Mr. Charterham had assured her it was hers, but this letter obviously indicated there was some risk.
Without hesitation, she was shown into Mr. Charterham's office by his clerk. Though exhausted from the journey, she didn't want to wait to deal with this, having the uncertainty hang over her for another night.
"My dear Miss Sands," Mr. Charterham said as he entered through one of the other doors, dressed in a striped, gray waistcoat, with a chain hanging to a concealed fob watch. "Please sit."
He brought out a folder and unwound the string that kept it closed. "I see you received my letter," he continued.
"I came as soon as I could. I understand my son is contesting my ownership of Hawke's Moor."
He looked kindly at her and drew out some papers. "That appears to be the case."
Anne shivered at hearing the confirmation of it. "Unfortunately, his claim cannot be entirely dismissed. Your great aunt’s will did not specifically mention you by name, which is unfortunate, as that would make it much harder to challenge, along with the fact that he is a descendant, just as you are."
"Why would he do this?"
"That I cannot answer. But he is your son; I am sure he means what is best for you."
"But Stanford does not, and he is the one guiding my son's hands." Anne as near tears, but she forced herself to remain strong.
"If we go before the judge, I fear he will rule in your son's favor."
Anne chewed her lips together in dismay. "He seeks to take my very home from me. That isn't fair."
"No, it is not. But his claim has the right to be heard and the judge may well rule in his favor, especially as he claims owning this property is stressful to you to the point of harm. The judge will likely put you in your son's care, which may not be a terrible thing," Mr. Charterham said, trying to be bright.
Anne only glared at him. It was the false brightness that felt painful.
"In all honesty, it comes down to if you have the means to fight him."
That was the statement that took all the wind out of her sails. She did not.
"Even if you do," Mr. Charterham continued, "my feeling is that you will lose."
Chapter 37:
The noise of London was disconcerting and woke her throughout the night. She hadn't realized how silent Hawke's Moor was until she left. The thought of losing it sat like a weight on her chest. What if she had to leave? She couldn't imagine it.
Bleary-eyed, she stepped into the train to Oxford. It was time to go to the source and get an explanation for this action. The compartment was crowded, the train full of students heading back after visiting London for whatever purpose. Closing her eyes, she tried to soothe the headache in her temples. In a sense, she wanted to ignore this whole unfortunate development and pretend it hadn't happened. Something bad was going to emerge out of this discussion and she didn't want to face it, but she couldn't allow herself that luxury.
A train journey was remarkably short when one dreaded reaching the destination. The station was bustling and busy and for a moment, Anne felt disorientated, people rushing past her. Standing aside, she waited for the worst of the crowd to pass, then emerged out of the station. A hack stood by, waiting for a customer and she hired him, giving the address to her son's lodgings, her stomach tightening with every passing moment. She felt nauseous, as if she wanted to throw up.
Arriving, she stepped out into a covered archway, where behind a gate, a wooden door lead into a sandstone building. A man emerged, a porter.
"I need to speak to my son, Harold Kinelly," she said, holding herself upright.
"Please, madam, come inside," he said, opening the iron gate for her. "Please follow me."
They walked into the sandstone building and up a narrow set of stairs. Rooms were spread along a corridor, passing one by one, until the porter stopped and knocked on one. "What?" she heard Harry's voice inside.
"A visitor for you, Master Kinelly," the porter said and nodded to her before leaving.
Heavy steps and Harry opened the door, looking slightly shocked to see her. "Mother," he said.
"Harry." Anne wasn't quite sure how to modulate her voice. She was extremely angry and disappointed in him. "I’ve come to see what it is you're up to. I received some disturbing information."
"Come in," he said, looking down the hall and back as if to see if they were observed.
Anne stepped into his room, which held a bed, a wardrobe and a desk. He stood by with his arms crossed. "It is for the best," he said.
"Swindling my house off me? How can that possibly be for the best? You're taking the only thing I ever had from me."
"Don't be so melodramatic, mother. That house is too big and too distant anyway. It is better this way." Hearing this confirmation clenched her heart. This wasn't a misunderstanding; he had deliberately acted against her.
"How could it possibly?"
"I'll sell the house and we'll get you some rooms somewhere. We can purchase an annuity for you."
"Who are we exactly?"
He looked caught for a moment.
"This is your father's doing."
"It makes sense."
"It is my house!" she yelled.
"Keep your voice down," he replied sharply. "The stress is too much for you, speaking of unnatural things going on in the house. I'm sorry if you don't understand, but this needs to be done."
"No, you will stop this," she said firmly. "You will not take my house."
He came up and stroked along her arms. "It will be fine, you'll see. We'll get you some rooms somewhere by the seaside." Nicely hidden from sight, he neglected to mention. "A house of that size is too much responsibility for you. The stress is making you neurotic. Besides, with the money, there are other things we could do. It opens up possibilities. For example, some of the chaps are planning a trip to Italy in the summer, and I could join them." His face looked bright. "You want me to experience such a thing, don't you? It will be like a traditional Grand Tour. Wouldn't that be fantastic?"
