The Victorian Gothic Collection: Volumes 1-3

by Bowlin, Chasity

  As their passion once more ignited, each touch leading to another, sighs and whispers giving way to moans and cries of pleasure, they were unaware of the gathering darkness. It eddied and swirled in the darkest corners of the house. Waiting, watching, biding its time.

  * * *

  Sylvia sat, still huddled in the same corner she’d occupied when Frances came to her earlier. In the far corner of the room, Mrs. Alberson slumbered. Her snores filled the silence, almost masking the soft whispering sound that began to fill the room.

  Silently, the outer door opened, a wedge of light spilling in over the stone floor. Cautiously, Sylvia rose and moved unfettered to the window that was now boarded up. She found the large shard of glass in the folds of the curtains and carefully extricated it from its makeshift hiding place between the layers of cloth.

  She turned back to Mrs. Alberson and knew a moment of regret. The nurse was a kind woman, gentler than most had been and certainly gentler than was required of her. But she could not have her sounding the alarm and rousing the entire house before her tasks were complete.

  Standing to the left of her, the glass poised at the other woman’s throat, Sylvia knew the exact moment Mrs. Alberson awoke. She didn’t hesitate, but pressed deep with the glass and drug it sharply over the woman’s neck. Blood bubbled and frothed as it spilled from the macabre wound, staining her white skin and disappearing into the black cloth of her drab uniform. But the smell was inescapable. Sylvia stepped back, avoiding the drips of the dark red substance that spattered on the stone floor.

  Once Mrs. Alberson stilled entirely, Sylvia grabbed a piece of fabric from the woman’s mending basket and used it to wrap the glass in so that it would not cut her hand further. She’d already done enough damage.

  Crossing the room to the open door, she eased down the stairs and toward the main floor of the house. Creeping along on bare, silent feet, she made her way to the chamber she’d once been forced to occupy with her husband. The chamber where she’d labored for hours to bring Alden into the world, only to then be presented with a second child, a maid’s bastard that she’d have to claim as her own.

  Now, that squalling babe that had been placed in her arms was a man grown, with a wife, and he had taken the title that had been her son’s by letting Alden die an ignoble death. For that he would pay… he and the girl he’d dared to bring into their cursed home.

  The door opened silently, not a squeak of sound and without any efforts on Sylvia’s part. The dark things in that house wanted the girl gone and she’d give them that, so long as it meant also being rid of him.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Adelaide wasn’t certain what had woken her. But her eyes popped open of their own accord and her heart was pounding in her chest, a feeling of dread so sharp and strong pervading her that she could not catch her breath for it.

  It had not been a nightmare, for surely there would be some awareness of it, some trace memory given how abruptly she had woken. But there was nothing. Only the darkness of the bedchamber and the sound of Eldren’s not so quiet snores beside her.

  She might have been amused by that very undignified sound under other circumstances. But in a state of hyperawareness, she could only wonder where the danger was, what mysterious threat stalked them in the darkness.

  Adelaide had almost convinced herself that it was her imagination, that for once within the halls of Cysgod Lys, there truly was no danger. But then a shadowy movement at the bedside caught her eye. It wasn’t the dark shadowy mass she’d seen before. This was the movement of a person intent on subterfuge and wickedness.

  Whether it was instinct or something else she could not name, Adelaide rolled sharply to her left, falling out of the bed and onto the floor, just as the person’s arms came down in a vicious arc and feathers drifted upward into the pale silvery light that filtered in through the windows.

  Eldren awoke then, scrambling from the bed and backing away from it in disorientation. Adelaide was scrabbling backwards on her bottom, shoving with her hands and feet to get away as the pale figure turned toward her. Wild haired, wild eyed and obviously mad, there was only one possible explanation. It was the woman from the tower—Eldren’s mother.

  “Stop!” Eldren shouted.

  The woman advanced on Adelaide, heedless of Eldren’s order. It wasn’t a knife in her hand but a large shard of glass wrapped in fabric and already stained with blood.

  Adelaide had reached the small dressing table where Dyllis had unpacked her things earlier. Clawing at the top of it with her hands, she threw items willy nilly at the approaching madwoman. Until her hand seized on something that did not even belong there. It was the letter opener from the writing box Tromley had provided for her.

  Clutching it like a knife, Adelaide turned back only to see Eldren diving across the bed, tackling his mother’s pale form to the ground.

  The woman howled, her screams filling the room. They echoed into the halls and beyond. Doors began to open up and down the hall, the alarmed calls of servants filtered down from the upper floors.

  The woman was strong. Stronger than she should have been, Adelaide realized as she watched Eldren grapple with her. He had yet to pry the weapon from her hand and it seemed as if she were gaining the upper hand.

  Unwilling to stand by, Adelaide lunged forward and brought the letter opener down with all of her might. The blade sank into the woman’s shoulder. The feeling of it left Adelaide queazy and struggling not to vomit. But it provided the distraction needed. Eldren finally managed to overpower her, pinning her to the floor as a bevy of footmen rushed in, some still clad only in nightshirts.

