Her tone brought a flush of embarrassment to Sophie’s cheeks. “Oh, I thought—”
“Perhaps it was a dream, my dear. I suppose it’s to be expected that you’re a little out of sorts after such a long trip.” Rose’s eyes fell to the letter Sophie clutched. “You have something to post. Lovely. Would you like me to take care of it for you? I was just finishing my own replies for this morning.”
“Thank you.” Sophie hesitated only a second before handing the precious letter to Rose. The older woman placed it on top of a bundle of her own correspondence.
“The mail doesn’t come to Northwood very often, but I’ll be sure to give you the reply as soon as it arrives.” Rose placed her pen into the inkwell and stood. “Now, I believe I promised to show you about the house this morning. Shall we?”
Sophie obediently followed Rose from the room. She wanted to ask where Mr Argenton was, but Rose’s command—don’t let him get too close—still echoed in her ears. She didn’t want to say anything that might anger her aunt, especially now that civilities seemed to have been restored.
Rose led her to the stairs and down to the ground floor. She turned right and pushed through a heavy door that opened into the kitchens. The cook and her assistants fell silent as Rose and Sophie entered the room. Every set of eyes dropped to the floor as their tasks—even a pot of sauce that was beginning to boil over—were ignored. Rose watched them, a smirk hovering about her mouth, then said, “Continue.”
As one, the staff turned back to their jobs, carefully avoiding any eye contact.
They’re terrified of her, Sophie realised, and her stomach churned. What has she done to them?
“As mistress of Norwood, you will be responsible for giving instructions for our meals each day,” Mrs Argenton said. “Of course, any fresh food you order, whether meat or vegetable, must come from the estate. Different foods have different seasons. To arrange a harmonic meal, you must keep in mind which foods are currently available. You wouldn’t want to order the trout without there being any chervil to make the sauce, would you?”
Sophie shook her head. The anxiety had returned to bite at her, reminding her that any and every mistake would be judged harshly.
Rose’s smile grew. “Of course, having lived on the estate for all of my life, I’m very familiar with which foods are in season at any time. That’s the only way I’ve been able to ensure the dinner table is always pleasant.” She tilted her head to one side. “Do you think you’re capable of the same task?”
Sophie’s mouth felt too dry to allow her to answer properly. The bustle of the kitchen wasn’t helping; scullery maids wove about the room while the cook whispered instructions. Pots boiled, knives scraped against chopping boards, and the smell of cloves and garlic felt thick about Sophie’s head.
Rose interpreted the silence as she chose. “Or, if you prefer, I could maintain control of the meal arrangements for the time being. Only until you’re more familiar with our systems, of course.”
“I’d be very grateful,” Sophie managed.
Rose squeezed her arm and led her out of the room with a self-satisfied smile.
Just like that, she’s secured control of the kitchens. Well, that suits me fine. Nobody likes change; anything I alter about Northwood, even unintentionally, is certain to upset Rose and probably disturb Mr Argenton, too.
“I’ll show you how to manage the maids and the house’s maintenance,” Rose said as they returned to the vast foyer. Sophie thought she could guess where this was going to lead, and she wasn’t surprised when Rose added, “It’s quite a tricky job. Northwood is an old and peculiar house, with many quirks that need to be cared for.”
This time, Sophie knew what her aunt wanted to hear. “It sounds as though it would be very easy to make a mistake if I don’t know the house well.”
“Very easy.”
“Perhaps you would be considerate enough to assist me with the task?”
She’d said the magic words. Rose’s mouth opened into a wide smile, and her dead eyes sparkled. “Certainly, my dear. I can arrange everything, if you like, until you feel confident taking over.”
“That would be wonderful.”
“Then we have an accord.” Rose squeezed Sophie’s arm a second time and returned to the stairs to finish her letters.
Sophie felt part of the anxiety ease away. Rose would remain as mistress of Northwood in all but name; in return, Sophie hoped she’d bought at least a little goodwill.
