Is he sick? Sophie glanced at his face as he led her through the inn’s door. He’s still pale. Does he have an illness he hasn’t told me about?
They were shown to a private room where a meal was already laid out for them. Mr Argenton waited until Sophie was seated before saying, “I’m afraid I must continue on alone.”
She raised her head, surprised. “Sir?”
“Joseph,” he corrected. “I have urgent business at Northwood. It’s faster if I travel alone, on horseback. You will continue in the carriage. My men will take care of you.”
It wasn’t a suggestion, but a command. Sophie stared at her plate as she tried to understand what had caused the abrupt change in plans. In some ways, she was relieved by the idea of travelling alone, without the pressure to make small talk with the cool, intense man. It also disturbed her, though. They’d been married less than two hours. It felt too soon to be separated.
“I’ll wait for your arrival,” Mr Argenton said. He took her hand, raised it to his lips, and kissed the backs of her fingers. A shock ran through Sophie, and she felt heat rush to her face. But before she could speak, Mr Argenton turned, left the room, and closed the door behind himself.
Not for the first time, Sophie was left feeling as if she’d escaped a wolf attack. Her heart pounded and her hands trembled as she picked up her cutlery, trying, and failing, to act as though nothing had happened.
She ate quickly, then one of the inn’s maids helped her change from her wedding dress into her travelling outfit before she returned downstairs. The footmen, who were waiting by the carriage, helped her inside without a word.
The following three days of travel blurred together into a constant stream of rocking carriages, brief meals, and fitful sleeps. Sophie began to feel the solitude acutely. The footmen never spoke to her, even though she said good morning and thank you each day. She wondered if they’d been instructed not to interact with her. She started looking forward to the breaks at the inns, where she could have a brief conversation with the maids who brought her food and helped her change.
Every part of the journey had been arranged for her. She was always lodged in the largest room the inn provided and served with far more food than one person could be expected to eat, all of it fresh and expensive. She asked after Mr Argenton at each stop, and the innkeepers’ stories were always the same: he’d stayed overnight but had slept for only a few hours before returning to the road with a fresh horse. The last innkeeper mentioned, with genuine anxiety, that Mr Argenton had seemed unwell.
That worried Sophie. As she returned to the carriage for the final stretch of the journey, she hoped he wasn’t suffering. A small, cruel corner of her mind whispered, What if he dies? But she pushed the thought aside with a grimace. No new bride should ever wish for such a thing.
It was late afternoon when a voice broke through her thoughts. It was the footman, speaking for the first time since their journey had started. “Welcome to Northwood, Mrs Argenton.”
CHAPTER FIVE: Northwood
They’d been travelling through a steadily thickening forest for several hours. Sophie looked out of the window and saw that the trees ahead thinned, giving her a glimpse of the house she was to be mistress of.
Her father had said the building was breathtaking. That was accurate in the same way that describing a peacock as a bird was accurate. Sophie pressed herself to the carriage’s side and watched in awe and shock as they descended the hill leading to the building.
It was either three or four stories—she couldn’t tell clearly from the distance—and built entirely out of dark stone. Turrets and spires stretched above the black-shingle roof, which was reflecting the last of the late-afternoon sun. There were hundreds of windows. Lights glittered inside a few, but the others, left dark, seemed like dead eyes overseeing the property.
“Sweet mercy,” Sophie breathed. She didn’t want to think about how many rooms the immense building held.
A little way from the house was a large shadowed pond. The shrubs and small trees growing about the house’s sides were not enough to soften the building’s stark impression. Sophie thought she caught a glimpse of a vegetable garden behind the house. Not far beyond that, the forest started.
They were unlike any woods Sophie had seen before. The trees were tall and dark. They grew close together, filling their crevices with shadows, and circled the entire estate in a wide arc.
High wrought-iron gates blocked the path, and the carriage pulled to a halt. Sophie expected the footmen to open the gates so they could pass through, but instead, the carriage door was opened, and a hand offered to assist her down.
“We’re not driving to the house?” Sophie asked.
“No, Mrs Argenton. This is as far as the carriage goes.”
Sophie looked towards the house again. It was a long walk, and she’d worn one of her nicer dresses to make a good first impression with her new family. But the footman seemed unmovable, so she reluctantly took his hand and climbed down.
As she stepped away from the carriage, she saw the second footman had removed her luggage and piled it neatly beside the gate. She wrung her hands as she stared at them. “Ah… I… I can’t carry those myself…”
“No, Mrs Argenton. They will be collected by the house’s staff.”
The footmen both climbed back onto the carriage and urged the horses around with a quick flick of the whip.
There was something wrong with the horses, Sophie noticed. Their eyes were wide, exposing the whites, and froth had developed around their mouths where they’d chewed at the bits. They didn’t need much encouragement to return to the road, and they pulled the carriage away at what seemed like a much faster pace than they’d approached.
The thunder of hooves faded into the distance, and Sophie found herself really, truly alone for the first time. A cold wind rushed around her, and she pulled her cloak more tightly around her body. The house was to her back, still a ten minutes’ walk away, but Sophie couldn’t move, despite the quickly failing light. She didn’t want to approach the vast building. She didn’t want to step over the threshold.
