I need company. I need…
Mr Argenton. He was the only person in the house she felt safe with. And he was out in the storm, hunting.
“Lies,” Sophie muttered to herself as she picked up her skirts and rushed down the red-and-gold hallway. She couldn’t stop shaking, so she took the energy the fear gave her and turned it into action. This house is nothing but lies and secrets. I feel like I haven’t heard an honest word since I arrived.
She turned the corner and, mercifully, found the staircase not far ahead of her. She took it to the ground floor and hesitated in the foyer. Shifting sounds came from one of the rooms to her left, and she pushed open the door.
Hopes of finding Mr Argenton were dashed as the butler straightened. He stood in some sort of storage room, where rows of guns and ammunition lined the walls. The butler held one of the rifles, apparently checking it for defects. Sophie took an impulsive half-step away.
The butler fixed his eyes on a place a little above her head. “How may I help, Mrs Argenton?”
“I, uh… has Mr Argenton returned, please?”
“I’m afraid not as of yet. If you like, there is a sitting room that overlooks the front porch.”
“Please.”
The butler stepped out of the room and indicated a smaller door past the dining room. Sophie gave a small nod of thanks and hurried towards it.
“Mrs Argenton.” The butler’s call halted her just as she reached towards the handle. Sophie turned back to him, and he gestured to his own face. “You have something on your cheek.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I mean—thank you.” Sophie pushed into the sitting room, shut the door behind herself, and pressed her back to the cold wood. A fire had been lit, but it was growing low in the grate. Sophie hated the way the shadows fluttered amongst the corners of the room and behind the furniture, and she hurried to throw a fresh log on the flames.
She looked about the room as the fire spat and hissed at the wood. As with the rest of the house, it was decorated beautifully. A mirror was fixed on the opposite wall, and Sophie went to it. The butler had been right; some dark liquid had dripped onto her left cheek. Sophie smudged it away and frowned at its strangely viscous, tacky texture. She didn’t like the feel of it, and wiped her hand and cheek clean on her handkerchief.
The sitting room had one large window facing the front lawn. She could see the stairs leading to the entryway, but the heavy rain hid the woods and lake from her view. Sophie sat in the chair beside the window then wrapped her arms around her torso as she stared into the downpour.
There was something in that room with us. It was too large to be Elise, and I would have heard the door open if anyone else had entered.
Anxiety clawed at her chest again. She felt helpless, like a pawn cornered by rooks, bishops, and one very dangerous queen.
I can’t stay in this house. I can’t leave. They won’t tell me their secrets, and I’m afraid to even ask.
Fresh lightning lit up the lawn. Sophie made out a dark shape in the distance, and she stood. By the time she’d pressed her face to the window, though, the darkness had swallowed up the figure. Was that Mr Argenton?
She returned to the foyer and crossed the marbled expanse to the kitchen. The workers froze when she pushed open the door, but quickly resumed their tasks when they saw it was only Sophie. She hovered in the doorway, trying to catch someone’s attention, but they seemed to be trying not to look at her.
“E-excuse me…” She caught at one of the scullery maid’s sleeves, halting the girl. The maid looked chagrined at being chosen and fixed her eyes on her feet. “Mr Argenton is returning. Would you fetch us tea and some towels, please?”
The maid didn’t reply—they never seem to unless they have to—but bobbed in a curtsy and hurried away. Sophie returned to the foyer to wait.
It didn’t take long for Mr Argenton to come in. He was drenched; rivulets of rain ran from his flattened hair and coursed down his cheeks. He seemed to have protected the gun under a thick cloth, which he discarded as he closed the door behind himself.
He hadn’t seen her, and Sophie took the chance to examine his face. It was creased with worry lines, and his eyes, normally so cold, swam with dark frustration. Then he looked up and saw her, and a surprised smile washed away the worry. “Sophie, I hope you weren’t waiting for me.”
“I asked the maid to fetch some towels,” Sophie said, forcing herself to keep her voice level. “I don’t know if she actually will or not—”
“She will. They’re well trained.”
