The Haunting at Hawke's Moor

by Camille Oster

  Absently, she returned inside and leaned back on the door. Sadness washed through every part of her, but she had to waylay it. She had to go to Devon and quickly. Her mind tumbled through the logistics of it. The mail coach. She would have to hurry if she was to catch it.

  "Lisle," she called. "I must leave for a while." She had no money for a journey across the country. Lisle appeared from the kitchen, dough sticking to her fingers. "My aunt has passed. I must go." Her mind was jumbled. "I can't leave you here alone. You must come."

  "We don't have money for both of us. You go; I'll stay."

  Unfortunately what Lisle said was true. They didn't even have money for one to travel. "I'm not comfortable leaving you here alone."

  "Well, needs must," Lisle said, returning to the kitchen. "And perhaps you need to see the doctor while you're in town."

  Anne drew her lips together. No, she refused to go see a doctor about her issues, so she could describe how she stabbed a ghost and how she was hovering between alternate dimensions. That would most certainly have her detained in some sanatorium somewhere, probably chained in a room with every lunatic in the country. She'd rather tackle her ghost.

  Rushing upstairs, Anne laid out her traveling cloak, gloves and shawl. Searching through her closet, she found her mourning dress and pulled it on. It smelled musty, but that couldn't be helped. She had no time to air it.

  On her way downstairs, she grabbed a vase. She had no idea where it came from or who it originally belonged to, but it would have to pay for her journey to Devon. The few coins she had left would only get her on the mail coach. The vase would have to be sold on the way.

  She refused to relent to her sadness the whole journey to Devon, which took close to thirty-six hours. Sleep had been hurried and uncomfortable. London had been a hive of activity and she had grown unaccustomed to the busyness. To her surprise, a carriage waited for her at the train station closest to Crickley Hall. The driver, seeing her mourning dress, inquired if the hall was her destination.

  Harry was already there when Anne was introduced, shown into a parlor, where Lady Willowford and assembled party were. There were other people Anne didn't know. A man who looked to be the vicar, very old with white hair, and a number of women, which Anne assumed were from the district. Aunt Hortense would have had acquaintances and it was nice they came to her funeral.

  "We weren't sure you would make it, but we estimated you would be on this train. A very correct estimation and here you are," Lady Willowford said. Anne got the feeling Lady Willowford wasn't entirely embracing her appearance, but perhaps that was not a surprise. As a divorced woman, she was not far from a leper. "We should perhaps commence with the procession," she said to the vicar.

  "Yes," the man said. "No point delaying further."

  Anne wasn't entirely sure what was going on and looked to Harry as he joined her. "Lady Willowford has offered to pay for the funeral, so she will be buried at the church in the village." Anne felt a huge weight come off her. During the journey, she had been considering her options. Transporting the body to Yorkshire would prove prohibitively expensive and Anne wasn't sure she had enough to sell in the house to cover it.

  "That is very kind of her," Anne said.

  "They were good friends. And I think the expense is nothing to her." The hall was inordinately grand, so Anne suspected Harry was right.

  "This all happened so quickly. I received a letter a few days ago and there was no indication she was ill."

  "Apparently a stroke. Went to sleep one night and didn't wake. They say it was very peaceful."

  Anne did take some comfort in that. "Too much death." She shivered.

  "She was very old. It is hardly surprising. No one else has died," Harry said, looking at her.

  "Oh, my field hand passed away. It was quite traumatic. He was very young. Too young to die."

  The assembled party moved outside where the black burial carriage had appeared, the coffin behind glass, a reef covering most of its surface. A set of four black horses with plumes of feathers on top their bridles pulled the carriage at a slow pace and the party walked behind. Lady Willowford, Harry and Anne walked first, then the rest of the party, who all wore black.

  It took an hour to reach the church, where a grave had already been made ready, breaking the well-kept grass. It was a far cry from the wild graveyard Anne had buried Alfie in. But here she was at another burial. The reverend started the sermon and Anne held her handkerchief to her nose to ensure she held herself with composure.

