The North Sea House: a gothic romance

by Camille Oster

  "Thank you," Archie said. "Please come in. You must be frozen."

  The woman smiled. She was older, over thirty, but had a pleasing face. Slim and not very tall. "Thank you so much for the invitation. This house is very… interesting. Very curious. Quite a long history, I take it. One feels such things as one approaches houses sometimes."

  Curious words, but Vivienne dismissed them. Uncomfortable in the chill outside, the newly arrived woman was urged inside and toward the salon, where the fire roared in the grate.

  "Had some trouble on the road?" John asked.

  "A cart had overturned ahead of us, and we couldn't continue for quite some time. And then it grew too dark to make it all the way out here." Her voice was quiet and soft. By the fire, she rubbed her hands together. "But I am pleased to finally get here. The landscape is beautiful, is it not?"

  There was silence for a moment. "Yes, very distinct," Sophie finally said.

  “Curious house. Has it been empty for quite a while?”

  “No. Very recently vacated, I believe,” Sophie replied.

  “A death. It has a heaviness of death.”

  “Right,” Sophie said, looking unimpressed. “Feel such things, do you? Wonderful.”

  "Well, you are in luck," Archie said as he approached. "We finally have more varied choices in store, so would you like something to drink?"

  "In all honesty, a hot tea would suit me perfectly. Anything stronger does so dull the senses."

  "I would rather think that’s the point. But of course you wish to warm yourself. Sorry, what was your name again? I'm not sure we have officially been introduced."

  "Oh yes," Sophie filled in. "Mrs. Dartmoor."

  "Oh, are you from Dartmoor?" Archie asked.

  "No, I'm not. Well, not in living memory anyway. Somewhere in the past, it stands to reason."

  Again there was a silence and Mrs. Dartmoor smiled. This had to be uncomfortable for her, being surrounded by a group of people she didn't know, and Sophie, who included her out of necessity—to perform a specific function.

  "Jenkins will show you to your room when it is ready," Archie said, walking over to the wall and pulling the bell.

  It took a while for Jenkins to appear. "Ah, there you are. A pot of tea for the ladies."

  Vivienne wasn't adverse to some tea, and the seating by the window looked like the perfect spot for it. "Come sit," she said to Mrs. Dartmoor, urging her toward the more distant seating area by the window.

  "How vast it is," Mrs. Dartmoor said as she sat down, her gaze out at the sea. “Quite terrifying.”

  "Have you been to the sea before?"

  "Yes, a number of times. Never this far north, I must admit. Mostly along the southern coast."

  "Things are a little more intrepid along this coast, I believe," Vivienne said.

  The tea didn't take long to arrive and Sophie came as it was being placed down, but Vivienne suspected she would rather be over by the men.

  "This is a fine house," Mrs. Dartmoor said, looking around at the décor.

  "Parts of it are crumbling when you look close enough," Sophie replied with a wry voice. "It will end up costing Archie a fortune in upkeep if he doesn't manage to garner some income from it. The former owner was hobbling along for years without spending on it what was needed."

  Accepting her cup of tea, Mrs. Dartmoor smiled. "Maintenance can be expensive. Hopefully it’s nothing more serious. These old houses can suffer from all sorts of inflictions," she said quietly. “I like modern houses myself, ever since my Tommy died.”

  "I’m sorry to hear of your loss.”

  Mrs. Dartmoor smiled. “He visits every now and then, of course.”

  Vivienne blinked, not knowing what to make of the statement. Mrs. Dartmoor obviously needed to believe such things. Grieving people had all sorts of ways of comforting themselves, Vivienne understood. “And where do you come from?" Vivienne asked. Sophie showed little interest in her new chaperone. Perhaps she knew all these things about her new companion already, although Vivienne suspected that Sophie didn't really care to get to know the woman all that well.

  "Rochester," she said.

  "I have never been," Vivienne added. "Although I hear the town is very nice."