  She wailed, screamed, cursed, and no one batted an eye. It was commonplace it seemed. Just as commonplace as her attempts to murder her eldest son and his wife, Adelaide thought bitterly.

  After a moment’s discussing, two of the footmen stepped forward and managed to seize the dowager’s arms in such a way that she would not be able to do harm to anyone else.

  Eldren rose from the floor, his head drooping with defeat. “I must go see to Mrs. Alberson. If mother escaped her, armed no less, it is unlikely that she has survived.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Adelaide said.

  “I don’t know what we’ll find,” Eldren replied.

  “Whatever it is we will find it together. Let me get my wrapper.”

  With her robe draped about her, Adelaide followed him from the room and down the long corridor to a heavy wooden door. There was no need for a key as it stood wide open.

  A footman emerged from the shadows with a small lamp which he passed to Eldren. Together, they climbed the rough hewn stone steps into the tower and were greeted by a sight so horrific, Adelaide could do nothing more than cover her mouth with her hand to stifle her scream.

  Mrs. Alberson’s throat had been slit. The nurse was slumped in her chair, her head against the wall and the macabre gash in her neck highlighted by the crimson stained ruffles of the blouse that she had donned with her simple black suit.

  “Send for the magistrate… This is not something we can or should conceal,” Eldren said. “Mad or not, she must face the consequences of this, be it an asylum or something far worse.”

  Adelaide slipped her hand into his, holding fast to him. She knew what it would mean. Scandal. Ruin. Any hope of secrecy or discretion about the nature of his family’s ailment was no longer an option. The world would know that his mother was a mad woman, and no doubt information about his father and brother would be disclosed as well. And the world would watch him for any sign that he might succumb to the same fate.

  As if on cue, the wails stopped. The entire house fell into silence as they waited. Not even a hint of a whisper, from the living or the dead, could be heard. That in and of itself was telling, Adelaide thought.

  * * *

  In the corners of the room shadows settled, laying one atop the other like a nest of snakes. They did not move or writhe, but concealed themselves within the natural world that
they were no longer a part of. The efforts to end the Llewellyn’s once and for all had failed, and those efforts had carried a steep price. But the war was long from over. Their current detente would not last.

  But for now, just as it always had, it offered a reprieve. It allowed the inhabitants of the house to have a calm before the storm. The hotel and the display in the basement had cost it dearly, but it would recover soon. In the meantime, it would watch, wait, and gauge how best to break down and destroy all those within its walls. Except for her. She was its promise after all.

  To be continued….

  The Victorian Gothic Collection is now complete. Books two and three are available on Amazon and are free for Kindle Unlimited Subscribers.

  Thank you,

  PROLOGUE

  Darkness had come to Cysgod Lys early. A storm was brewing. Heavy clouds gathered over the towering spires and battlements of the house, and in the distance beyond, the blue-green waters of the sea had taken on the same dark hue of the sky as they churned and crashed. The very air was taut with impending violence and destruction.

  Standing in the morning room that had become her sanctuary, Adelaide stared out the window and felt a frisson of fear snaking along her spine. Things had been eerily calm of late. From the horrible night when they had discovered the gruesome murder of Mrs. Alberson and the subsequent removal of Eldren’s mother to an asylum in London, Cysgod Lys had been like any other grand estate. No shifting shadows or whispers, no inexplicable occurrences that challenged one’s senses or threatened one’s sense of what was real and what was not.

  In many ways, that was worse. She’d said as much to Dyllis that morning when the maid had been dressing her hair. Walking on eggshells the maid had called it, and indeed that was precisely what it felt like. It made her question all that had come before. Had it been her imagination? Had the strain of her recent traumas and the many changes in her life compromised her ability to interpret the world around her? But it wasn’t simply her. Eldren had been effected, as well. They all had.

  The doors opened and Adelaide sighed. Before she even turned around, she knew that it was Frances. She could smell the cloying perfume that the other woman favored. It invaded her sense and robbed her of any hope for a pleasant morning.

  “There you are,” Frances said. “I’ve been searching all over for you.”

  “Clearly, I am not in hiding. Not effectively at any rate,” Adelaide responded. Sparing a glance at the other woman, she noted the quirk of Frances’ cool amusement at her reply.

  Frances cold, snapping tone was instantaneous. “Another quip. Your banal wit might pass for charm amongst the brash upstarts and nouveau riche of New York, but you’ll find we’re not quite so easily entertained here.”

  “Is there something you wanted, Frances?” Adelaide asked. She hadn’t the patience to tolerate an endless exchange of barbs with her sister in law.

  “I was actually hoping to speak to Eldren about this, but he’s made himself notoriously scarce. Why is that? Not trouble in your newly wedded paradise, I hope?”

  Not trouble precisely. Still, they had not parted on the best of terms that morning, but then Frances would be aware of that as she seemed to be aware of everything that occurred within the house. Deciding not to be baited by her, Adelaide cut right to the heart of it, “What is is that you need of him?”

  “Well, as you know, I am with child and I must begin making preparations for the joyous occasion of my son’s birth,” Frances said. The superiority and the smugness of her tone were undeniable.