CHAPTER ELEVEN: Storm
Sophie hovered in the foyer. Without the house to manage, she didn’t know what to do with her morning. She went to the front door and pushed it open a crack to see if she could explore the grounds, but the dark clouds had thickened. The rain would start soon; she would have to wait for the storm to clear.
She turned back to the stairwell, wishing she could return to her room and its beautiful solitude, but the maids would need to clean it, and she didn’t want to inconvenience them by making them wait. Besides, she still didn’t know her way.
Maybe I can find a sitting room like Rose’s and write letters. Except she had no one to write to besides her family, and she was already sending them a letter that day.
A door slammed to her right, and Sophie heard a voice echo through the rooms. “Have you seen Mrs Argenton? No—Sophie—my wife. Where is she?”
The voice was harsh, and Sophie cringed backwards. The door’s cold wood pressed into her shoulders, and she wished she could melt through it and disappear into the outside world before Mr Argenton found her.
He’s angry again. What have I done this time?
The dining room door burst open. Mr Argenton stood in the entrance, his dark hair ruffled and his eyes wild. He caught sight of Sophie and, to her surprise, exhaled. The tension left his shoulders, and he slumped for a second before collecting himself. When he crossed the foyer towards her, his face held none of the anger she’d feared. Instead, he looked relieved.
“There you are.” He took her hand in his. It was almost a reflexive motion, as though he wasn’t fully conscious of doing it, and he rubbed at her palm with his thumb. “I’ve been looking for you all through the house.”
“Rose was showing me the kitchens,” Sophie managed. She didn’t want to admit to herself how good his hand felt. It was firm and comforting. Heat crept across her cheeks. “Is everything all right, Mr Argenton?”
A faint smile tugged at his mouth. “You’re determined not to use my name, aren’t you? And yes. I’m fine now.”
“Oh.” Sophie met his eyes and felt her foolish, happy smile grow. Then thunder cracked outside, and she shuddered.
“Are you afraid of storms, my dear?” Mr Argenton brushed a stray curl behind her ear. Some type of emotion—Sophie wasn’t sure what—flickered in his eyes.
Don’t let him get too close.
Sophie took a half step backwards. Mr Argenton let her move away, though he frowned as he dropped her hand. Sophie searched for something to say and stumbled on, “A doe died outside my room last night.”
“Ah, you saw it.” The coolness had returned to his voice.
Sophie felt a pang of regret.
“I found it while visiting the gardens this morning. I’m sorry it had to expire so near to your room. I’ll have my men move it to the forest.”
Sophie nodded. Another peal of thunder, closer this time, seemed to shake the house.
“I’m going hunting,” Mr Argenton continued. “I shouldn’t be away too long. Will you be able to amuse yourself in the meantime?”
Sophie turned towards the door in alarm. “Now—but it’s about to rain!”
The faint, fluttering smile returned. “I expect it to hold for another few hours. And besides, rain won’t hurt me.”
“You could catch a cold,” Sophie rebuffed.
Mr Argenton’s smile faded. “I never do. Perhaps you would like to spend some time with Elise while I’m out. She would love to know you better.”
That caug
ht Sophie off guard. She would have preferred to be alone, but knew she should be spending time becoming familiar with her new family. “I—yes—I’d be delighted.”
“She will be in the library. The butler can show you the way.”
As he spoke, Mr Argenton turned to someone behind Sophie, and she swivelled with a start. A butler, his face deeply creased, stood behind them, holding a shotgun. Mr Argenton took the rifle, and the butler gave a low bow. “If you will follow me, Mrs Argenton.”
Sophie felt as though she should argue against Mr Argenton leaving the house. The clouds were so thick and dark that it was pure fantasy to imagine the rain would hold off for more than ten minutes, but Mr Argenton had already pushed open the door and was disappearing down the steps. Sophie waited until the closing doors blocked him from view, then she reluctantly turned to the butler, who bowed again and began to lead her towards the staircase.