  It didn't last long and Anne watched as men lowered the coffin into the ground. Anne wanted to stop it, to say that was enough, they were to undo this whole thing and Hortense would be alive. Wanting people to be alive didn't make it so, neither did wanting her life and family not to be ripped apart.

  Anne felt the loneliness stretch in front of her. Her aunt was more or less the only supporter left in her life. Harry was there out of obligation, but he didn't want to be.

  Once the sermon was complete, everyone walked in silence back to the Hall. Anne could have asked how Stanford's wedding was progressing, or had it already occurred, but she couldn't be bothered. She didn't care. Her husband deserved none of her regard and she was happy to pretend he didn't exist. She had to acknowledge this was difficult for Harry, having to be supportive of both parties.

  The reception was held in the same parlor they had gathered in. Tea was served, along with little cakes. Harry joined her on a sofa by a window. He was uncomfortable, but it was his duty.

  "I am sorry things have been difficult for you," he said.

  A smiled passed over Anne's lips, but faded. "That house is uniquely difficult," she admitted. "It seems unsettled."

  "What does?"

  Anne considered whether she wanted to continue with this discussion. "Well, the house has a sordid history and it seems an ominous place."

  "It is a place you are lucky to have," Harry said sharply.

  "Your father divorcing me wasn't my fault," she stated.

  "Wasn't it?"

  "No," she said. "He chose not to honor his vows."

  "If you had perhaps been a bit more… lively, he might not have had to seek diversion elsewhere."

  Anne felt offense flare up every part of her. "That's not what marriage is, Harry."

  "Or perhaps, in light of things, it is. Look, mother, I can't stay. I must return to Oxford. I have work I must do."

  He stood and approached Lady Willowford, taking his leave. He returned briefly and kissed Anne on the cheek, before retreating. He wasn't looking her in the eye; he just wanted to be gone from there. Anne couldn't help feeling hurt, by both his accusation and his eagerness to be away.

  The remainder of the reception was miserable. Anne was left on her own, unapproachable by the others there, except the vicar, who came and spoke to her out of obligation. Anne knew that she could be given a room if she insisted on it, but she felt unwelcome as it was—the social pariah, grudgingly included because she was family. She just wanted to be away from there, felt stifled and judged. There was little sympathy in the world, she decided.

  After finishing another cup of tea, Anne placed it aside and rose. She approached Lady Willowford, who said, "Are you leaving, my dear? It is a shame you could not stay longer. You are welcome to stay the night."

  Anne smiled at the offer. She didn't know this woman, who obviously out of respect for Aunt Hortense was as gracious as she could be. "Thank you," Anne said, "but I should return to Yorkshire."

  "Of course. I will see you to the carriage. Mr. Horn, please call the carriage for Miss Sands."

  Lady Willowford rose and took Anne's arm. They walked to the entrance, which was opened by a younger man dressed in black. "I am sorry for your loss. I shall miss dear Hortense desperately." She was quiet for a moment. "I was also sorry to hear about the bad business you were a part of." That about summed it up: bad business. "You aunt would have wanted you to have this," she said and reached into a fold of her s
kirt, pulling out a bank note.

  It was twenty pounds. "Are you sure?"

  "Quite. I am sure you could use it more than that strapping boy of yours. Fine lad, but his father can provide for him."

  Twenty pounds was an absolute life save. They were running low on everything. "This will be very helpful." Anne had to brace herself; kindness, when there had been such a lack of it, was hard to bear. "You are very kind." She had to push the tears away, compose herself.

  "Nonsense. The carriage will take you to the train. I am sorry you cannot stay, but I do also understand it is uncomfortable. I wish you the best, Miss Sands. Strength."

  Anne nodded and ascended the carriage, closing the door behind her. She gave a wave to Lady Willowford and the carriage took off. She was exhausted, but still relieved to be away. The women had all been wary and curious about her and what she represented—the worst thing that could happen. How many of them wondered if she was better off dead?