The wood’s noises seemed to engulf her. Her ears were filled with owl calls, the mutter of settling birds, and the scraping noise of dead tree branches rubbing together. The longer she stood, the more she became convinced she could hear weedy, whispering voices amongst the trees.
“Just the leaves,” she said to herself. The muttering swelled. Sophie tangled her shaking fingers together and, paralysed with fear, stared at the litter-strewn path the carriage had taken. She could feel them creeping closer—sightless beings, whispering dead words, dragging their limp forms across the ground, stretching out long fingers to snatch at her dress—
A squeal of metal broke her trance. Sophie gasped and swivelled to face the gates. There were no creatures creeping towards her. Instead, a silhouetted figure had pushed open the gate and stood, one hand on the wrought iron, the other cradling a shotgun, as he regarded her. “You’re early, my dear. I’d intended to be here when the carriage arrived.”
Sophie exhaled and stepped towards Mr Argenton. He had his head tilted to one side, and a frowned creased his forehead. “You look pale. Is something the matter?”
“No, no, of course not.” Sophie shook her head, trying to scatter the fears out of it. What would he think of me if he knew what I’d been imagining? Then remembering how the innkeeper had said her husband had been sick, she forgot everything else. “How are you? Are you feeling unwell, sir?”
“Unwell?” His eyebrows rose.
As Sophie moved closer to Mr Argenton, she searched his face for any gauntness or sick pallor that would suggest chronic illness. But he was no paler than she’d seen him at any other time, and his posture implied easy confidence. He was staring at her with open curiosity, and she blushed. “I—one of the innkeepers said you were unwell—”
“I was in a hurry,” he said, offering her his arm. “I had an urgent engagement at Northwood and was
probably a little shorter with the staff than I would have otherwise been. But I promise you, I am completely well.”
Sophie felt more relieved than she’d expected. She took the offered arm.
As they passed through the gate, she tried to absorb as much of the view as she could in the failing light. The trees, thick and dark, towered above her. She knew it was probably just the way it looked at that time of day, but the entire clearing seemed strangely dim, as though someone had leeched part of its colour away, leaving it a sad imitation of what should have been there. Even the pond looked filled with shadows.
Then she remembered that her luggage was still sitting by the gate, and twisted to look back at it. “Ah, my cases—”
“I’ll have someone retrieve them presently.” Mr Argenton caught sight of her expression, and the small smile returned. “I can assure you, no one’s going to pass by and steal them within the next hour.”
They descended the gentle slope leading towards the house. The path was uneven and muddy, and Sophie shuddered at how much dirt she knew she was accumulating on her skirts. Mr Argenton was leading her forward at a brisk pace, though, and she couldn’t slow down.
“There are wolves in the woods surrounding our home.” Mr Argenton’s abrupt words startled Sophie. “You must never stray far from the house alone. Do you understand?”
A silver glint caught her eye, and she looked towards the open gun hung form the crook of her husband’s other arm. “Are they very dangerous?”
“They can be, if you don’t know how to deal with them.”
No wonder he never has visitors.
More lights were coming on in the house, lighting up dozens of the blank eyes, as twilight progressed towards night.
“I had no idea how large Northwood was,” Sophie said. She knew she was clinging to Mr Argenton’s arm more tightly than she should have, but she couldn’t stop herself.
“The Argenton family used to be quite extensive. A hundred years ago, the house was full. Now, I’m afraid, it can feel both empty and sadly neglected. We’ve struggled to find reliable staff.”
They reached the base of the hill and crossed the smooth stretch of grass towards the house’s entry. Sophie couldn’t keep from staring at the grim building. It could have sprung, fully formed, from one of the mythology books that had given her nightmares as a child. Flying buttresses and gothic balustrades covered its sides, and the arched, church-like windows grew high in the walls. It looked as though it had been constructed by a demented architect; instead of being even and carefully arranged, protrusions and rooms jutted out at strange angles.
Figures were waiting on the steps that led to the front door. Sophie counted more than two dozen of them. She couldn’t understand who they were or why they might be there until she drew close enough to see they wore uniforms.
They would be the servants. Did Mr Argenton summon them to greet me? I suppose I’m their new lady now, aren’t I?
The staff bowed as Sophie and Mr Argenton reached the steps. She smiled at them, but they all kept their eyes fixed on the stone, except for the last one—a young maid, who raised her eyes curiously as Sophie passed.
Mr Argenton led Sophie through the high arched doorway into the house. Sophie had the impression of stepping through a great maw and into a monster’s belly. The foyer was vast and dark, despite the dozen lamps hung about the walls. She could make out a huge stairwell at the back of the room, leading to the second and third floors. The vaulted ceiling extended far above their heads.
Cold chills spread out from her chest, and Sophie didn’t realise how fiercely she was squeezing Mr Argenton’s arm until he placed his hand over hers with a soft, “My dear.”
She let go immediately and managed to smile, even as she struggled to inhale. The house was beyond daunting; it was thoroughly, crushingly overwhelming. Even the air inside seemed heavier.
