He wet his lips before asking, “What happened?”
Sophie, very haltingly, told him about the presence she’d heard approach her. Joseph withdrew his hand and pressed it over his mouth as he scowled at the fire. He didn’t speak for several minutes after she’d finished, but his pale, angular face had regained its cool expression. Sophie tried, and failed, to guess what he was thinking.
At last, in a clipped voice, he said, “Very old houses often retain impressions of their occupants. Generally, the beings are benign or even welcoming.”
“Are Northwood’s ghosts welcoming?”
“Don’t be frightened of them,” was Joseph’s evasive answer. “They’re only spirits; they can’t harm you. They’re generally restful, as well—I wouldn’t be surprised if your experience today is as much as you see of them for the year.”
His words weren’t as comforting to Sophie as he clearly wanted them to be. She thought of the house, huge and foreboding, with its shadows so heavy that she could almost inhale them. Did she have to share the maze-like passageways with spirits, too? How many were there?
If the Argentons had lived in the house for generations, the spirits could be Joseph’s ancestors. Were they just as opposed to her presence as Rose was?
She’d read a little about ghosts in the book her father had erroneously bought her. She wished she could remember more than she did. There had been something about how the spirits only remained on earth after a traumatic life or violent death. One of the illustrations had haunted her dreams; it had been of a wealthy, upper-class woman standing over the body of her sister, an axe clasped in her hand, as the unfortunate sister’s head rolled about her feet. The caption had read: the making of a vengeful ghost.
Sophie leant closer to the fire, suddenly feeling cold. She thought about Rose’s bizarre intensity and how Joseph reminded her of a hungry wolf. How much blood had been shed in Northwood? And what stopped the spirits from moving on to the next life?
“My dear.” Joseph’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “You’re upset. That wasn’t my intention.”
Sophie managed to smile, then her eyes dropped to his chest. The lean muscles hinted at tremendous strength, even with the discolouration. She flushed and cleared her throat. “I forgot, you have another cut—”
“Don’t mind that one.” Joseph rose from the chair and picked up his shirt before Sophie could argue. “It’s already half healed.”
Looking at it again, Sophie saw it was several days old. It had scabbed over, and the skin was already knitting together in places. Anything she did would only re-open the cuts.
Joseph’s shirt had dried in the heat of the fire, and he pulled it on and buttoned it quickly. “Lunch will be served in an hour, but I have some urgent business to attend to first. Will you be all right until then?”
Sophie glanced towards the door leading to the foyer, beyond which the house stretched away like a black labyrinth. Then she looked at the window, which was still drenched by the heavy rain. She opened her mouth to say yes, but the word died on her lips.
Joseph stroked a hand over her arm. “Dear Sophie,” he said, and she found herself leaning into his touch. “Don’t think I’m insensible to your situation. I know Northwood is a grim substitute for your old life. But I believe you can be happy here.”
“Maybe…” Sophie hesitated, then cleared her throat. “Maybe we could take a room in the city—”
“Northwood is our home. I don’t wish to leave it.”
“Yes.” Sophie tried not to let her despair show.
Joseph sighed, took her hand, and kissed the fingertips. “This move has been difficult for you. Let me help. Tell me something you would enjoy, and I’ll give it to you if it’s within my power.”
Sophie stared at the large, gentle hand that held hers. Something I’d enjoy… to be away from Northwood. But I can’t ask for that; he’s already made it clear it’s not an option. “A picnic,” she settled on at last. She’d loved having picnics when her family visited the parks.
Surprise drew Joseph’s eyebrows up, and pleasure twitched at the corners of his lips. “Certainly. Would you like the whole family to join, or—”
“Just us,” Sophie said quickly, imagining how Rose might react. “Just you and me.”
“Let’s have it early tomorrow, then. I have business in town in the afternoon, so we’ll make it a breakfast picnic.”
Sophie started, and the anxiety, held at bay over the previous minutes, reared its head. “You’re leaving?”