  There was an awkwardness in this conversation that Vivienne hadn't expected, and didn't exactly know where it stemmed from. Sophie seemed wholly uninterested, or perhaps didn't like the woman. Or maybe it was simply that the suggestion of tea had automatically included her.

  Chapter 5

  SUPPER WAS MORE LIVELY that night, with different choices of wine, and everyone energized after being more rested from the travel.

  The dining room was well lit. Well, as much as could be with the dark paneling. And Miss Trubright scowling down at them. Even Vivienne had to admit the portrait was grim. There was roast pork served that night as the main course, and it was wonderful.

  Mrs. Dartmoor had been placed next to Horace, who was uncomfortable speaking to women he didn't know, so little conversation came her way. But then she didn't seem an attention seeker and appeared as un-intrusive as possible.

  "How was the walk you went on?" John asked.

  "It was nice. The coast has a rugged charm, unlike anything I have ever seen," Vivienne replied.

  "I find women like things a little rugged," Lewis added, his eyes glittering with the candlelight and the wine. There was a mischievousness in him that came out every now and then, and it appeared he was in the mood for it tonight.

  "Because you are, of course, a preeminent expert on what women like," Vivienne replied, not opposed to telling him off. Lewis might not get under her skin the way he did Sophie, but she still refused to be where he focused his mischievous attention.

  His eyebrows rose at the rebuke. Vivienne might not like confrontation, but she didn't balk at it when required, and Lewis had the tendency to forgo manners and etiquette when boredom got to him. It would be nice to think everyone behaved admirably, as novels suggested people did, but in reality, people were always more flawed, or entertained their flaws more liberally than she would expect. It was simply how things were.

  Vivienne knew people who absolutely would not tolerate such behavior, but they ended up dining exclusively amongst themselves. Her father thought there was something wrong with people who hid too much of who they were.

  But then, as far as she could see, Brynnell acted gentlemanly at all times. Never got too far into his cups, never elicited a shocked reaction to the things he said, or in any way challenged what people thought of themselves.

  Lewis was watching her when she looked back, having clearly seen where her thoughts had been directed. "I certainly wouldn't look there for understanding of the female mind," he said. "In fact, our friend, as far as I can tell, doesn't necessarily like women."

  Vivienne didn't understand what he meant, but she also didn't want to query, because Lewis was intentionally trying to elicit a response from her. What Brynnell did or didn't like wasn't any of her business. "If that be true, Lewis, he is kind enough to not let us know."

  "Is that kindness, is it?"

  "It is not necessary for us to be privy to everything someone thinks inside their minds, is it?"

  Lewis was watching her, studying her. She didn't provide the same heated response to his jibes that Sophie did. Perhaps because she had no real interest in sparring with him.

  "But then again, people who do not let people know, as you say, are bound to have their tolerances exceeded at some point, and then…"

  "Then what?"

  Lewis shrugged, his wineglass casually in his hand. There was something uncomfortable about his suggestion. "You cannot deny something true to your character for all that long."

  "Quiet and reserved can be someone's character. It doesn't equate to them being untrue to their character."

  "Except I've known Brynnell for a long time, and I know what his true character is. And it's not what you see."

  Now it was Vivienne's tur
n to be stumped for something to say. What was that supposed to mean? Was Lewis saying this quiet, strong man in their party harbored a hate for women?

  "War changed him," Lewis went on to fill in. "Was quite the rogue back in his youth. He returned a very different man. And yes, his regard for women has never been the highest."

  Vivienne could tell in her gut that Lewis was telling the truth.

  "Afghan war. Brutal, I hear. Countless dead in the sieges. Brynnell only returned because his brother died, but he did not come back the same man as he left."

  "That's awful," Vivienne said quietly.

  "So if your interest is in that direction, I should look elsewhere."

  "I have no such interest."

  Lewis smiled, clearly not believing her. "An unmarried woman always has interest."

  Vivienne's lips drew together, not liking the dismissive way he spoke. If anyone was dismissive of women, it was Lewis. Sophie more than most. "Perhaps I should turn my attention to you, Lewis. I am sure that would please you inordinately."