CHAPTER TWELVE: Whispers
The butler’s shoes made quiet clicking noises on the wooden floor. Sophie watched the back of his feet as they swung in a mesmerising motion as she tried to untangle her encounter with Mr Argenton.
Something had worried him so badly that he’d sought her out. She knew almost nothing about him, but what she did know convinced her that he wouldn’t look that anxious over a trivial problem.
What was wrong, then? Sophie hadn’t heard any sort of commotion in the building. But she thought Mr Argenton might not like her being left alone, which was why he’d suggested she sit with Elise until he returned. Was he worried about someone in the house? Was he worried about what Rose might do?
Rose isn’t going to do anything. She’s is a cultured, intelligent woman. These little… events… are power plays. Once she’s comfortable with you, everything will be fine. Just be careful not to upset her.
That presented another problem, though. Sophie raised a hand to where Mr Argenton had brushed her hair back, and a small glow of pleasure lit deep in her chest. What would Rose do if I ignored her command? He’s my husband. Surely, no one could expect me to reject him if he wanted to spend time with me. Surely…
Sophie realised too late that the butler had stopped, and nearly walked into him. She jerked back, and embarrassment flooded her face with colour, but the butler graciously pretended not to notice. His gaze was focussed on somewhere behind her head, and he extended a hand towards the open door.
Inside was the most magnificent library Sophie had ever seen. Shelves, all filled with books, covered nearly every wall and stretched high towards the ceiling. Sophie stepped inside the room, mouth open in wonder, then turned back to the butler. “Thank you.”
He was already gone, his shoes clicking quietly as he returned to the stairs. Sophie turned back to the library to absorb the sight. She imagined she could spend many happy hours there. Large, plush chairs were propped in the corners, and a bench—designed for research, she guessed—stretched across one wall. A blaze in the fireplace spread a gentle glow over the room.
She paused to read some of the titles and frowned. Treaties of the Dead. The Paranormal and the Damned. Legends, Myths, and the Supernatural. The Dead Who Walk.
There looked to be hundreds of books like those. What a macabre collection. Sophie remembered a book from her own childhood, and the golden words that had been embossed on its stained cover flashed across her mind. Cryptids and the Occult. She shook herself away from the memory and moved deeper into the library, suddenly eager to have company.
She found Elise sitting cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by papers. “Good morning, Elise.” Wait, is it still morning? Or has it passed noon now?
Elise didn’t respond. A piece of charcoal was clasped in her hand, and she pulled it across the paper in long, even strokes. Sophie moved closer to examine the pictures and picked up the nearest one.
It drew a gasp from her. Rendered on the paper was a creature she couldn’t fully comprehend. Shaped something like a hunched, lanky human, it loomed out of deep shadows. Its open mouth showed white fangs, and its fingers were tipped with fifteen-inch nails. Instead of giving it eyes, Elise had left round, white holes in the elongated head, giving it the appearance of having lamps set in its head.
Sophie dropped the paper as though it had burnt her, and she looked at the other drawings with growing dread. Every single piece of paper showed the creature, always staring towards the viewer, always cloistered in heavy darkness.
Calm down. It might be some horror she’s invented for a story or a play. Ask her, you’ll see. “Elise, what is this?”
Elise raised her head. Her eyes fixed on Sophie’s face, but they were unfocussed, and her jaw was slack. “He whispers to me.” Her voice was quiet but as clear as a bell. “He watches me at night. I know he does.”
Sophie stepped backwards. Her legs bumped into a chair, and she collapsed into the leather seat, too shaken to stand. Is she unwell? Is this normal for her?
Thunder rumbled, and at last, the rain began to fall. Large, heavy drops hit the windows and slapped against the walls. The thunder seemed to have startled Elise, and she blinked furiously. Some awareness returned to her eyes. She and Sophie stared at each other for a second, then Elise said, “You look very pretty today.”
“Oh.” Sophie struggled to smile and pressed a hand to her heart. “Thank you. You do, as well.”
