The Shock Box: A Gothic Romance (Templesea Tales)

by Jill Harris

  The book fell open to a page of drawings depicting a large, amorphous, dark cloud hovering over a dying man. The caption read: "A demon enters the man who dies in agony, and inflamed with anger."

  Adeline noticed the dark cloud seemed to have a pair of goat's horns and a long, pointed tail like that of a dragon. The Captain, she observed grimly, obviously wanted her to be overawed, perhaps even frightened by him.

  She sighed, and flicked through the rest book as if it were a catalogue of ladies' dress patterns.

  No doubt, she thought, the Captain had primed his servant to try and scare her off, probably as some kind of a test. Perhaps her new employer was undersized in his masculinity, and therefore unsure of himself.

  Or maybe he was horribly scarred from his near death experience, and found social situations difficult to navigate.

  Another possibility was that he was simply a dreadful man who enjoyed playing nasty pranks.

  Whatever he was, however ugly he might be inside or out, she would refrain from exhibiting shock at his appearance. As any professional nurse would do.

  Chapter 9

  Branwell stood behind the curtains, watching her. He was good at reading people. A talent he'd learned as a child. He saw into them, inside their very souls - as if they were a book.

  Miss Winslow pretended not to be affected by the darkness and uncertainty with which she had been received.

  Ever since Branwell was struck by lightening as a small boy, he"d been able to see the emotions of others hovering in the air around them. These emotions took on certain shapes and colours. They'd appear, take flight, and vanish like soap bubbles. Added to that, since childhood, just like his mother, he'd been plagued by all kinds of spirits. Some who did his bidding, and some who did not.

  Standing next to Adeline was the toothless, ragged ghost who lived in the library. This creature was harmless enough, an elderly-looking woman with white hair loose to her waist. Generally, she was helpful to him, and had insisted on the name She-Who-Dwells-In-Darkness.

  Branwell watched as She-Who-Dwells reached out a hand and touched Adeline on the shoulder. Its bone-chilling effect usually made his visitors shudder.

  Yet Adeline appeared unmoved by the icy fingers clutching at the sleeve of her dress.

  Branwell felt his pulse quicken. However ordinary Miss Winslow had tried to look on the outside, he sensed that she was not like other people.

  She-Who-Dwells shot Branwell a look of pure confusion and her awful voice began whispering in his mind. Branwell shuddered as her voice rasped in his head. "I don't like it. She isn't like the others. She's got a gift. I can't tell what it is, but this house won't stand no more sensitives such as yourself. She's all wrong, mark my words, and she's brought something with her - something dangerous. Send her away as soon as you can."

  Mentally, Branwell was busy noticing that Adeline smelled of rose water, and had somehow scented his entire library. Like a cat marking out her territory. "Not until I find out what she wants," he said in that silent, mental language which was much easier for him than normal speech.

  She-Who-Dwells sneered at him. "Very well. But. On your own head be it. So don't come yelling at me when little Miss Butter-Wouldn't-Melt takes away the only thing that matters."

  The only thing that matters? Branwell didn't think Adeline could take Raven"s Nest House. "Leave me," he commanded the spirit. "I want to talk with her alone."

  She-Who-Dwells made a hand-washing gesture, grimaced, and faded from sight. He had never known the spirit to grow agitated over anyone in the house. Well, no one, that is - except the dark shadow he brought back from the Crimea, yet after a while even that reaction had muted.

  He would have to deal with She-Who-Dwells later, find out what it was about Adeline Winslow that disturbed her so much.

  In the meantime, he turned his attention back to the new nurse.

  Red sparks flew around her head and neck which meant Adeline was nettled, angry. With him? Perhaps. He had a way of unnerving even the gentlest of souls.

  Or maybe she had felt the cool shiver of She-Who-Dwells yet was too polite, too much in control of her reactions, to show it. He could see she was fighting her irritation. The orange triangle over her right shoulder told him that. And she kept fiddling with a locket she wore round her neck, as if it gave her some kind of reassurance.

  He smiled to himself. Miss Winslow was rather beautiful. And intriguing. Branwell hoped she might provide him with much needed amusement over the coming weeks, unless he broke her. Most of the servants did break. Sooner rather later. It was not something he set out to do, but there were forces he struggled to control who did it for him. Jealous forces which writhed in the walls of the house.

  He rubbed the bridge of his nose. Recently, they'd been quiet, almost subdued. The presence haunting him since the battle of Balaclava cast its long shadow over the living and the dead of his gloomy household.

  Adeline was reading the book he left for her to find.

  The Complete Encyclopaedia of Demons, An Occult and Metaphysical Examination. The book was one his father had worked hard to complete before he left for Africa. Branwell had left it there for her to find as a sort of test. Only those with open, curious minds could ever come and live in the house with him. Those who were afraid of the unknown would soon flee - often before sundown of their first day. Adeline kept reading, absorbed in the pages and nodding to herself. Her dark dress was a demure style as befitted her role.

  With her chestnut hair pulled up into a simple bun, her neat yet curvaceous figure, she looked like the sort of well-mannered, innocent lady he usually avoided like the pox.