“Only for half a day. It was business I was hoping could be deferred until later this week, but it’s become too urgent to delay any longer. I’ll be back by dinner.”
Half a day alone with Rose, with the house, the servants who never speak or look at me unless they have to, Elise’s drawings, and the spirits…
“Sophie?”
She forced a smile. “Of course I’ll be fine. Half a day is nothing.”
He kissed her hand again. “Would you like me to show you to your room?”
“Thank you, but I’d better become familiar with the way myself.”
“Then I’ll see you at dinner.” His thumb ran across the back of her fingers a final time, then he left the room at a brisk pace.
Sophie watched the fire for a long time. Now that she was alone, the small noises of the house returned to her: the crackle of burning wood, the quiet roar of the rain as it drenched the mansion, the clatters and muffled voices coming from the kitchen, and, in the distance, animal noises and the groan of shifting trees.
My house is haunted.
It sounded like such a ridiculous phrase, but Sophie could no longer doubt its truth. Joseph had confirmed her suspicions, and he wasn’t the sort of person who could be caught up by a flight of fancy. If he acknowledged the spirits, then there could be no doubt about their existence.
Can I live in a haunted house?
Joseph had for his entire life, Sophie reminded herself. And most likely Rose and Garrett Argenton, as well. But can I?
Maybe, if…
Something had been growing in Sophie since the previous evening, but she barely dared admit it to herself. I think I love him. It felt like a tiny, helpless, fluttering emotion that could be squashed in a heartbeat. But it grew stronger with every passing moment, every word he said to her, every touch, and every time his eyes, so dark and intense, fixed on her. She loved him. And she thought he at least liked her back.
Rose wants me to stay away from Joseph. But now I don’t think I could, even if I wanted to. And I don’t. I should be able to enjoy my husband’s company, no matter what Rose thinks.
Sophie couldn’t keep still any longer and strode to the window. The lightning had spent itself, but the rain continued to lash against the building. A small, delighted smile took over Sophie’s face as she watched the water cascade down the panes. I love him. I almost can’t believe it.
A shape, slouched so far over that its torso was nearly parallel with the ground, slunk across the lawn. Sophie clasped a hand over her mouth to smother her shriek. Even before she was able to get a proper look at the figure, it had passed by the light of the window and disappeared into the rain. Every good, happy feeling within her evaporated in a snap.
That wasn’t human.
Sophie’s heart beat so hard that it was painful. She backed away from the window, terrified of seeing the shape’s return but incapable of looking away. The sitting room, which had felt cosy before, seemed horribly dim. The fire had consumed almost all of the wood she’d thrown in, and darkness clawed its way in from the corners and crevices.
At that moment, Sophie wanted company more than anything else in the world. Joseph had said he had urgent work to do, and she worried he might become frustrated if she disturbed him. She couldn’t sit with Rose or Garrett Argenton, and her earlier experience with Elise had been less than comforting.
Of course—Marie. I can call her with the excuse of changing for dinner. I’m sure she’d si
t with me a while if I asked her.
Sophie rushed from the sitting room and took the stairs two at a time. She felt vulnerable as long as she was under the vast, vaulted ceiling, and she longed for the relative safety of her room. She hesitated when she reached the third floor. My room is to the right, isn’t it?
A door closed behind her, and Sophie turned to see Rose standing in the shadowed passageway. The other woman’s eyes shone eerily in the candlelight, and her mouth was set in a hard line.
She knows, Sophie realised, her heart sinking, and took an impulsive step backwards. She knows I spent the last two hours with Joseph.
Rose moved forward slowly and stopped at the other side of the stairs. She held something small and white in her hands, but it took Sophie a moment to realise what it is. My letter!
“Stay away from him.” Rose’s voice was disturbingly even and cool, and the words were spoken clearly, so that each one hit Sophie like a blow. “I won’t warn you again.”