  A long arduous journey lay ahead. If she were irresponsible, she would get a room at an inn, but that would be a waste of money. Twenty pounds seemed a great deal, but every penny of it had to be accounted for. But at least they had the means to put some of the land into use now. For that, she would sleep on her feet if she had to. Thinking of the practicalities of what had to be done was much easier than thinking of Harry and everyone else's opinion of her.

  Chapter 23:

  Anne arrived home with all the provisions they were running out of. She'd even bought herself a bottle of sherry and hired a cart and driver to bring her home with supplies that would last them a few months. It was near dusk when she thanked and said goodbye to the driver, who wanted to continue to the Turner farm. Apparently they were related.

  The house looked as she'd left it. A sharp worry had her wondering if it had found a new target to torment in her absence.

  "Lisle?" she called as she walked in the door. It was silent for a moment and Anne felt her panic rise, until she heard footsteps above. Lisle eventually appeared and Anne sighed her relief. "Everything alright?"

  "What would have happened?"

  "Nothing," Anne said. "I brought supplies. We need to carry them in. There is coal coming in a few days, too." Anne was too exhausted to even think about it, but she forced herself. After this was done, she could rest. Since the moment she had left Lady Willowford, she'd been in the company of someone.

  Once all the supplies were in the kitchen, Anne retreated to the parlor, taking the bottle of sherry with her. She poured herself a small measure and sat in a chair by the fire. It had been an awful few days, after another set of awful days. Now she was back to dealing with her original problems and she didn’t feel she'd been allowed to absorb the loss of her aunt.

  At the general merchants, there had been a letter for her. The handwriting showed it wasn't from Harry, so Anne assumed it was from Mr. Harleston. She should open it and read it, but she was too tired to concentrate. No, she was too exhausted to sit in the parlor and wanted to undress and wash the journey off her skin and hair. Retreating to her room, she undid the stays that kept her confined and breathed deeply.

  If there was anything in the room, she didn't feel it and was too tired to feel concerned about undressing in front of a dark man with murderous intent. Right now, she didn't care. Pouring water in a bowl, she cleaned her skin and ran a wet cloth over her hair.

  Sleep wouldn't come immediately. She was overtired and perhaps too sad. What she really needed was to let go of all the hurt and awfulness she'd been holding in.

  She'd lost her only true supporter and friend, and in some sense she was alone now. Pulling on a fresh nightgown, she lay down on the bed and cried—deep, heaving sobs. Her lovely aunt was gone. It was the only link she had left to the family she'd been born into. Harry was the only family she had left and she was a burden to him.

  Shadows from the candlelight played on the walls and she watched it for a moment. There were wet stains from her tears on her pillow. Right now, she wanted to sleep and not think of any of this, but it eluded her.

  Iciness crept into the room and she knew she wasn't alone anymore. Her tormentor had arrived.

  "Go away!" she said sharply and tucked her hands under her cheek. "I don't want to deal with you, you awful man."

  The creak from the floorboards moved closer. Sadly, this horrid man was the only thing that wanted anything to do with her. This was all she got. What was it exactly she had done to deserve this? Was there something she should have done better? Had Harry's accusations been right? Should she have been something entirely different from what she was, and was this her punishment—for being too… colorless?

  Tears welled in her eyes again. Another creek was heard, closer now. He was moving toward her, probably ready to attack.

  "Just stay in your world. This is mine," she said sharply. "There is no reason on God's green earth that you need to come over here. Stay in your part and stop invading mine. I'm not leaving, so you can just grow accustomed to that. I don't care what you do. I don't care about you. I don't care what your wife did to you. You probably deserved it. No doubt you did something awful to her. I wouldn't doubt it. Men, you're the worst creatures ever existed. You take and take, and give nothing back. I don't want to hear about your horrid life or your horrid wife. Leave me alone!"

  A sharp tug on the bed, scraped along the floor, rocking her on the mattress.

  Picking up the pillow, she threw it into empty space. "I hate you," she yelled and turned away from him, rolling onto her stomach, facing away from him. "There is no reason to stay when no one wants you."