  They scared too easily when they came to his house. Even if they enjoyed his company in the outside world. Often, they ended up bolting like fillies the minute he roared at them over some minor irritation.

  And that was if the spirits of Raven's Nest didn't terrify them first.

  Chapter 10

  Adeline shut the book and continued looking around the room.

  Apart from the bookcases, what little wall space was left was painted a dark blue, the kind of blue which reminded her of the rain-laden skies over the estate in Devon where she grew up.

  Whenever she thought of her childhood it seemed to be raining.

  A fire crackled in the grate and she edged closer, feeling the warmth seep into her. Above the mantle was an ornate mirror in which she could see her reflection. She noted with dismay that her face was pinched with the cold, and strands of hair had escaped her previously neat bun.

  The smell of wood smoke and books filled her with hope that her new master might not be as bad as he seemed hellbent on proving himself to be.

  "Miss Adeline Winslow."

  She spun round, annoyed to be caught off-guard.

  The man's voice seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere. "It was good of you to come here today as arranged. Most people would not set out in such bad weather. I would've understood if you'd chosen not to make such a perilous journey."

  The voice was cultured, surely that of a gentleman of high rank. Yet there was a certain West Country lilt to it, a cadence which gave away his West Dorset roots. Adeline guessed he must have been attended to by a local nanny. Or even someone originally from across the border in Devonshire. Someone whose soft accent had fused with the one he had taken from his parents. She was surprised at how much she liked the baritone vowels and the mix of accents.

  "I like the snow," she said, glancing around for any signs of her new employer. "And I am not one to be put off my duty by bad weather."

  He had to be over by the window, obscured by the heavy drapes. She stared deeper into the cluster of shadows cast by the fire, the flickering candle flame and reading lamp. She saw no sign of him.

  Adeline drew herself up to her full height. She had heard from the gossips at Aunt Theodora"s salon that before the war, the Captain had enjoyed antagonising people by brawling in clubs. He was well known also for cavorting with prostitute
s, or night flowers as Aunt Theodora liked to call them. His reputation for trickery, and practical amusements was widespread.

  He also had a penchant for racing his horse wildly through Hyde Park during visits to his London home. Ever since he returned from the war however, he'd become a recluse. And some said he had returned with certain esoteric powers.

  Some even went so far as to call him a sorcerer. Others were convinced the devil had claimed the Captain's soul in return for his life.

  Adeline held firmly to the opinion that Captain Hughes had spread all these startling rumours himself. She'd come to this conclusion because before his injuries he'd penned a few articles, most of which amounted to nothing more than an attempt at self-promotion. Some of them outlined his adventures with a few of the more notorious Haymarket night flowers. In a satirical magazine he wrote a long rant complaining about the craze for mesmerism among the upper classes, and he appeared determined to build up a reputation for debauchery, devilry, and sophistication.

  As a devotee of Baron de Potet, a famous advocate of animal magnetism, Aunt Theodora had tutted over this particular anti-Mesmer article. She was of the opinion that Captain Hughes was the kind of man who needed stern handling by a determined woman. The type of woman who understood, and knew how to use the basics of the techniques of Mesmer.

  In fact, in order to prepare for her position as his nurse, Adeline had found, and read everything the Captain had written. This was in order to study her patient's character in depth.

  More recently he had written a number of essays advocating the existence of demons in real life. He even claimed to have seen one on the battlefield at Balaclava, after the charge of the Light Brigade. The one which had ended his military career, leaving him seriously wounded under his dying horse. As a post script, the Captain assured his readers that the demon had followed him home to Templesea. It had trained him in the art of knowing things about others. Personal, secretive things, and aspects of people's lives that he ought not to have known. Yet nothing he claimed had shocked or surprised her.

  She was well-versed in the general lewdness of men after her time in Crimea, as well as the understandable superstition of soldiers.

  She expected Captain Hughes had written such nonsense because he was looking for ways to relieve the boredom since he became an invalid. She was also of the opinion that he had spread gossip about his demonic powers in order to stir up interest in his personal life.

  Everyone needed attention.

  "You're here to do some light nursing duties." Captain Hughes said.

  Adeline noted the curtains moving. "I am."

  "Well, I hope you have the stomach for it. You'll find out soon enough, I'm not one to practise the niceties of polite society for the benefit of delicate company. You'll find my manners and my injuries are not for the faint of heart."

  Adeline bristled. Why did everyone think she was delicate? "I served in the Crimean field hospital, sir. And I have never been faint of heart."

  "I have an open wound. You'll be called upon to see to it."

  Adeline straightened up. "I've seen many wounds."

  "Then like me, you'll have seen other things too. Terrible things. Some of them too terrible to name."

  "In the way of damaged men - then yes, indeed, that is true. I have seen what swords and cannon can do."

  He made a gruff, dismissive sound. "We'll see. Sometimes the worst damage is in the mind. And the last one nurse I hired ran howling from this house after no more than a day."

  Adeline decided it was best to be clear from the start that she was not going to turn into a screaming bedlamite at the first sign of odd behaviour or a suppurating lesion. "I am unshockable. If that is a word."