Rose raised the letter and tore it in half. Sophie inhaled sharply and reached towards it, but she was too late. Rose placed the halves on top of each other, tore them again, then repeated the process twice more. When she opened her hands, little squares of paper fluttered to the floor. Rose didn’t wait for Sophie to speak, but crossed to the stairs, her boots scraping over the torn letter, and descended out of sight.
Sophie clenched her fists at her side and blinked her wet eyes. She’d been punished for her transgression, and it was a steep punishment indeed. She could write another letter—that wouldn’t be a problem—but Rose’s message had been clear: she was cutting off contact between Sophie and her family.
I could send my letters through Joseph instead. He should be able to take one when he goes to town tomorrow. But would I ever receive a reply? Rose or one of her helpers would intercept them before they made it past the front door. Hateful, horrible woman.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN: The Room
Sophie rushed through the halls, guessing the way to her room. She would have to face Rose again at the lunch table, but she could at least enjoy half an hour of Marie’s company before then. Sophie took a right then a left, but found herself at the servant’s stairwell. Retracing her steps, she tried following the original passageway farther before turning off. That only brought her to a dead end. She turned back and tried a different offshoot.
The new hallway was lined with paintings she thought she recognised. The portraits all showed black-haired, dark-eyed men and women. Joseph’s ancestors. Do any of them continue to walk these hallways?
She took another right, then froze as she realised which hallway she’d entered. The wallpaper had changed to black and gold, and the hall contained no exits except for the single, imposing red door set at its end.
Sophie made to turn away then stopped. Some kind of whispering noise seemed to come from beyond the door.
Joseph said not to go through it. And you decided to trust Joseph, didn’t you?
The doorhandle twitched. The motion was so small that Sophie almost could have sworn she’d imagined it.
Do I still trust him even when he lies to me? He wasn’t going hunting this morning, and those cuts weren’t made by branches.
Sophie had started walking towards the door without even realising it.
He’s keeping secrets. Is it really so wrong to want to uncover them?
Her fingers hovered over the handle. It felt cold, much colder than anything else in the house. The whispering sound was louder—almost, but not quite loud enough for her to make out the words. Her fingers brushed over the metal as she battled with herself. Then she drew a long, shuddering breath and pulled her hand back. Joseph is all I have right now. I need to trust he has my best interests at heart.
She turned to the hallway and gasped. Two black eyes set in a pale face glared at her from the shadows. Red lips parted in a frustrated sneer, then Rose turned and swept away with a swirl of her black dress.
Sophie pressed a hand to her thundering heart. What was she doing there? Did she follow me? She waited just long enough to be sure Rose was gone before she hurried down the hallway and took the opposite direction. Frustration and embarrassment made tears prick at her eyes. I can’t even walk through this house without being watched. Does she want me to go through the door? Is she hoping I’ll fall through a rotten floorboard and die? If that’s even the reason why the door is forbidden…
Strands of her hair had fallen free from its design, and Sophie brushed them away from her face furiously. Either there were no maids on that floor, or they were hiding from her; she didn’t pass a single soul in the maze. Anxiety rose as she searched for familiar landmarks with increasing desperation. At last, she stopped in the middle of a wide, unfamiliar passageway, breathing heavily and clenching her hands to stop them from shaking.
Calm down. You can’t get lost inside a house. Eventually, you’ll find your way back.
Sophie turned in a circle, examining the hallway. The wallpaper was identical to every other part of that floor, but she didn’t recognise the paintings. She wrung her hands, trying to guess a direction, then jolted as the door opposite her creaked open.
“H-hello?”
There was no answer. The door drew inwards, revealing a small, square room. A table sat in its centre, with a single lit candle on top. Otherwise, the room was bare.
Sophie took a step towards it. “Hello?”
If it’s one of the maids, she might not answer me. But I need directions—it’s got to be close to lunch.