Anne blinked. "Something your father should provide for you."
Harry gave her a chiding look. "It would be difficult for him. Likely he will be expecting additions to the family soon. This is the simplest option."
Anne stared at him as if she didn't know him at all. "Do you not care for me at all?"
"Of course, I do. I am doing this because I care." He made a smiling laugh as if wondering how she could question that. "This will be for your benefit, freeing you of the obligation and responsibility. That land should be managed. How could you possibly manage land?"
"I am," she said.
He looked at her disbelievingly. "Please just trust me, mother."
"I do not agree to this," she said, feeling her voice weaken. She took a step back and turned away from him as tears were threatening.
"A nice cottage by the seaside will be lovely. All that fresh sea air. It will be marvelous for your health." At least he was upgrading her from rooms to a cottage—obviously an expression of guilt. It was there in his eyes, and now he refused to meet hers. "I can take you to lunch if you’d like."
"No, I need to get back. I have a farm to manage." She couldn't bear sitting across from him for an hour; she had to get away. With her spine straight, she walked to the door. "You know, son, I thought Stanford's betrayal was terrible, but I'm not sure it compares to that of your own child."
"Mother," Harry said with exasperation, "there is no need for such dramatics. This will all be well, you will see."
Anne turned and left, neglecting to close the door behind her. Her heart felt frozen in shock and grief, not far different from how she felt when her aunt had died. This felt like a death—a death of her trust. Harry refused to even listen to her. All he wanted was the money he could milk out of her, to then discard her. Maybe she was being too harsh. Perhaps in his mind, he did believe this was for the best, but she suspected to him that was simply an added benefit.
Hailing a hack, she returned to the train
station. Her mouth was tight as she stepped onto the train heading back to London, where she would change to one heading north.
Absently, she watched the scenery fly by, not really noting anything. Her heart was too heavy, but it also gave to a deep and encompassing anger. She was determined to fight. She didn't know how she would find the means, but she would. Mr. Charterham expected she would lose and maybe she would, but she would still fight, if for no other reason than for them to know she would not agree to this. They had to force this out of her grip, and at the very least, people would know what they were doing to her. They deserved for this to be known.
She slept poorly on the train, waiting hour after hour. There was a small child in the compartment, clinging to her mother for comfort and care. The mother gently stroked the girl as she slept, doing what she could to make her comfortable. Mothers were like that; they did what they could. Anne had always believed that relationship was sacred, but was now wondering if some used that instinct to their benefit. She hated the suspicion and doubt that had crept into her. It colored everything. Still, even with Harry's lack of caring, she couldn't stop loving him. Maybe that was the cruelest part of all.
At times, it felt as if this train journey would never end. Day passed to night, and before long, light was creeping along the horizon again. She was well beyond tired when she finally arrived in Goathland. It felt a long time since she’d left, when it had only been a matter of days.
It didn't take long to find someone heading her way, but she had to walk from the road. It took hours, the last of it walking in the moonlight, which fortunately was enough to let her see. Her tears were not always as generous. Every part of her ached, but mostly her heart. This might be the cruelest blow yet. Perhaps it would be worse if on some level she hadn't expected this. She'd know something was coming.
The house appeared in the distance, silhouetted in the moonlight. It looked dark and almost morbid, but she had never been happier to see it. Inside there was a being who actually saw her. He might have started as a monster, but underneath was a soft place for her, where she felt safe. The people who were supposed to love her, whose duty it was to love and care for her were the other way around, pleasant of the surface, but monsters underneath. It revealed itself whenever she stood between them and what they wanted.
Chapter 38:
The door was locked when Anne arrived home and it felt like another blow, one she probably blew out of proportion by an astonishing degree, but her heart just couldn't take another setback, even if minuscule in magnitude. She felt like crumpling down and admitting defeat, even when she was so very close to her destination. The locked door seemed insurmountable.
After a while, a light moved through the inside of the house and Lisle finally unlocked the door, swinging its heavy weight open. "You look worse for wear."
"It's been a trying few days," Anne admitted, caring nothing for how she looked.
"What has occurred?"
Anne's shoulders sank. It was hard to admit it. "My son is trying to take ownership of the house."
Lisle didn't say anything as she considered the statement. "Little bludger," she finally said.
While her instinct was to defend Harry, she couldn't. His actions were deplorable, no matter how he tried to dress them up. Anne just sighed and shrugged off her coat. "I'm exhausted." She was glad Lisle didn't dismiss this development as something unimportant. This was important; it was a profound betrayal, and Anne thought more of Lisle for seeing it that way. Not everyone would.
"Are you hungry?"
"Probably, but I don't think I can eat."
"In the morning, then."
Anne nodded absently and headed for the stairs. In her tiredness, they seemed a true obstacle, but she forced her aching legs to propel herself up.
Her room was dark and cold when she got inside. Lisle followed, pouring some coal in the grate. "I didn't know you were coming."