The butler had appeared out of the shadows, and Mr Argenton passed his gun and coat off. Sophie tried not to stare at the way his wet shirt stuck to his chest. The sinewy muscles were outlined clearly and shifted with each breath. She pulled herself free, turned towards the sitting room and pushed open the door.
“I’ll make the furniture wet,” Mr Argenton said. “Give me a few minutes to dry and change.”
Please don’t leave me alone. “The furniture won’t be any worse off here than in your room.” Sophie struggled to smile. “And the maid is bringing tea.”
Mr Argenton, who was halfway out of his jacket, froze. His eyes scanned her, lingering on her hesitant smile and shaking hands, then he took a step closer. “Did something happen?”
Sophie opened her mouth to answer but couldn’t find any words. Worry lines developed across Mr Argenton’s face. He dropped his jacket on the marble floor and followed Sophie into the sitting room without another word.
CHAPTER FORTEEN: Questions
The maid, moving quickly and avoiding eye contact, followed them into the room, a tray of tea balanced in one hand and half a dozen towels gripped in the other. She shoved her burdens onto the table, bobbed in the briefest curtsy she could manage, and scurried out of the room.
Mr Argenton ignored the towels and stepped nearer to Sophie. His wet hand reached towards her arm, but he didn’t touch her. When he spoke, his voice was soft but urgent. “What happened? Are you hurt?”
“No,” Sophie said quickly. “No, nothing like that. Everything is fine—” Don’t lie to him. Everything is not fine. But Sophie was finding it difficult to maintain her righteous anger now that Mr Argenton stood so near to her, his black eyes filled with anxiety as they searched her face.
“You’re pale. Can I get you anything? Some wine?”
“Thank you, but I’m fine. You—you’re dripping on the carpet. Here.” Sophie snatched one of the towels off the table and offered it to him. He relaxed a little but continued to watch her out of the corner of his eyes as he took the towel and rubbed it through his hair.
“Something happened.” The towel moved downwards to blot at his shirt, which stuck to his chest.
Sophie caught herself staring at the outlines of his muscles and looked away.
“Are you sure you’re all right?”
Sophie busied herself with pouring them both tea as she tried to collect her thoughts. She had Mr Argenton’s attention, and she sensed he wasn’t going to try to dodge her questions, so she tried to approach the subject as tactfully as she could. “Elise was drawing some very strange images.”
She watched his reaction closely. His eyes fluttered closed for a second, and while he continued to wring the water from his clothes, the motions became automatic, rather than deliberate. He looked away from her, and his voice seemed a little too level when he replied, “I think I can guess—was it a black creature? I hope it didn’t alarm you, my dear. Elise has been pre-occupied with it for some time.”
“Do you have any idea what it is?”
“Some monster she read about in a book, as far as I can gather. She’s been having bad dreams about it.”
Sophie found that believable. When she was a child, her father had bought her a collection of books from a peddler. Nestled amongst the fairy tales was a fragile, crumbling text titled Cryptids and the Occult. The monsters contained between those pages had fuelled Sophie’s nightmares for months. She could very easily imagine E
lise, already a little maladjusted, picking an ill-judged book off the library shelves and becoming obsessed with its contents.
That didn’t explain the presence she’d felt, though. Sophie opened her mouth to ask Mr Argenton about it, but broke off as he flinched.
He’d been trying to use his left hand to reach his back then quickly switched the towel to his right, turning his body to hide his left arm—but not before Sophie saw red seeping through the sleeve. “You’re hurt!”
“I’m fine.” He sighed, turning further to block her view. “A branch scratched me while I was hunting; that’s all.”
A sick, frightened feeling rose in the pit of Sophie’s stomach. She moved around to Mr Argenton’s side and took his hand before he could protest. She pushed his sleeve back as carefully as she could. He’d wrapped a strip of cloth around his forearm, but blood was soaking through it. So this was why he wanted to go to his room before talking with me.
“It looks serious,” she said, refusing to let Mr Argenton pry her hands away. “We should summon the surgeon. Who do you normally send—”
“The surgeon doesn’t like to make house calls to Northwood,” Mr Argenton said.
