The North Sea House: a gothic romance

by Camille Oster

  On her knees, she sat in front of the fire until it started to give off heat, and slowly felt herself thaw. This wasn't good. Something had to be done, but what? How did one stop oneself from wandering when sleeping?

  Perhaps she would have to ask Sophie or Mrs. Dartmoor to share a room with her. That would be an acceptable solution, but she would have to admit what she was doing at night. Still, it was better than wandering the cliffs in the darkness.

  Finally warm, she dressed and made her way downstairs. Morning light shone through the windows and the men were preparing to head out. Jenkins was assisting them with their coats and Clive was holding the horses outside. There were also some men she hadn't seen before and a farm cart.

  John smiled as he saw her and came over. "We are going to collect the Bollingworths' curricle."

  "Of course," she said. "You have found someone to fix it."

  "Well, we have found someone who is willing to try. I think that's the best one could hope for out here."

  Mrs. Dartmoor appeared at her side. "Good morning," she said brightly. Vivienne wished she felt as bright, but there was a lingering tiredness from her less than restful sleep.

  "The men are going to retrieve the curricle," Vivienne told her.

  "Yes, they did mention yesterday that they would."

  They were ready to leave and they all mounted their horses. Brynnell was there, taking his seat. He looked comfortable in his saddle, but he didn't look over or greet her, being too absorbed in what he was doing as he urged the horse into action. Vivienne watched his back as he rode away from the house.

  They'd spoken for a while last night after supper, and even now, she felt a longing to hold onto that connection. They had been of like mind on some things, had found common ground, but perhaps she was reading more into it than was there. It could be he had simply been polite and had taken the time to speak to her, but he seemed genuinely curious about this missing heir, unlike most others.

  Or maybe it was her that wanted a connection between them and read into things in that hope. It would be truthful to admit that she held a curiosity about the man, but then Sophie had intentions for him—namely marriage. Sophie would very much like to be Lady Routledge, and any undue interest Vivienne showed in him would put her at odds with Sophie, who would see it as interference with her plans. Something that was equal to being a rival in Sophie's book.

  Chapter 14

  "WHO PUT THIS IN MY ROOM?" Mrs. Bollingworth demanded, appearing in the doorway with a leather-bound book in her hand, her tone and eyes accusatory, traveling from one to the other.

  "My word, the woman has no charm at all," Sophie said, loud enough to hear, but Mrs. Bollingworth seemed too distracted with her accusation to care.

  They all looked at each other to try to understand what she was referring to, but no one looked remotely guilty. It was only, besides Vivienne herself, Lewis, Sophie and Mrs. Dartmoor present. The others were out trying to repair the curricle.

  "Perhaps you should ask your husband, because we don't have any excuse to put things in your room," Lewis told her.

  "Someone did and it wasn't Gabriel. Very bad form," she said harshly. "And if you think this is going distress me, you have another thing coming. DO NOT ENTER MY ROOM!"

  Each of them looked astounded as Mrs. Bollingworth threw the book on the ground and disappeared from the doorway.

  "How extraordinary," Lewis said and got up to collect the book. "Now I am curious what has our honored Mrs. Bollingworth so upset."

  "The maid must have accidentally left it behind. That's no excuse to behave like a banshee, screaming at us like we are children."

  Lewis' curious expression was replaced with a frown as he looked through the book.

  "What is it?" Sophie demanded, putting down her teacup on the small table at the center of their seating area.

  "A journal of some kind," Lewis said and absently sat down again. "It's old."

  "How old?"

  "Eighteen hundred and nine is the date at the beginning."

  "Let me see," Sophie said and grabbed the journal out of his hands. "Definitely a man's. Talks of hunting and racing."

  "It could be a woman," Lewis said.

  "Jonathan Fitzgerald," Sophie said, reading the inside of the cover.

  "The missing heir," Vivienne said. "What does it say on the last page?"

  Sophie turned to the last page. "Says the shooting should be good at Lord Windmere's this year and that he direly needed new boots after his never regained their shape and color properly after the mud at Pennhurst."

  "Clearly the thoughts of a distraught man," Lewis said wryly and Vivienne frowned. It didn't sound like the thoughts of a distressed man, but like the portrait, the journal could have been from before the distressing time of the love affair.

  "More importantly, how did it get into Mrs. Bollingworth's room?" Mrs. Dartmoor asked.

  "Well, someone obviously put it there," Sophie said.

  "But who?"

  "Like I said, a maid put it down and forgot to pick it up. It was his journal and he lived here, so it's hardly surprising that it's around. It's the only logical explanation. It's not like we're purposefully running around and placing things in her room. Why would we?"