  "You can solicit my attention any time you like."

  "Oh, there would be no attention given. Maybe I would seek your company all the time, but there would never actually be any attention given."

  His tongue played with his sharp canine tooth. This was a game to him. Somehow she'd been drawn into the verbal sparring he so liked. The games he liked to play.

  "John," she said, seeking her brother's attention. "We really should invite Lewis to the house sometime. Mother would so love to meet him."

  "Of course," John said, not understanding the conversation and taking it at face value. The last thing Lewis wanted was the attention of matrons. Not even he could afford to be disrespectful or even verbally liberal with the matrons of society. He simply wasn't in the position to anger them. Unlike Brynnell, with his fortune and his estate, Lewis' prospects were more limited, and the disapproval of the matrons had far-reaching influence.

  "There is a devious streak in you," Lewis said, absently twisting his wineglass on the table.

  "Absolutely not. I am lovely, and would make anyone a fantastic wife. Well, my mother thinks so. I am sure she will inform you when you come for lunch."

  "It might be time for a spot of port," Archie suggested, loving his role as host. It was the reason they had all been invited to join him in claiming his new estate. He liked having people around him, which might be a problem when it came to him spending any great lengths of time here.

  "We will withdraw to the salon," Sophie said, all the men joining her as she stood. Vivienne did the same and stepped away from the table, as did Mrs. Dartmoor.

  The fire was warm in the salon and Jenkins offered them sherry, which Mrs. Dartmoor didn't accept.

  "She is a teetotaler," Sophie announced to Jenkins and Mrs. Dartmoor blushed. "No point offering her sherry."

  Sophie looked bored. The truth was that Vivienne wasn't the company she wished to be with either, but convention required the men be left to their cheroots and port after supper. If given the choice, Sophie would much rather be in there with them, puffing away, but it was a tradition even this group would not disturb.

  "A very grand woman in the portrait in the dining room," Mrs. Dartmoor said. “You can feel her… ”

  "The previous owner, a Miss Trubright. Archie's aunt," Sophie cut in. "Devout and disapproving, I believe sums her up. Archie wasn't her choice of heir for the estate, but it was entailed away from her favorite."

  This was news to Vivienne.

  Sophie snorted. "The laws are so unkind. Men have a habit of watching out for themselves in all things. Miss Trubright wanted her niece to inherit the place, but wasn't allowed to make that determination.”

  "The niece?" Vivienne asked.

  "Yes. Clarissa Bollingworth." It wasn't a name that Vivienne had ever heard, but then she wasn't someone with the largest network of acquaintances. "Strange creature," Sophie went on.

  "You've met her?"

  "Once or twice. She only did one season, and Miss Trubright supported her through it, I believe. Not exactly a splash, but it did net her a husband, so it had to be worth it. Hasn't been seen in London since, as far as I know."

  "Some people do not like to be in London," Vivienne added. She had a friend like that, who would quite happily spend all her time in her husband's estate in the country. It wasn't the norm, but some people liked the peace and quiet, not much unlike her own father. Vivienne didn't mind it, but not exclusively. A bit of lively entertainment did one good every once in a while.

  In her mind, she'd always had a picture in mind for how her life would be with her husband. Winters in London, going to events and suppers, summers in the country. Maybe everyone envisioned their future life similarly. It wasn't a vision she could make work with Lewis, however. She smiled into her sherry glass as she took a sip. Turning her attention to Lewis had not been anything more than an idle threat. Never one she could carry through, but it had been the one thing she'd believed would make him uncomfortable. Probably not, but it was all she had.

  "It has been a long time since I spent much time in London," Mrs. Dartmoor said, her gaze distant with memories. “The opportunity never arose."

