The Haunting at Hawke's Moor (8 page)

Had the world turned against itself and
nothing made sense anymore? Lisle strode out of the parlor and
walked through the kitchen to the back door. Anne only stared after
her. That conversation had certainly taken an unexpected turn, not
without a fair measure of absurdness.

Maybe Lisle's place in this household
was more temporary than Anne had assumed, with her irrational
suspicions, inappropriate behavior and disregard. In Mayfair, this
behavior had been kept under control by the house keeper, but here,
Lisle was apparently more unrestrained.

It was easier to walk out the back
door than the heavy front door if Anne wanted to go outside. The
hinges still hadn't been attended to, but that was simply a matter
of time. Perhaps she would do that later, go around the house and
place droplets of saddle oil on all the hinges. It did feel like
they were restoring order to the house and it was a good feeling.
And good feelings had been rare lately. She treasured them now and
hoped there were more to come.

But right now, she had to find a way of
dealing with the rats, and she'd consult with Alfie on how to
tackle this problem, hoping his animal management instincts
extended to unwanted guests from the animal kingdom. She crossed
the yard to the stable, seeing that the cow had already been taken
out for the day. The stable was empty. Alfie had cleared the rest
of the mess and even the stable was starting to look
respectable.

Stopping, she listened for him and
soon heard what sounded like whispering coming from the
saddlery—hurried whispering. She tensed. Were Alfie and Lisle being
inappropriate again? Wringing her hands, she didn't know what to
do, but the door to the saddlery opened and Alfie stepped out and
spotted her. He didn't look particularly disheveled. "Miss Sands,"
he said.

Anne cleared her throat. He made her
uncomfortable. "I believe I heard rats in the walls or ceiling last
night and thought I'd consult you on it."

He stared at her unblinkingly. He
wasn't ugly. Even with his youth, he was broader than her husband
was. But he didn't look as well comported. In fact, he looked ill,
a bit pale and gray. Dark circles had formed under his eyes. "I can
lay some traps."

"That would be good," she said, feeling
relieved. "Are you alright, Mr. Hayman?"

"Fine," he said.

"If you are unwell—"

"I am not unwell," he said and walked past
her. "I'll find some traps." He disappeared into one of the storage
buildings and didn't return.

Anne wrapped her shawl tighter around
her shoulders and returned to the kitchen door, stopping short when
she found Lisle there, baking pastry for supper. Anne hadn't seen
her cross the yard. Maybe she had and Anne simply hadn't noticed,
but she was fingers-deep in sticky pastry dough.

Lisle turned to look at her. "You look like
you've seen a ghost."

Anne turned and looked out the small window
panes of the back door. "Sorry, I thought you were outside."

"No. I'm busy enough here." That jealous
accusation had snuck into her tone again.

"I'm sure I heard you speaking to Alfie just
now."

"No, I've been here." Now Lisle was looking
at her like she was mad. "Is there something you wanted me to say
to Alfie?"

"I've just asked him to lay some traps for
the rats, or mice, or whatever it is."

Lisle stared at her for a moment longer,
then returned her attention to the pastry.

Whether the traps worked or not, Anne
didn't know. Alfie didn't come present the winnings. But the
scuttling noise could still be heard at night. It didn't bother
Anne as much as it had the first time. She frowned in the dark and
wished Alfie more success in his trapping endeavors. As she was
falling asleep again, there was another sound, one that wheedled
into her mind with sharp precision, just a small click such as
joints made when rising. A person or an animal, but in her mind,
not a noise that rats made. It had to be the rats.

Listening intently, Anne focused all
her attention on the room. She couldn't quite identify a single
specific noise, like a creak, but it sounded like the weight of a
step coming down on the wooden floor, then another. Someone was in
the room with her.

Urgently, Anne fumbled for the
matchbox, her fingers bumbling as she searched for a match, finally
lighting one, her eyes frantically searching, but there was nothing
there. There was no face or form, just emptiness. Everything was as
it should be. The chair stood where it ought to be and nothing
seemed to have been disturbed.

With shaking fingers, she brought the
match to the candle, the light growing a bit brighter. Her heart
was still beating powerfully, anxiety running high in her blood.
Her breath shook and her mouth was dry.

