She collapsed to the floor, unable to breathe, unable to fight any longer, and unable to do anything except retch at the taste filling her mouth. The blood rain wouldn’t stop. The door wouldn’t open.
Then a quiet noise disturbed the dripping sounds. To Sophie’s panicked, frantic mind, it seemed like feet sliding across the wet floor, pacing around the table, and moving towards her.
Sophie raised her hands over her head, trying to block the noise out and shield her face. She tried to draw a breath, but the air stuck in her throat. Her head swam, and her heart, taxed beyond endurance, felt frozen.
Then a new sound filtered through to her: footsteps, heavy and loud, thundering down the hallway. A voice yelled, “Sophie!”
Joseph. Sophie dragged herself to her knees. She didn’t have enough breath in her lungs to call back. She pressed her hand to the blood-soaked door, silently begging him to find her.
The spirit’s footsteps continued past the table, moving nearer.
The door handle rattled, then Joseph beat his fist against it. “Sophie! Answer me!”
“Help,” she gasped. She felt as if she were drowning in the downpour, and a rushing sensation filled her head.
The footsteps were almost on top of her. She didn’t have enough energy to turn and look at it, even if she’d wanted to, but she could feel it—huge, malevolent, and looming over her.
“Move away from the door,” Joseph called, then there was a terrific crack. The door held.
Sophie shrank into a ball and covered her head. The being above her exhaled, and she felt its breath, colder than ice, graze her wet arm.
With another crack, the door splintered. It broke in on the third impact, and Joseph pushed through the doorway, his teeth bared and eyes blazing.
If the sight shocked him, he didn’t show it. He crossed to Sophie in a single pace, scooped her off the floor, then cradled her to his chest as he carried her from the room.
As soon as she was back in the hallway, the air’s heaviness dissipated. Sophie drew a quick, gasping breath. Her fingers found Joseph’s shirt, and she clutched at him.
“You’re going to be all right, my darling,” he murmured, pulling her closer. “Shh, you’ll be all right.” Then, in a harsher tone, he barked, “Out of my way. Marie, follow us.”
Sophie cracked her eyes open to catch a glimpse of Rose, hands clasped behind her back, slinking to one side to let them pass. The older woman’s face was serious, but her dead eyes were filled with macabre delight.
Sophie tilted her head back to see Joseph. His jaw was set in a hard line, and his eyes shone in the dim light as he carried her away from the room. She’d never imagined he could look so angry.
“Don’t be frightened, my darling,” he whispered in a voice far softer than his expression. “I’m with you. You’re safe.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: Red
The following events were a blur. Joseph moved quickly, navigating the labyrinth with familiar ease. A quick tapping sound followed them, and when Sophie opened her eyes to look over Joseph’s shoulder, she saw Marie—her round face pale—jogging to keep up with her employer’s long strides.
Sophie began shivering as the coating of blood cooled. The bitter taste still filled her mouth. She had no idea where they were going, and she had no energy left to ask. But Joseph held her carefully, her head nestled against his shoulder, and occasionally murmured comforting words.
They stopped in a tiled room Sophie didn’t recognise, and Joseph lowered her to the floor. She tightened her grip on his shirt, frightened of being left alone, and he stroked her fingers until they relaxed enough to allow him to pull back. A cup was raised to her lips, and clean water was poured into her mouth.
“Spit,” Joseph urged, and she did, finally purging the metallic taste from her tongue.
There were noises all about her. She blinked against the light and saw the room was full of maids bearing towels and buckets of hot water.
Joseph’s hand caressed the back of her head, even though it was sticky with congealing blood. “I’m going to step outside while Marie helps you bathe,” he said, speaking slowly so that she could understand him through the daze of shock. “I’ll return soon.”
Sophie wanted to protest, but couldn’t find the words. Joseph eased her head back against something hard and cold, and she realised he hadn’t placed her on the floor as she’d thought, but into a bathtub.