Sophie raised her head to see his face and was struck, once again, by just how tall her husband was.
Amusement twisted his mouth. “Besides, it would take him nearly half a day to arrive. Trust me, dear Sophie, it looks far worse than it is.”
Dear Sophie. She looked away before he could see the colour rise to her face. “Do you have a medicine kit?”
“Yes, I’ll dress it myself in a moment.”
Sophie released his hand and hurried to the door. She was relieved to see the butler was still in the foyer, attempting to wring the water from Mr Argenton’s jacket with the help of a footman. “Please, Mr Argenton is hurt. Could you bring the medicine kit and some boiled water?”
The butler gave a slow nod and turned towards the kitchen. Sophie returned to Mr Argenton, who was watching her with faint amusement. “Please, don’t let this upset you. It just needs binding, and I can do that myself.”
“No.” Sophie moved the tea set from the table to the mantel. She then unfolded one of the towels. “My uncle is a doctor. He’s taught me how to treat wounds. They need to be washed with boiled water and wrapped in c-clean bandages or they b-become i-infected and-and—”
Mr Argenton came up behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders. His fingers were cold from the rain, but beautifully gentle as they caressed her skin. Sophie fought with herself to hold back the tears that choked her voice and threatened to spill over her eyes.
“My dear,” Mr Argenton sighed. “Sophie. I promise, nothing bad is going to happen. Don’t be afraid.”
He kissed the top of her head as he stroked her arms. It was an intimate, but not romantic, expression. It was intended to comfort, and Sophie felt herself melting back against him. Even though his shirt was still damp, the heat from his chest radiated through it. When she closed her eyes, she felt safe.
Mr Argenton. The name echoed in her mind, drowning out the anxious chatter. Mr Argenton. No, Joseph.
The door behind them opened. Joseph sighed as he released Sophie and stepped away from her. She had to blink at the butler and his burden of a large wooden box for a moment before she remembered what she’d requested and why.
“Oh, on the table, please. Thank you.”
A maid followed the butler and left a jug of steaming water and a bowl. Sophie waited until the door was closed before turning back to her husband. She congratulated herself on keeping her voice steady when she said, “Take off your shirt, please.”
Joseph raised his eyebrows. He looked surprised, but also faintly entertained. “None of this is necessary. This isn’t the first time I’ve cut myself while hunting. If you step outside, I’ll take care of it and join you in a few minutes.”
Sophie couldn’t take her eyes off the makeshift bandage around his arm. It was almost entirely crimson. How much blood has he lost? “Do you have any medical training? I do.” A little. When I was eight. “Please, let me help you.”
He watched her carefully, and Sophie saw amusement and curiosity flicker through his eyes before he answered, “You’re not going to let me escape, are you?”
“No. Take your shirt off, please.”
“I draw the line there,” Joseph said, raising a hand to silence her protests. “You can tend it very well with my shirt on.”
“Not easily. Not without cutting your sleeve.” Something about Joseph’s protest rang false. Sophie suspected he had an ulterior motive for staying clothed, and she didn’t like what it boded. What if the cut on his arm isn’t the extent of his injury? What if he’s hiding worse?
“Cut it, then. I’m already doubtful about being able to remove the stain.”
Sophie stepped closer. The tears were threatening to return, and she used them to her advantage as she blinked at her husband. “Joseph. Please.”
He closed his eyes and sighed. “I fell while I was hunting; it’s not something I want you to see.”
That was what she’d been afraid of. Sophie took a half-step nearer, closing the distance between them. “I need you to trust me.”
They stared at each other for a moment, in a silent battle of wills, then Joseph grudgingly unbuttoned his shirt and shed it. Sophie pressed a hand over her mouth. Dark, mottled bruises spread across his chest, and a scabbed scratch extended from his collarbone and over his ribs.
Joseph’s face darkened as he watched her reaction. “It’s not as bad as it looks.”