  A shape seemed to separate from the curtains, limping painfully into the light until at last, it revealed itself to be human.

  Adeline could tell immediately that she"d been wrong about one thing.

  He did not repulse her.

  Quite the contrary.

  Not that she would ever have let it show even if he had been repulsive. But she was relieved to see that his overall look was charming. In a rugged, military way.

  It was immediately apparent that he was the sort of man who drew the eye like a moth to the moon. She took mental notes of his looks. the raw handsome face, aquiline nose, the full, sensual line of his mouth. Although he had a marked limp, he was a great bulk of man, his broad shoulders and muscular torso straining against his crimson smoking jacket. He leaned heavily on a cane, his left leg obviously causing him pain.

  There was a jagged scar over his right eye, extending to his ear. A head wound. That might account for his flights of imagination, and visions of demons.

  And he had a strong, almost menacing presence. The kind of animal magnetism the Baron de Potet had taught her to be wary of. Some might even say, there was an element of the devil about Captain Hughes.

  Most certainly though, she noted with dismay, the Captain was a handsome man.

  His eyes were a dark blue-grey, reminding her of the granite cairns of Dartmoor. There were whispers that when Captain Hughes came back to life on the battlefield he had spoken only in fluent Italian for an entire week. A language he'd never learned.

  Her cousin had told her that many believed the Captain had the power to read minds, as well as talk to spirits and ghosts.

  Adeline did not believe in fairies, mind-reading, or necromancers. As far as she could tell, talking to the dead was an unhealthy preoccupation for anyone. During her time accompanying her Aunt to the Baron de Potet's salons, she had been forced to spend many hours in the tiresome company of self-proclaimed mediums. Because of these experiences, she saw no reason to believe in any such nonsense. Table tipping, and going into trances, whether for profit or self-aggrandizement, was the pursuit of the unenlightened.

  "No one is entirely unshockable," he said.

  "I'm afraid I must in a class of one, then."

  He smiled and she saw for the first time, a darker edge inside him. A jagged, hidden part. Something he did not want to reveal, however hard he tried. Yet it was there. Lurking within him. A deep kind of pain.

  Added to that, she had the disconcerting feeling that he was seeing more of her than she would have liked.

  As if he could really could read her most private thoughts.

  "That's good. I've got no time for tantrums and tears. My medical history demands an iron sensibility."

  "Your manservant told me you're not all there in the head," she said lightly, sensing that she seemed to have passed his initial test. The truth was she had an iron constitution.

  More than that, she was looking forward to using her skills on this broken man.

  The Captain raised an eyebrow. "Did he now?"

  "What do you suppose he meant by that?"

  "I suppose he meant that I am mad."

  "Captain Hughes. I have looked into the eyes of madness on more than one occasion. I don't see it in you."

  She meant it too. There was too much intelligence in his intense, slate grey gaze.

  Yet she dared not look into it for too long, so she turned away from him. Pretended to pay attention to the book of demons once more.

  There was something about his eyes which was disquieting.

  Almost fiendish.

  Chapter 11

  Captain Branwell Hughes stroked his chin and considered the woman who had come to be his nurse.

  Miss Winslow did not look like a nurse.

  Although she wore dark colours, and chose to adopt a simple style of dress, her eyes blazed with intelligence. Blue and magenta triangles of curiosity danced around her as well as a few powerful red circles of life energy.

  Did she lust after him?

  He thought not. How could she? He was an ogre and as soon as she realize that about him, those red circles would turn to muddy flashes of disgust. Branwell shuddered.

  He had that effect on women ever since he returned from the battlefield.

 
Branwell turned his attention back to Miss Winslow. To her dark eyes, which were deep as the smugglers' tunnels beneath Sea Witch Cove. He was almost afraid to look into them lest he saw his own despised soul reflected in their clear beauty. She wasn't pale like most ladies of her background. Instead, her olive skin made him think of Italian princesses or Spanish Queens.

  He grimaced inwardly. Adeline Winslow was certainly going to be a challenge. She was looking at him sideways, teasing - and he longed to shrink back into the shadows. This was all wrong. A real nurse should be older. Big and ruddy. Not this petite, attractive, floral female with her annoying air of knowingness.

  "You have yet to see my madness," he said. "And I assure you I am a warthog when the mood takes me."

  Adeline squinted to see the Captain's features, yet was still unable to make him out in the shifting shadows. She moved closer to the direction of his voice, stepping over a stuffed fox in a glass box on her way to the billowing curtains. "Your servant is not, I take it, a doctor of the mind."

  "That may be so. But he has his reasons to fear me. Partly because I know things I shouldn't know, things only the dead would know. As if they whisper in my ears."

  "What kind of things?"

  Branwell caught a whiff of her as she moved closer. Flowers. Air. Woman. "For example, as an only child and merely a girl, you were a disappointment to your parents. They wanted a creature who would delight them with song and dance. Instead, you read studiously. You ran about like a boy on the moors. Living on the edge of Dartmoor you learned to be self-reliant.

  Then, you moved to London at the age of seventeen to live with your Aunt, an educated spinster with a sharp, yet sensitive mind, and many feather-headed friends."