She had to stop reacting like this to every
noise in the house. This was probably how madness began and she
needed to put a stop to it. There probably was someone walking
around the house, but her mind had interpreted the sound to be
within her room when it wasn't. Maybe the solitude of this place
was getting to her, too.

It was probably Alfie sneaking down
the stairs having visited Lisle in the darkest hours of the night;
young lovers in a hidden assignation. The thought of Alfie sneaking
around the house made her intensely uncomfortable. The idea of
anyone sneaking around in the dark was cringe worthy, especially
now that she was terrified of her own shadow, waking every other
night in fear of her life.

Anne dressed the next morning,
determined to take the task in hand. Technically, she couldn't
forbid Lisle from having anything to do with Alfie, but she could
forbid anyone being brought into the house at night—that was her
right.

With steady steps, Anne descended the stairs
and turned to the kitchen, as expected, finding Lisle baking.
"Lisle," she said sharply, straightening her back. "It is not
acceptable Alfie coming into the house at night."

Lisle stared at her. "He's not."

"I heard him last night. I heard him
sneaking out of your room."

Lisle's eyes watered and she wiped her hands
on her apron. "If he's coming into the house, it's not me he's
coming to see."

Unease stole up Anne's spine. If what Lisle
said was true, things were infinitely worse than she'd hoped. The
thought of the noise last night actually being someone in her room
was terrifying.

Lisle broke down in sobs. "He just
changed. He was so sweet, but now it's like I'm not even there. He
barely looks at me. For some reason, you have ensnared
him."

"I haven't," Anne said, feeling sorry for
the girl who clearly looked heartbroken. "This was why you don't
play fast and loose with your heart. Boys take advantage. You have
been comprehensively silly, and risked so much, and for what?"

“
It wasn't like that," Lisle said
earnestly. "But he changed and it was sudden. One minute he was
lovely and the next he showed no interest at all, moved on. And to
you. You're old," Lisle accused and Anne felt a bit offended, but
then to Lisle, who was only eighteen, Anne would seem
old.

"That's utterly ridiculous, Lisle."

"What other explanation is there?
There are only two of us. Boys don't just lose interest like that
unless his interest has turned elsewhere. And he shows no interest
in me."

She had to concede that Lisle had a
point. If Alfie was willing to partake in what Lisle offered, it
was unlikely he'd suffered an attack of conscience afterward,
particularly as this appeared to have been an ongoing affair. "I
can assure you, there is no interest coming in my direction. It
wouldn't be welcome if it was." Strictly speaking, Anne hadn't
received a single degree of cordial behavior from Alfie outside of
the proper relationship between the mistress of the house and a
field hand. But then if he was sneaking around the house at night,
and not interested in visiting Lisle, they had a very grave
problem. This had to be dealt with. If Alfie had developed
inappropriate feelings and was, in turn, demonstrating
inappropriate behavior, he had to go.

Walking out of the back door, Anne marched
to the storage house where she knew Alfie had his room.
Confrontation wasn't something she was used to, and certainly not
something she enjoyed, but this had to be done, or she would be
living a life she didn't want. She marched in and hitched her skirt
as she walked up the rough stairs to the attic. "Mr. Hayman," she
called as she reached the rough wooden door to his room. She
knocked with a moderate amount of force, enough to show she was
serious.

The door opened and Alfie was dressed,
suspender belts over his blue linen shirt. His hair was freshly
combed, but again he looked tired. "I absolutely forbid you to
enter the house after dark," she stated.

Leaning on the door frame, he looked
at her. "I've never been in the house after dark,
ma’am."

"I heard you."

Biting his lips together, he considered her.
"I swear it wasn't me." He sounded earnest, but she didn't know if
she could believe him. In truth, she knew nothing about him.
"Perhaps you need to lock the doors at night if you think people
are sneaking around the hallways."

They hadn't been locking the door. She
hadn't thought it necessary considering how desolate they were, but
it was technically possible that someone could be—someone from the
Turner farm, or even another further away.

She still didn't know if she believed
Alfie, but she knew he didn't have a key to the house and she would
be locking the door from now on. She'd accused him; he'd denied it.
There was a possibility it was someone else, so she didn't feel
right dismissing him outright without any real proof. There wasn't
much else she could do. So she gave him a nod and left. She would
be watching him, though.