  "To scare her," Mrs. Dartmoor said.

  Sophie looked confused and set to argue. "By putting some old journal in her room?"

  "After she was terrified she saw a spirit on the road the day before. All aimed to make her leave as soon as possible," Mrs. Dartmoor continued.

  "Although I can understand why," Sophie said tersely. "The woman is a nightmare."

  The word nightmare caused distress to Vivienne. Mrs. Bollingworth had been in her dream, she was sure of it. The details weren't clear, but she had a notion Mrs. Bollingworth had been in her dream. But why would a journal cause her distress. Surely it was the fact that someone had entered her room. Still, a waylaid journal should hardly justify coming down here and accusing people of meaning her harm. It was quite extraordinary. The woman was clearly wrought.

  A shudder slid down her spine, remembering her own fear that someone had come into her room in the middle of the night. But where had the journal come from?

  "Clearly, Mrs. Bollingworth believes in the spirit of this heir," Lewis said. "Or someone wishes her to believe so."

  "Only Archie really has something to gain by her packing up and leaving," Sophie said.

  "Truthfully, she isn't a threat to Archie no matter what she says. The house doesn't belong to her, whether she thinks so or not."

  John entered the room, his cheeks rosy from the cold and wind outside. "Well, we have a plan. The axel definitely needs replacing, but they think they can make another down in the village."

  Rubbing his cold hands, he sat down, eagerly wishing for some tea.

  "That's good news," Vivienne said. With these latest developments, it might just be that Mrs. Bollingworth wished to leave.

  "Unfortunately it will take some time, but Archie has offered them the use of his carriage if they wish to depart at an earlier opportunity."

  "How kind of him," Lewis suggested.

  Archie appeared, his fingers dirty. "I might go clean up. Dirty business."

  "I think we need a fresh pot and then we can tell you all about the dramatics you missed," Sophie informed him.

  "Dramatics?"

  "Mrs. Bollingworth is close to losing her grip on reality, I think."

  "Has there been more ghostly apparitions?"

  "A journal of Jonathan Fitzgerald’s has materialized in her room." Sophie held up the journal.

  "How curious," Archie said. "What does it say?"

  "Nothing really."

  "Well, that's a bit disappointing."

  Behind him, Brynnell appeared, looking calm and formal as he always did. Vivienne found herself flushing slightly with his appearance and hoped no one noticed. Sophie, at least, seemed distracted with explaining how Mrs. Bollingworth had accused them of interfering
with her wellbeing.

  Finally, she threw the journal so it landed on the small table in front of them. Vivienne picked it up and flicked through it, reading the latest entries. There really wasn't much there other than mundane concerns. Nothing dramatic. It didn't even detail anything about a love affair. It was more of an account of what he did. Jonathan Fitzgerald didn't even seem to be a man of particularly strong emotions.

  "Does anyone know where the journal came from, prior to being in Bollingworth's possession, I mean?"

  No one had an answer. Had no one seen it prior to being moved? Surely Mrs. Bollingworth knew, but now seemed the wrong time to ask her. Perhaps she could inquire with Mr. Jenkins. If anyone had known where it had been before, it would be him. The study would be the likely place.

  Someone must have seen the study and then taken the opportunity when no one was looking to place it in the Bollingworths’ room. Why would anyone do that? To scare her, Mrs. Dartmoor had said, but for what purpose? Simply to make her leave because she was unpleasant company?

  It would certainly be a unique way of chasing away an unwanted guest if one couldn't bear to be rude. Still, an extreme tactic.

  Maybe it simply had been a maid that mistakenly put it down and forgot it.

  "I trust you haven't been trying to frighten my wife," Mr. Bollingworth said as he entered the room, addressing Archie.

  "Of course not," Archie said, offended that he would ask. "I don't conduct childish games with my guests."

  John cleared his throat. "The local men said something interesting," he added, purposefully trying to change the topic. John never liked confrontations, and there was nowhere good that conversation could have continued. "They said the tide was higher than normal, which worried them."

  No one replied to him, but he had their attention.

  "They said low pressure out in the North Sea was making the tide high."

  "Well, then. There's that to talk about," Lewis said tersely.

  "They said it made it a bad time to go out."

  "Go out where?" Archie asked.

  "To sea. Bad weather. They are all staying home until… I guess the high tide is gone."

  "They think a storm is coming," Brynnell clarified.

  "I suppose we'll have to put off the sailing then." Archie said. "Seems quite perilous around here even in calm weather."

  "Well, the men in the village might get the Bollingworths' curricle finished sooner if they are staying at home."