"That's alright," Anne said automatically and started undressing. She was beyond caring for her modesty; she just wanted the constricting dress off her. The cold was welcoming, as long as she could be free. She even unpinned her hair and let it flow over her shoulders. Somehow this act was making her teary again and she crawled into her bed, facing away.
Lisle finished up and left, closing the door. The mattress was soft and welcoming, but Anne couldn't stop the tears from flowing. It was as if she could truly grieve now that she was somewhere safe—a safety they were trying to rob her of. Her body wracked with sobs. But she stilled when a hand pressed down on her upper arm. He was there. She'd wished for him for what seemed like the whole journey. His warm body pressed to her back.
"You left," he said.
"There was a letter informing me that my son is acting against me."
"I'm sorry," he said, his lips softly stroking along her shoulder.
"He is trying to take the house from me." It still hurt to admit it, to say it out loud. It made it feel more true. New tears flowed from sore and heated eyes. Would they ever stop flowing? He didn't say anything, just stroked her down her back. Shifting, she sat up and faced him, tucking her knees up. "I thought a malicious ghost was horror, unseen things chasing you in the night, meaning you harm, but this is horror, being betrayed and abandoned by one’s family, by someone you love. No violence, just a dispassionate absence of caring."
"It isn't much easier to bear when they actually mean you harm."
"No, I suppose not."
Tears spilled again. "What did I do for them to turn on me so? Was I so horrible they cut me out of their hearts? Well, with Stanford, I'm not entirely sure he ever let me in. But Harry…" She couldn't finish. He had been her little boy, her sunshine and her reason for rising in the mornings. He'd been her everything.
"You can never know what is in someone else's heart, and you are not responsible for what they choose to carry inside them. You are only responsible for yourself, and if you loved the people who needed you to, that is all you had to do."
It sounded so simple when he said it. "Did you love your wife?"
"I tried my best to do right by her, but I'm not sure I ever loved her. I tried to, but her bitterness and jealousy destroyed the relationship between us. She was a better mother than she was a wife."
"Yet her actions destroyed her children."
"That was not her intention, but the forces she unleashed on us were always going to be outside of her control. She never understood that."
Anne looked down. "How do I recover from this?"
"I'm not sure you can. Give it a few hundred years."
She laughed for the first time since leaving. "I am going to fight," she said quietly.
"Good. You need to. You won't forgive yourself if you don't."
"I have a poor chance of winning, though."
"Fight till the end. Fight till there's nothing left."
"And then what?"
"Well, I have just gotten to that part myself. I rather agree with finding someone quite lovely to spend your time with. Soothes so many pains and aches." His hand ran up her ankle and chin.
"Does it?" she said teasingly. She loved how he could distract her. It was such a beckoning idea to just forget and turn her attention to the urgent need and softness between them. But then she sobered. "I will lose the house." Which also meant she would lose him.
"Then we will haunt them with such fury, they will flee in terror. You might have exorcised the ire in me, but I can still wreak havoc if I chose to."
Anne smiled but knew it was not the solution. "They will sell the house. That is their aim. They want the money. I doubt they will ever set foot here." The idea of fighting them in court was appealing, along with the procedures being reported in the papers, but there was merely a slight chance she would win.
"We can't have you leaving," he said, his fingers tracing figures along her skin.
There was always a chance she could stay. Perhaps the new owners would be amenable, even if only in one of the outbuil
dings. Richard would assure they were amenable. She chuckled at the thought, almost pitying the new owners. The living did not necessarily make the rules in this house, and the new owners may run before long, most had, leaving the house deserted.
His words returned to her mind: fight with everything in her, fight on principle. Would she ever forgive herself if she let them walk all over her, even if she could salvage something of her life and existence afterward? No, she had to fight, but she wanted to win.
Rising out of bed, she walked to the desk. Richard's eyes followed her as she sat down. "Time to plan my offensive," she said.
"Uh, I love an offensive," he sighed and lay there, watching as she drew a sheet of paper out of the drawer. "I knew you would never give in."
Anne wrote and wrote, taking long breaks to pace around the bedroom to think, going over every single one of Mr. Charterham's words. Tiredness skirted around her mind, but she refused to let it claim her. It was time to fight and she felt exhilarated by it.
She had no idea what time it was when she laid down the pen, but she leaned back against the chair and surveyed her work. Richard was still lying on the bed watching her. "Sometimes the pen is mightier than the sword."
"I don't know. Swords can be very effective. There is a certain satisfaction cutting your enemy down."
"I am quite happy with the satisfaction I feel right now."
"Is that so?" he said. "Well, as long as you stay in the house, then we must celebrate." He held out his hand to her. She sighed as she watched him. How had she been so lucky to find him? It seemed so utterly improbable, but here they were.
"You want me to stay, then?" What exactly they meant to each other wasn't something they had talked about.
"Enough that I would be quite happy to run both your son and husband through with my sword."
"Except having Stanford in this house would be something I would absolutely avoid. And for all he does, I cannot harm Harry. But I might deny him."
The Haunting at Hawke's Moor Page 20