  It didn't escape her that it was that exact sentiment that had driven her onto the road when she should have stayed and recuperated in Devon. That was her, the presence no one wanted. Fresh tears flowed, and silently sobs wracked her frame and her knees drew up tightly.

  She could still feel him there, but the attack didn't seem to come. What was he doing, staring her into submission? Actually, she wasn't even afraid. There were so many other emotions inside her, fear couldn't even fit. She knew what he could do and right now, she didn't care.

  Something else moved in the room. She didn't even bother listening, instead grabbed another pillow and shoved it over her head. A thought snuck into her head of the soft little rabbit her nursemaid had made for her out of spare cloth when she was little. She'd loved that little rabbit and wondered what had happened to it. Was some other child finding comfort in it, or was it lonely and cold, and unloved out in the world somewhere? She hadn't meant to discard it; she'd just lost it somewhere along the way. Right now, she really needed something to snuggle into, and had to instead use the blanket.

  Life had been so simple back then—the world bright and full of possibilities. She was going to marry a handsome, loving man and they were going to be happy forever. A shuttering sigh shook her whole body. Her eyes stung with tears, no doubt awfully swollen. She would look dreadful in the morning.

  The iciness retreated and just like that, he was gone. Maybe she was too pathetic for her vengeful ghost to bother dealing with. Was there no honor for ghosts in terrifying sobbing, grieving women? "Coward," she muttered under her breath. She didn't want to antagonize him in case he came back.

  Anne felt as if anxiety was dripping off her. She was traveling, waiting for a train, but none came. Mist covered the tracks, so nothing could be seen. There were others there, but they didn't see her. A man walking past, not even aware she was there. As much as she searched, she couldn't find a ticket booth to buy a ticket. Around and around she walked, but there was no one to help her. She could hear the train coming, but it never came. She would miss it. Without a ticket, she couldn't get on.

  The dark presence came. He was there. There was no face or even form, but he was there. Darkness. He was going to hurt her, slash her like the Ripper had, leave her discarded and ignored. She ran blindly, but he kept following—she sensed him.

  She woke with a start. Dawn was cresting out the win
dow and the room was cold. Getting up, she padded over to the fire and placed some wood on it. A dull pain throbbed in her head. Her nose was congested and her eyes felt puffy.

  The ghost had come and then left her in peace last night. Probably delaying the fight until his adversary was in a fit state to battle. An unwanted chuckle escaped her. Maybe her ghost had some honor.

  In a sense, she was glad to be back. While nighttime was horrific in this house, the days were peaceful. The avalanche of disapproval didn't exist out here and perhaps that made this a better place to be, even with the included adversary.

  The truth was that she wasn’t entirely averse to having a fight. She was more prepared now and it had felt disturbingly good getting her own back at him. He was all her problems rolled into one. He roared and bullied, but she'd stabbed him, made him let go of her. It was the only strength she'd managed to muster and she wasn't letting go of it. Yes, on some level, it was terrifying, but he was also the one thing she could fight. This might kill her in the end, but be that as it may. She was tired and bored of being weak. Although she had been ultimately weak last night, and he had turned away in disgust.

  Mr. Harleston's letter returned to her. It was in the reticule she had carried all the way to Devon and back. Where was it? She had brought it up. Searching the room, she found it on the chair and sat down by the fire, cracking the seal.

  It wasn't all that useful, saying removing a spirit required invoking the light and urging the spirit to walk through into the great beyond. She could hear the man's flamboyant voice through the words on the paper. He repeated that sage weakened their grip on this world. Fear was often what kept spirits earthbound and in her case, a strong spirit was trapping others. It was this spirit that had to be dealt with.

  That was it. There was nothing practical. Anne's disappointment was palpable; she'd be hoping for some remedy that would simply wipe his existence, along with the others, from the house. A flare of concern for Alfie made her sad. She didn't want to wipe away his existence from the earth; she wanted him to find the right path to heaven, where he could be reunited with his family.