She didn’t trust herself to reply, so instead, Sophie indicated for him to take a seat by the fireplace. She was glad she’d put the extra log on it while she was waiting for him; the fire had grown hot and would at least remove his chill. She then pulled the second seat closer to his, poured part of the steaming water into the bowl, and took it and a towel back to her chair.
“You’re not afraid of blood?” Joseph asked as she began working his bandage off with trembling fingers. Sophie shook her head, and he smiled at her. “Then you’re braver than many women.”
His smile, though faint, was infectious, and Sophie smiled back. “I doubt Rose would mind, either.”
“Ha. No, I’ve yet to see Rose disturbed by anything. She has an iron constitution.”
Sophie didn’t reply, and Joseph’s smile faltered as he read into the silence. “Has Rose been causing trouble?”
Yes. “No, of course not. She’s been… a very gracious—”
Sophie had managed to get Joseph’s bandage off. The jagged cut below was nearly as long as her hand. Her stomach clenched, but she managed to keep her face calm as she dipped a corner of the towel into the bowl of water.
Joseph continued to watch her as Sophie pressed the wet cloth to the injury. She knew it had to hurt him, but he didn’t flinch. “Are you certain you’re all right, my dear?”
“Yes. Keep still, please.” This wasn’t caused by a branch. What, then? A wolf? She glanced at the scratch on his chest. Three long, straight lines suggested it had also been caused by claws. Why would he be hunting wolves? Surely not for sport, if he returns with injuries such as these.
“Sophie.” Joseph seemed to be phrasing himself carefully. “I know my aunt can sometimes become… intense. She has some strongly held beliefs and doesn’t like having her house altered. But you’re my wife, and this is your home now. If Rose ever…” He paused, and Sophie could almost read the words running through his mind—threatens, commands, daunts—before he settled on, “If she ever becomes overbearing, tell me.”
“Thank you.” Sophie had cleaned the blood away from the cut, but it was still red. She opened the medicine chest and sorted through it. She found the ethanol in a brown bottle and poured a liberal amount onto a clean cloth before pressing it to Joseph’s arm. A hiss escaped between his clenched teeth, but he kept still.
“Sorry.”
“Hah.” He relaxed back in his chair as the bu
rn subsided. “Don’t be. I haven’t had anyone care for me like this since my mother—” The smile flickered out like a snuffed candle, and he continued quickly. “I’m grateful, Sophie.”
She discarded the pink-tinged cloth and picked a healing balm out of the box. His offer of protection against Rose lingered with her, but she wasn’t sure she was the one who needed it most. As she began wrapping a fresh bandage over the cut, she said, “I’m worried for Elise.”
They’d come full circle. Joseph watched her carefully. “What concerns you?”
“How long has she been drawing this creature?”
“Two months.”
“And before then—was she showing any signs of maladjustment?”
“She has always been different to other children.”
“Is there anything we can do to help her?”
A smile twisted Joseph’s mouth. It was worlds away from the soft expressions he occasionally showed her, though; it was bitter and angry. “I’ve been trying, my dear, but sometimes, it feels as though every step I take is a mistake.”
Sophie finished tying the bandage and let her hands rest on his arm. The fire had warmed him enough that his skin no longer felt cold. “I’ll help,” she said. “You’re not alone anymore.”
She wasn’t sure what had prompted her to say it, except that, from the very little she knew about Joseph, he struck her as a lonely man. His eyes flicked to her, surprised, then filled with gratitude. His other hand rose to her cheek and stroked where the fire had coloured her skin pink.
“Joseph…”
A log shifted in the fireplace, sending up sparks, and Sophie flinched. Joseph felt the motion, and concern darkened his eyes. “What is it?”
The shifting wood had brought back the memory of the brief moments in the library when the fire had been extinguished and a presence had moved through the room. Sophie squeezed her eyes closed. Ask him now. “Joseph, do you believe in ghosts?”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN: Ghosts
His hand lingered on her cheek, but the fingers stiffened. When he didn’t answer, Sophie opened her eyes and saw the cold anxiety had returned to his face. He knows there are spirits in Northwood.
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