and stubborn with anything
Anne told her to do.

Anne returned to the parlor and sat
down, finally bringing out her aunt’s letter. She’d been looking
forward to opening this all morning.

My Dearest Anne,

How pleasing it is to hear a house has been
settled on you. I worried myself to pieces for you when I heard
what that scoundrel of a husband was doing. Your father would be
turning in his grave if he knew what that man has done. He will get
his just desserts in the end, that bounder.

I had not been aware that the property in
Yorkshire was still in the family. I had not heard it mentioned in
years and I had actually forgotten about it. What fortuity that it
is now yours.

From my recollection, the
house is very remote. Still, this is such an exciting development.
While serving as a companion to Lady Willowford has afforded me a
level of comfort I will always be grateful for, there is nothing as
important as family. If you should need me, I would, of course,
come. You have but to say the word and I will be on my
way.

Anne felt her heart twinge that her
aunt would sacrifice all the comforts of living in a large, wealthy
house to come join her. Obviously, it was not something she could
ask while there was still so much work to be done in the
house.

She understood her aunt's position. While a
life in luxury had it benefits, the lack of freedom ultimately
grated. It was the thing that had been given her with this divorce,
the freedom to lead her own life.

When there was order in the house, Anne
would invite her aunt to come stay as long as she wanted. She would
always be welcome, and it please Anne to no end to be able to offer
that to her aunt.

It was getting colder outside; she wouldn't
be surprised if it snowed.

Out the window, she could see Alfie in the
distance, walking alongside the cow out to pasture, a stick over
his shoulder. Anne couldn't afford to send him away. They needed
him.

Anne found herself in the same
position after supper, sitting in her parlor, now lit by a candle,
as Alfie had taken the lantern to go check on the stables. The wind
had picked up again. It was unrelenting along the moors.

A banging noise was heard upstairs and Anne
looked toward the staircase where heavy footsteps were heard. Lisle
appeared, looking drawn. "I hate this house. Always whispers and
shadows."

"It's the wind," Anne said.

"Even when there is no wind, it's the wind.
And it isn't the rats," Lisle accused. "This house isn't
right."

Anne didn't know what to say. Everyone
accused this house of malice and Anne was starting to feel
protective of it. They owed everything to this house. "It is still
a damned side nicer than some decrepit room in
Spitalfields."

"At least in Spitalfields, there are
other people."

Lisle had a point. This place was desolate.
Maybe it was the desolation that everyone found so oppressive. It
did take some getting used to—feeling so small in the world.

Turning warily, Lisle looked up the
stairs again as if she was expecting someone to come down them.
"Where is Alfie?" Anne asked. Surely Lisle wasn't silly enough to
bring him up into the upper stories. He had no business being there
now that he'd taken up residence in the attic in one of storage
buildings that kept old and rusted farm equipment.

"Taken to his bed, I suppose," Lisle
said.

Anne wondered again if she should
bring up the inappropriateness of Lisle's relationship with him,
but Lisle wasn't silly enough to be unaware of that, or even the
risks she was running, making herself available to him.

"I'll go check on him," Lisle said.

"Do you think that's a good idea?" Anne
said, relieved to finally have a way of voicing her concerns.

Lisle turned suspicious eyes on her. "Why?
It certainly shouldn't be you."

Anne's eyebrows raised. There was that
tone again, and accusatory, this time. It dawned on her that Lisle
might see her as competing for Alfie's affection. What a ridiculous
notion and couldn't be further from the truth. How could Lisle even
think so? Perhaps Lisle wasn't quite as intelligent as Anne had
given her credit for, if she thought that Anne had any interest in
Alfie other than his work as their… well, she didn't quite know
what title suited him, Field hand, maybe.