She crept closer to the open frame. The door continued to glide inwards until it hit the wall and rebounded an inch before falling still.
“Please, is someone in here?”
Not daring to enter the room, she stopped at the threshold, her feet still in the hallway, and bent forward to see into the room’s corner.
Something large and cold hit her back. The blow wasn’t hard—it felt no more substantial than a gust of wind—but it had enough force to throw her to the floor. Sophie gasped as the fall jarred her, then she rolled onto her back. The doorway was empty.
She scrambled to get to her feet, but the door rushed closed, slamming into its frame with so much force that the wood shook. Sophie ran to it, but the handle wouldn’t turn.
“Hello!” Her voice rang shrilly in her ears as she tugged at the handle and clawed at the door’s lock. “Hello, please, I need help!”
Silence. The handle held as though it had been melded into place.
A quiet footstep echoed through the room, and Sophie swung to put the door to her back. She was alone, and yet…
The candle flickered as though someone, or something, had moved past it.
There was nothing in the room to hide a person. The room was entirely bare, even of wall decorations, except for the small round table and its candle.
Sophie felt as though she could collapse, and wedged herself against the door. She drew a shaking breath and wet her lips. “A-are you th-the spirit that i-inhabits this house?”
There was no answer, but Sophie thought the candle flickered slightly. Don’t be frightened. Joseph says they’re benign. They can’t hurt you.
“H-hello.” She was finding it hard to draw breath, as though the room’s air had thickened into an invisible soup. She bowed her head as low as she dared without losing sight of the room. “My n-name is Sophie. I married Jo… Mr Argenton. Th-thank you for letting me s-stay in your beautiful home.”
Again, no answer. Sophie felt behind herself for the door handle and tried it again, but it still stuck.
“If you have s-something to tell me, I’d be glad to listen.”
The candle flickered, but otherwise, the room was sill.
Something warm tickled the hand that held the handle, and Sophie pulled it away with a gasp. Bright-red liquid ran down her fingers. She rubbed her index against her thumb, and revulsion rose in her throat. It’s blood.
She turned to study the door. Red liquid dripped from around w
here the metal was fixed to the wood and from inside the keyhole. Sophie took a step away from it, then jolted as something behind her exhaled.
Frightened to lose sight of the door and afraid of turning her back to the room, Sophie rotated on the spot, shivering at the way the shadows flickered in the corners and spread along the roof. “Please, i-if I’ve done anything to upset you, forgive me. It was n-not intentional.”
A drop of blood hit her forearm. Sophie looked to the ceiling and saw dark stains were growing across the plaster. Another drop fell, narrowly missing her, and she retreated to a corner. “I only want to respect you and your home,” she said, her voice rising into a frightened, desperate cry. “If you want something, tell me! If you want me to leave your home, I will! Open the door, and I’ll go tonight!”
More drips fell. One hit Sophie’s cheek, and she moaned as she shied away from it. The colour had spread across the entire ceiling, staining it black. Cracks appeared where the walls met the ceiling, and blood began to ooze from those spaces, running down the wallpaper in thick dribbles.
Sophie couldn’t take any more. She ran to the door and began beating her fists on the rapidly dampening surface, screaming as loudly as her voice would allow, “Help! Please, please, someone help!”
The hot liquid dribbled onto her hair, down the back of her neck, and onto her face. Sophie’s calls devolved into screams as the smell—heavy, metallic, and sick—filled her nose. The drips increased until they drenched her as thoroughly as if she’d been standing in the storm. It got into her mouth, coating her tongue in its sickening taste. Her ears were full of the quiet pitter-patter of the floor being soaked. The blood ran over her face and burnt her eyes.
Something snapped inside her. She screamed as she clawed at the door, scraping her fingertips raw. Tears mingled with the blood running down her face. When she blinked them open, a base, hysterical part of her wanted to laugh at the sight of her dress—the beautiful, elaborate white one Rose had chosen—painted crimson.
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