  “You are certain of the child’s sex, Frances.”

  “Just a feeling that I have,” Frances replied. “But the nursery is in terrible repair and must be addressed.”

  It was surely something Frances could have waited to bring up with Eldren. But then, it would have denied her the opportunity to once more throw her impending motherhood in Adelaide’s face. “You may do what you wish with the nursery, Frances, so long as it does not involve ripping out walls or changing the actual structure of the house. The wall coverings, the carpets and the furnishings can be altered as you wish.”

  “Well, as you know, Adelaide, Warren and I do not have the same degree of ready wealth—.”

  And naturally, it was about money. Frances spent freely and always charged whatever she chose to the estate. Her asking permission was nothing more than lip service at best. “You may charge it to the estate and it will be taken care of. If that is all, Frances, I find that I am suffering from an aching head and attempts at conversation are only making it worse.”

  Frances’ eyebrows shot up. “Perhaps you are with child, as well then. That was one of my first symptoms, Adelaide. An aching head and terrible nausea! How wonderful it would be for us to share such a thing and for our children to be raised up together.”

  Of course she was not with child. Despite the many pleasures she had shared with her husband, one was still denied her. She had yet to experience the wonder of becoming Eldren’s wife in every way. He had held to his word and refrained from making love to her fully and risking that their passion might bear fruit. Naturally, the servants were aware. They knew everything. In turn, Frances did as well.

  “I don’t think so. Excuse me, Frances,” Adelaide said. Turning to look once more through the double doors that led onto the terrace, Adelaide impulsively opened them and stepped outside. Despite the gathering storm and the briskness of the air, the wind whipping at her hair and her clothes felt freeing in that moment. Lifting her face up into the wind, she stepped down from the terrace and onto the damp grass. Without conscious thought of where she was going, Adelaide simply walked, placing one foot in front of the other. She needed distance. And she needed peace, desperately.

  The further she moved away from the house, from Frances, from the weight of everything that passed between herself and Eldren that morning, Adelaide felt she could at least breathe. Her current circumstances pressed so heavily upon her that even the horrors of her past had faded into the distance of her memory. It wasn’t until her feet touched the sand that she realized her steps had carried her toward the beach and the ocean she so desperately feared. Adelaide stopped then, her feet rooted to the spot and her eyes scanning the dark crashing waves as memories swamped her.

  * * *

  Eldren stared out the window of the carriage as it rolled along. He’d walked out of his office at the train yards, leaving behind reports from his attorney, streams of ticker tape from the Exchange, and even contracts for a new venture in Ireland. All of it had been placed before him and none of it had managed to penetrate his mind. His thoughts were still completely occupied with what had transpired in his bedchamber that morning. In the end, he’d given up, his mind preoccupied with all that had transpired that morning.

  It had started, as so many of their mornings did, with Adelaide naked and pressed against him, their bodies straining with passion. As always, he had held himself back from her, taking her to the heights of passion and denying himself so much. Then she had whispered those words, those cursedly tempting words. Make love to me. Make me yours.

  He had wanted it. He’d wanted her more than he wanted his next breath, and more than he had wanted to avoid the complications and sure disaster that would follow if he gave in. For just a moment, he’d wanted to say to hell with all of it and just take her, to sink into the welcoming heat of her body and lose himself inside her. But in the end, a maid’s giggle in the hallway had brought reality crashing in on them. They were not alone in the house. And the choices he made there, personal as they were, would have far-reaching consequences for many.

  But for the house stirring about them that morning, he would have forgotten the vow he had made and the responsibilities of it that had come crashing down upon him then. All the reasons why their marriage could not be what she needed, what she deserved, were suddenly there at the forefront of his mind again.

  In that moment, he’d sprung from the bed, using physical distance and
the chill of the room to still the raging of his pulse and the aching need that had filled him.

  She’d sat up in the bed, the sheet clutched to her breasts and had stared at him, hurt and confused. “Don’t you want that, Eldren? Don’t you want me?”

  “I can’t,” he said. “It doesn’t matter what I want.”

  “Does it matter what I want?” she’d asked.

  He’d looked at her then and uttered a single word that inflicted far more pain upon her than she’d ever deserved. “No.”

  With that, he’d turned and left, going to bathe and dress for the day. He’d heard her tears, soft as they were, and every one had cut him like a razor, deep and stinging.

  Cursing under his breath, Eldren banged on the roof of the carriage and it slowed to a halt, easing off to the side of the lane. He’d fled like a coward that morning and now he needed to face her, to apologize and explain and attempt to repair the tenuous bond between them that he had shattered. But he needed a moment first. He needed to collect himself before then.

  “Drive on,” he said. “I’ll walk the rest of the way.”

  If the driver thought it odd, he said nothing, simply nodded and continued on toward the house. Eldren strolled along the lane, ignoring the cold drizzle of misting rain. It was a delay, a temporary reprieve. He knew that he had hurt her, just as he knew that the things she wanted were the things she should want from him. They were also the things he wanted to give her, and yet circumstances prevented it. He could say he was sorry, but ultimately, it changed nothing.