Both Joseph and the maids left the room. Once the door was safely closed, Marie used scissors to cut away the blood-soaked dress and threw it into a pail in the corner of the room. She then began pouring the steaming water over Sophie.
Sophie felt numb. The water prickled at her skin and stung her scraped fingertips, but she couldn’t feel its heat.
Marie kept pouring the water carefully, paying special attention to Sophie’s hair, then she drained the bathtub and started the process again. Eventually, she took up a scrubbing brush and added soap. The task seemed to take hours, though later, Sophie guessed it couldn’t have been more than forty minutes until the bathtub, finally full of clear water, was drained for the last time.
Her legs felt as though they were made of paper, but Marie helped her stand and dressed her in a nightgown. Then she sat Sophie on a chair and went to the door.
Joseph entered again and knelt before Sophie. “How are you feeling?”
She thought she gave him a crooked smile.
He wrapped his arms around her and prepared to lift her, but Sophie pushed him back. “I can walk.” Is that my voice? I sound so old.
“Lean on me, then,” Joseph said, helping her to stand.
The tile floor was cold under her feet, but Joseph wrapped a warm arm around her shoulders. Marie opened the door for them, and Joseph led Sophie out of the bathroom, down the hallway, and through another door. He kept the pace slow and careful, but she could feel his darkly anxious eyes on her.
Once the door closed behind them, Sophie looked up and realised he’d brought her to her own room. He helped her into bed, wrapped the blankets about her, then retrieved a tray of tea from her writing desk.
“I brought laudanum to help you sleep.” He poured two drinks; one of plain tea and one of the narcotic. He left them both on the bedside table then pulled up a chair to sit near her.
He didn’t talk or ask questions, but let Sophie stare at the ceiling in silence as she collected herself. The numb feeling was beginning to fade, and in its place, a horrible ache settled in her chest. A single thought had become lodged in her mind, and she found she couldn’t move past it.
“You lied to me,” she said at last. “You told me they were benign.”
Joseph dropped his head and exhaled heavily. “I’m so sorry.”
Sophie struggled to sit up. Every muscle in her body felt sore. Joseph leaned forward to prop a pillow behind her back, and as he reached around her, she felt the heat radiating from him. She closed her eyes, and it was all she could do to stop herself from pulling him closer.
He feels so warm and safe.
Joseph sat back in his chair and offered her the drinks. The tea was growing cold, but she was thirsty and drank it, followed by the laudanum. Joseph waited until she’d placed both cups back on the bedside table before saying, “I’ve tried to find a way to express my profound and crushing regret about what happened tonight, but words are wholly inadequate. Sophie, my darling. You must hate me.”
“I don’t.” She couldn’t bring herself to meet his eyes, staring at her interlaced fingers instead.
A bitter “Ha!” escaped Joseph, then he said, so quietly that she doubted it was intended for her to hear, “You should. Sometimes, I wish you did.”
Sophie didn’t know what to say.
Joseph continued, “I shouldn’t have left you alone.”
“You had urgent work.”
“Nothing that’s more important than your safety. And I’m sorry I couldn’t reach you sooner. I was at almost the opposite side of the house, and noise
travels poorly through the rooms. Marie heard you and ran to fetch me. I couldn’t understand what she was miming, so she nearly dragged me from my room.”
Sophie managed a smile at that. “I’ll have to thank her tomorrow.”
Joseph nodded towards the empty cups. “Would you like more tea? Or can I bring you anything else—wine or more blankets?”
“No, I’m better now. Thank you.” The ache was a crushing pressure in her chest, but she could at least think clearly. “You’ll take me away from Northwood, won’t you? Can we go at first light?”
He didn’t reply, and Sophie was compelled to look at him. She’d thought his black eyes were emotionless when they’d first met, but she was starting to realise how wrong she’d been. They were shuttered, but hidden behind the thin gauze of self-control was a tempest of feelings, hopes, and fears. Once she learned to read them, she realised his eyes were some of the most expressive she’d ever seen. And the resignation reflected at her made her feel physically sick.