Like the day before, Elise wore a practical but well-made dress and a ribbon in her black hair. Rather than responding to the compliment, she stood and went to take a seat opposite Sophie. She walked over the drawings without seeming to notice they were there, and the paper crinkled under her boots.
“You—your pictures—” Sophie managed.
“I’ll burn them,” Elise said calmly as she took her seat. “I always do.”
“You… draw often…?”
Elise folded her hands in her lap, like a perfect miniature adult, and looked out the window. For first time, Sophie had the chance to see the girl clearly. There was something wrong about her sunken eyes. At first, Sophie thought they might hold the same deadness as her mother’s, but then she realised it was almost the opposite. Elise’s eyes were haunted.
What happened to her? Has someone hurt her? Her mother—
Sophie remembered the manic glint in Rose’s eyes as she’d stroked the new dresses in Sophie’s wardrobe. Again, she had a horrible premonition that Rose could be capable of a lot more than appearances suggested.
As she watched the girl sitting silently, Sophie felt pain build in her chest. She couldn’t imagine what had been done to Elise, but she felt a desperate need to ensure it never happened again.
“It’s raining.” Elise’s gaze was still fixed on the window. “I hate the rain. It wakes things that are better left asleep.”
“Slugs,” Sophie agreed. “And snails. They destroy my family’s garden every time it rains.”
A very thin smile flittered across Elise’s face. “Yes, those, too.”
Should I say something about the drawings? “Elise—”
Thunder cracked, and it ran through the house like shivers. The windows rattled in their panes, and a burst of cold air rushed down the chimney. The fire hissed then sputtered out a heartbeat. The lamps lit around the walls held on for a moment more, but, one at a time, they flickered and died.
Sophie gasped and half rose out of her chair. The sky was incapable of lighting the room; without the lamps, she was as good as blind. “Elise, are you all right?”
Elise sighed. There was something unsettling about the noise, as though the very exhalation were filled with deep sadness.
Another thunderclap rattled the window a second time. In the brief instant of illumination that accompanied the lightning, Sophie caught sight of Elise’s face, pale and drawn, her dark eyes fixed on Sophie as an unhappy frown scrunched her brows together. Then the darkness, thick and cold, rushed back around them.
“Elise?” Sophie repeated, her voice a whisper. No reply. She became aware of movement. Footsteps, slow a
nd even, came from near Elise’s seat and arced across the room. Sophie wanted to move away, but fear turned her legs to bricks and froze her to the chair. She gripped the armrests until her fingers ached. The steps came closer, crunching over the discarded pages.
Sophie tried to speak, but her mouth was so dry the words came out as a rasp. “Elise, please answer me.”
The footsteps stopped at her side. She could feel a presence there, huge, somehow, and towering over her. It exhaled. The sound was a low rasp in her ear. Sophie squeezed her eyes closed as sweat broke out across her and shivers clawed their way down her back.
Then with a fizzle, the fireplace caught alight. It was only a handful of embers, but the golden glow provided just enough light for Sophie to see the closer parts of the room.
Elise was still in her chair, her eyes cold as she watched Sophie. The library was otherwise empty.
Sophie drew a shuddering breath, lost for words. She released her grip on the armrests and stared at her hands. They were shaking.
“Does he whisper to you, too?” Elise asked.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN: Secrets and Lies
Elise returned her attention to the window as Sophie staggered out of her chair, willing her legs to take her weight. The blackness, barely relieved by the embers, pressed around her. I have to get out of here.
She took a step, and one of the pages, scattered by the gust of wind, crumpled under her feet. The charcoal creature’s lamp-like eyes stared up at her, eager and hungry. Sophie moved past it as quickly as she could, but stopped at the door.
I have to know.
“Elise… you felt it, too, didn’t you?
The girl’s face was blank as she watched the rain stream down the glass. Her eyes were unfocussed again. Sophie shuddered and pushed out of the library, no longer wanting to have anything to do with the magnificent bookcases or their ancient, arcane books.
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