Three figures were approaching from the opposite side of the room: a man, nearly as tall as Mr Argenton but more thickly set, and a woman wearing an expensive, blood-red silk dress. Between them stood a lanky, bleak-faced girl.
The family resemblance was so strong that it was uncanny. All three had pale, long faces, ink-black hair, and dark eyes. The lady, Mr Argenton’s aunt, was the only one whose face held colour; her lips had been painted scarlet to match her dress.
“Sophie, I would like you to meet my aunt and uncle, Mr Garrett Argenton and Rose Argenton, and their daughter, Elise.”
CHAPTER SIX: Favoured View
Smile! Sophie’s mind screamed at her. She didn’t know if her face was forming the right expression. All she knew was that she felt half a minute away from collapsing onto the marble floor.
Rose came towards her, extending both hands to clasp Sophie’s. Her blood-red lips parted to expose white teeth, and she pressed forward to kiss both of Sophie’s cheeks in an unwanted act of familiarity. The skin that grazed Sophie’s face felt cold, and fresh shivers coursed down her back.
“Welcome to Northwood, my dear,” Rose said. Her voice was low and throaty, but enunciated perfectly, like her nephew’s. Her face was smiling, but something seemed not entirely right about her eyes.
She stepped back, and her husband took her place, clasping Sophie’s hand in both of his. His moustache reminded her faintly of her uncle’s, but that was where any similarity ended. Even though he smiled at her, she could tell it was a strange and unnatural expression for his face. He didn’t speak and released her hand quickly to return to his place beside his wife.
Elise bowed, and Sophie returned the gesture. Unlike her parents, Elise didn’t smile. Dark shadows circled her eyes, which seemed too large for her face. Her hair was plaited into a tight circle behind her head, and her dress, a modest but expensive cut that was suited to a child who was only a few years away from being considered an adult, clung to her thin frame.
“You chose well,” Rose said, turning to Mr Argenton. “She’s quite pretty, Joseph.”
It was phrased as a compliment, but coming from Rose, the comment seemed more like a censure. Rose was everything that pretty failed to encompass. She was elegant, refined, and the type of glamorous that the city’s elite aspired to. Sophie’s family had been considered moderately wealthy, but Rose’s dress put Sophie’s entire wardrobe to shame. Something about the arch of her long neck, how high her cheekbones sat in her face, her straight nose, and the way her silky black hair held its elaborate form perfectly told Sophie that Rose could have been a queen in another life.
Mr Argenton didn’t reply.
“No doubt you’ll be tired after your journey,” Rose said to Sophie, already turning to leave. “I’ll let Joseph show you to your room. I prepared it for you; I do hope you like it. Dinner is at seven precisely. Don’t be late.”
Sophie found herself taking Joseph’s arm again. She felt as though she were floating through a dream. The foyer’s heaviness pressed against her, suffocating her, and a rushing noise filled her ears. Joseph drew her towards the great staircase at the end of the foyer, and she stumbled on the first step.
“Are you all right, my dear?”
The words were soft, but his voice remained cool. Sophie didn’t trust herself to speak, so she nodded and focussed on retaining control over her legs for the remaining stairs.
She counted sixty of them. They passed the second floor and stepped off when the stairs opened onto the third. Wide hallways stretched to their left and right, a myriad of doors and more hallways sprouting off them. Joseph led her right.
“How many rooms are there?” Sophie’s voice sounded faint in her own ears.
“Enough,” was Mr Argenton’s reply.
The house seemed to be growing darker the farther they pressed into it. The wallpaper, made of rich reds and golds, felt smothered in decadence. Sophie became aware of another set of footsteps behind theirs and glanced over her shoulder. The maid, the young one who’d dared to raise her eyes when Sophie had passed her on the stairs, followed them dutifully.
Mr Argenton led them deeper into the building, taking so many turns that Sophie began to wonder how she would ever remember the way back. They finally came to the end of a hallway, where a large, dark door waited for them.
“This will be your room,” he said, turning the handle. “It has traditionally belonged to the mistress of the property. The view is the most favoured in the house.”
Sophie felt her breath leave her as the door opened. The room was large and richly furnished. A fire had been started in the hearth, and its golden glow spread across the four-poster bed, the carved bureau, the wardrobe, and the armchairs. The wallpaper, an intricate gold design set on a slate-blue background, was more soothing for her eyes than the hallways, but no more welcoming.
Then she saw the window. It took up a large part of the opposite wall and was so wide that Sophie didn’t think she could touch both ends if she stretched her arms. It rose high before curving into multiple arches near the ceiling, and the dark-blue satin curtains had been drawn back to display the outside world. Sophie could barely make out the tips of the trees silhouetted against the last moments of sunset.
Though it was dark out, she knew that her husband hadn’t exaggerated. The view would be spectacular.
“How do you like it?” Mr Argenton asked. “Rose had the furniture and decorations chosen for you.”
“It’s beautiful. Thank you.” Despite the lavishness, Sophie couldn’t deny that it had been designed tastefully.
Mr Argenton stepped to one side, and the maid entered the room after them, bowing low in deference. Her sandy brown hair had clearly been fixed up with great care, but strands had slipped out and frizzed around her face.
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