“You intend to stay, don’t you?” she breathed.
Joseph gave a slow nod. “You won’t want to hear this—and with good reason—but yes, I will stay. Understand, my dear, what leaving Northwood would mean for me. It has been my family’s home for centuries. My ancestors have stayed through floods, fires, disease, and war—they didn’t abandon it even in times of famine.”
“You’re not your family, though,” Sophie said. “You’re not obliged to stay, regardless of tradition!”
Joseph made to take her hand, but Sophie pulled it away. A spark of pain flashed through his eyes, then the shutters were put back in place. His voice returned to its cool, emotionless cadence as he leaned back in his chair. “I stay because I choose to. I’m not asking you to understand or empathise with my reasons, but I do ask that you respect them.”
“But surely not after what happened—”
“I severely regret what happened, but my anticipation is that it won’t repeat. Spirits have limited energy and need time to regain their strength after any kind of dramatic display. That could take years or even decades. And I suspect today’s events were an impulsive reaction against what they perceived as a stranger invading their home. Once they’re familiar with you, I’m sure they’ll have no objections towards your staying.”
The tears were burning her eyes. Sophie rolled onto her side, facing away from Joseph, so that he wouldn’t see them.
“Sophie.” His voice was softer, but held no hint of relenting. “I’m not overlooking what happened. Far from it. But I hope you can grow to become fond of this house in the same way I am. I know you’re stronger than you appear; a weak woman would not have bandaged my arm as you did this afternoon. I know you can excel as Northwood’s mistress.”
Sophie squeezed her eyes closed and fought to keep herself from shaking. She couldn’t believe Joseph expected her to stay. How could he ask that of her? Northwood’s spirits hated her. They’d made that more than clear. She couldn’t live in a building where the very walls revolted against her.
Joseph’s hand, large and warm, made to caress her arm, but Sophie flinched away. He sighed, and the sound was mingled frustration and regret. “I don’t want us to fight.”
She didn’t reply.
The silence stretch out for several minutes, then Sophie heard the chair creak as Joseph stood. “You need to rest. We can discuss this more tomorrow, if you wish.”
A cold claw of fear squeezed at Sophie’s insides as she listened to Joseph move towards the door. Without him, she would be alone. Just you and the house. She pushed herself up as the door opened and stretched her hand towards him. “Joseph—”
The lamp cast a harsh light over his features. He looked ghastly, as though the previous hours had aged him prematurely. Dark circles framed his eyes, and the indents in his cheeks were more pronounced. Something powerful sizzled in his eyes as Sophie called to him, though, and he stopped in the doorway. “Would you like me to stay?”
She couldn’t find the words to speak, but nodded. Joseph gave her a faint, sad smile, closed the door, and crossed the room to take her outstretched hand in his. “Of course I will. Lie back, now, and rest. Would you like me to stroke your hair until you fall asleep?”
She nodded again, and Joseph’s fingers, warm and light as feathers, brushed over her temple and ran across her hair. She closed her eyes and focussed on the sensation.
The fragile, fluttering emotion that had been born that afternoon was bruised, but not dead. As Joseph caressed her, she realised, despite everything, and against everything her logic and desire for self-preservation told her, she still loved him.
She’d thought she would struggle to sleep that night, but the laudanum took grip quickly, and she was unconscious before she even realised she was tired.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: Reprise
Sophie woke during the night. Her mind felt fuzzy and dense, and it took her a moment to realise where she was.
The storm had spent itself, and the clouds had cleared, leaving a full moon to paint over the landscape and gift a square of its light to her room.
She rolled over and saw Joseph sleeping in the chair beside her. He rested his head on the arm he’d bent over the chair’s back, and he’d crossed his lanky legs under her bed. It didn’t look comfortable, and for a moment, Sophie considered waking him. I don’t want him to leave, though.