  "Don't worry, you will have your chance," Sophie replied, getting up to pace in front of the fireplace, awaiting the men to come join them. If there was anyone who suited the freedoms of marriage, it was Sophie. As for herself, Vivienne wasn't rushing toward it with the eagerness of most, clambering for the status and the freedom it would give. Having John gave her freedom enough—and she didn't necessarily seek more than that. When she married, she wanted it to be a good marriage, not simply the first person she could rope into proposing. The marriage would be for the rest of her life, but then the ever-present fear did exist, even for her, of never being a bride, and being a burden on John for the rest of his. So, she understood the urge to marry—even a loveless marriage, because almost any marriage was better than none.

  Chapter 6

  THE WEATHER WAS INCLEMENT the next day. The sea had turned stormy and grey, the wind whipped harder than before, and it intermittently howled through cracks in windows and doors with a forceful bluster. Inside, it felt much colder.

  As with the night before, the others stayed up for quite a while after Vivienne had left, enjoying the new stocks of liqueurs and spirits that had arrived at the house.

  Vivienne now wandered the house. There was little else she could do that morning, and she stumbled onto a study, that had at some point been the domain of a man. It looked largely disused by Miss Trubright. Inside was a heavy mahogany desk and chair with cracked red leather along the backrest. A fine layer of dust covered most surfaces.

  Archie would eventually have to claim this space, although he seemed much more interested in merriment with his friends than discovering the true state of the house and the land belonging to it.

  A portrait of a women was over the cold fireplace. Beautiful with dark hair. Her dress was old-fashioned, and Vivienne guessed it had to be a good fifty years old. Had she lived here at one point? Been the wife of the man who'd owned this house?

  Vivienne stared at the portrait of the serenely smiling woman. The location in the study was unusual, where the man of this house spent his time. It suggested to her that perhaps he had lost her and sought to keep her memory alive in a place he spent a great deal of time.

  The idea tugged at her heart, the idea that a man would mourn a woman so. Only love could induce such devotion. And then the love was lost. It would be very sad if it was true, but it wasn't unusual that husbands lost their wives young, a natural consequence of marriage and childbearing.

  Turning away from the portrait, she had a last look around the room before moving to the next, which turned out to be a library. The books were old, the spines dry and cracked. It seemed Miss Trubright did not invest much in the library either. Vivienne knew none of the titles, and most of them were practical in nature, such a law and animal husbandry. Also histo
ry books.

  A table stood in the middle of the room and another cold hearth. Clearly not a room used, and perhaps Jenkins was right in expecting Archie would not be particularly drawn in here.

  Leaving, she walked through the main hall and toward the salon. The smell of tobacco met her. Someone was there. With the dark skies outside, the room seemed particularly gloomy, but she spotted a figure sitting by the fire. Brynnell. His first name was too informal for her to use, because they were not well enough acquainted. "Good morning, Lord Routledge," she said as she walked into the room.

  A cheroot sat between his fingers and he seemed to stare into the fire. "Miss Harcourt," he said with a small bow of his head.

  Feeling awkward, she shifted slightly on her feet. "It seems a dismal morning for going outside."

  "It suggests we are housebound today."

  Now she had nothing to say. He wasn't a man who invited conversation. "Some, I believe, would find the remoteness of this house intriguing."

  He looked over at her for a moment, but didn't speak. Now she felt silly for saying something like that. Intriguing? Who would find remoteness intriguing? "Do you?" he asked.

  "I am perhaps easily intrigued."

  "Is that so?"

  "I suppose I am curious by nature."

  "Curious, but you do not join the merrymaking in the evenings." One of his eyes squinted as he drew from the cheroot to avoid the smoke floating up into the air. Actually, she didn't mind the smell of tobacco. It reminded her of her father when she was young. His arrival at home always came with the smell of tobacco.

  "No, I suppose not," she replied. "I suppose I like a bit of solitude in the evenings."

  "Perhaps a house like this would suit you."

  "No, it is too remote, but it is a very handsome house."

  He observed her for a moment. "I could live here. Not sure it would do me good in the long run. Might turn me a bit feral."

  A frown creased Vivienne's eyebrows for a moment. It was an odd choice of words. "One could perhaps easily forget convention in a place like this."