Joseph looked peaceful. His breathing was slow and even, and his eyebrows, which she’d become used to seeing constricted in worry, were relaxed.
He’s beautiful, she realised. I never noticed how long his eyelashes were or how soft his hair is.
She reached a trembling hand towards him and brushed some of his black hair away from his forehead then, as lightly as she could, ran her fingertips down the side of his face.
He stirred, and his lips parted a fraction. Sophie drew back and pressed her hand over her own mouth to hide the embarrassed smile.
Then a note floated to her through the cold night air, and her heart plunged. The melody, slow and twisted, swelled as it swept through Northwood, coursing between the walls and echoing in her bones.
Joseph’s eyebrows pulled together, and the hard lines returned to his face, but he didn’t wake.
Sophie brought her knees up under her chin and clutched her arms around her legs as she waited for the song to reach its crescendo and break. It seemed to go on for ages, and every note made her feel sick. When it finally finished, she let herself relax back in bed and returned her eyes to Joseph. The stress across his face gradually faded with the last echoes of the music.
Why do you stay in this house? You claim heritage and tradition, but I can’t believe that’s your only reason. Why would you subject yourself to a building like this?
She felt for the fluttering emotion inside her and found it alive and strong. It had latched on to her heart, and although she knew she would be wise to pry it away and kill it, she couldn’t. Despite the lies and secrets, she still loved him, even though it wasn’t reciprocated.
She could no longer fool herself into believing his caresses and kind words were anything more than a man attempting to do what he believed a good husband should. If he loved her the way she loved him, he would have taken her away from Northwood. He cared more for a sprawling collection of bricks than for his bride. That knowledge hurt her more than she’d thought was possible.
Unable to watch him any long, she rolled over. This time, without the laudanum, sleep evaded her for a very long time.
CHAPTER NINETEEN: Picnic Baskets
When Sophie woke the next morning, Joseph was gone. In his place sat Marie. Colour had returned to her face, but her eyes were just as wide and anxious as they’d been the night before. She hovered around her mistress, clearly desperate to find a way to help, as Sophie climbed out of the bed. As soon as she had her feet, Sophie pulled Marie into a tight hug.
“Thank you,” she said, “for everything you did last night. I can’t express how grateful I am.�
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Marie froze in surprise then wrapped her arms around Sophie and hugged back. Sophie smiled then released Marie with a deep sigh. “I suppose we’d better make me presentable. Will you help me pick a dress?”
As Marie sorted through the rows of ornate gowns in silent rapture, Sophie turned her mind back to her predicament. She needed to get away from Northwood. She hoped Joseph would come with her, but failing that, she needed him to consent to her taking a room in the city.
If she suggested it as a temporary break—just a few weeks spent in the city, until she felt capable of returning to her home—she thought he might just agree. And if she could organise a visit to her family, followed by a visit to her uncle, followed by a visit to some distant friends, it would be very easy for a few weeks to morph into half a year and for half a year to turn into several years, until it seemed completely natural that she was permanently living in the city. She might even be able to convince Joseph to join her after a little while.
Marie held out a rich-blue silk dress, and Sophie nodded. “That’s perfect. Thank you, Marie.”
As Marie fixed the dress in place, Sophie braced herself for the upcoming battle. She wanted to talk to Joseph somewhere private and comfortable, where they were both on an even footing. She would have suggested the library, with its collection of beautiful shelves and plentiful books, except for what had happened with Elise the day before. Possibly one of the sitting rooms, then…
“Marie, do you know where Mr Argenton is?”
Marie nodded and pointed towards the window.
Sophie felt her heart drop as she gazed at the rows of trees encircling their home. Mist hovered around their bases like a shroud, and she could make out the faint sounds of groaning wood. He’s hunting again. She wet her lips. “How long has he been gone?”
Marie held up two fingers.
“Two hours?”
The maid nodded then mimed at the chair and the door.
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