  "Here, here," Mr. Bollingworth said. His reaction made Vivienne wonder if he had wanted to come here at all, or if it was at his wife's insistence they were here. As of yet, she had not accepted Archie's proposal to ferry her home in his carriage. Perhaps tomorrow, she would decide to leave, unless she still believed she had a chance to convince Archie that she was the rightful owner of this estate. Her claim was tentative at best, based on some notion of what Miss Trubright professed to have wanted. No court in the land would listen to such a claim. Perhaps Mrs. Bollingworth was one of those irrational persons who refused to accept what others said. Judging by her behavior, there was a notion of irrationality about her.

  Chapter 15

  AT SUPPER THAT EVENING, Vivienne was secretly delighted as she was seated next to Brynnell. As per usual, he wasn't the center of attention, and she did like that he didn't feel the need to be. Mrs. Bollingworth didn't come down again, but her husband was in attendance. As of yet, they had said nothing about their plans to leave, which Vivienne thought strange as Mrs. Bollingworth felt persecuted in this house.

  Although she appreciated the chance to engage with Brynnell, he was difficult to speak to, because he didn't necessarily seek to engage anyone.

  "You must have seen a great deal in your travels," she said after trying to think of how to start a conversation. "The east must be very fascinating."

  "It is. We weren't there in the greatest of circumstances."

  While he didn't speak of the war, it never seemed far from his mind.

  "Of course. Have you done much travel otherwise?"

  "When I was younger. I spent some time in Italy with Lewis." For the first time, she saw a small smile grace his lips as he remembered back to that time.

  "I was not aware. It must have been great fun. Unfortunately, travel has not been a part of my life, but I should very much wish to."

  "And where would you go?"

  "The Nile, I think. I cannot think of anything more romantic."

  "So it is romance you seek?"

  "Doesn't everyone who is traveling for pleasure?"

  "Or simply to escape the confines of society."

  It was a curious answer and she wondered what it meant. Did he feel the confines of society? Or rather, had he as a youth? Or was it something he wished to escape now, being one of the most eligible bachelors in the country? In a way, she felt a little intrusive with her interest in him when there were so many who were interested in becoming acquainted with him, or more.

  Truthfully, she didn't feel the binding confines of society as others did. John was always happy to include her, so the rules of society didn't often restrain her. It wasn't that she was trying to run off and meet young men in private, or hide things she was doing. More often than not, the proper way of doing things suited her well enough.

  Obviously she would have more freedom when she married and that was perhaps where the rules of society strained a little, because she wasn't happy to simply accept the suitor with the best prospects—she wanted a love match. There hadn't been anything remotely close to one yet, so it wasn't an issue, and luckily, her parents weren't desperate to establish a match for her just yet. As time went by, that would change if she never succeeded in a match herself.

  "I'm afraid I would not really know how that would be," she admitted and he studied her for a moment. A flush crept up her cheeks at the scrutiny. "Do you feel the restraints of society so keenly?"

  "I feel the press of society more keenly now than I used to. As will Archie."

  "Are you saying a man is more carefree without an estate?"

  "More carefree, yes."

  "One wouldn't think wealth would be such a burden."

  "Society makes it more of a burden. Because wealth is a virtue all of its own. At times, it takes precedence over what you want, or what you are."

  "Not everyone sees things that way. You are amongst friends here, who do not value you by the wealth you have."

  "Are you sure?" he asked and Vivienne frowned.

  "No, of course not." Well, Sophie, but not the rest of them. John didn't. It wasn't in his character to judge a person more favorably because they had an estate. "You have all been friends for a long time, and you are friends still, no matter what fortunes have befallen you. Luckily nothing particularly ill has befallen any of you." They had all been friends since their Oxford days and that friendship continued.

  "Maybe people hide their wounds well."

  Vivienne didn't know what to make of the statement. He had to be referring to his own experiences with war. It had left wounds. "Good friendships are important when challenges come."

  "You are an idealist."

  "I do not deny it. I think ideals serve us well. We should try to live up to them."

  He sat quietly for a moment. "Sometimes the world will use your ideals against you."

  "Is that reason to abandon them?"

  His answer didn't come. Was that what had happened to him? Had he lost some part of himself in that war? "Things are not always as easy as you make out."

  "I am sure," she replied. "I count myself lucky that I have not had to abandon any of my ideals. Perhaps such a time will come. I hope not, and I hope I don't judge myself too harshly if it does."

  "I suspect you, Miss Harcourt, will always guard yourself against such eventualities.” His statement implied that he hadn't or couldn't. But she had not experienced the things he had, having lived a very sheltered life—and she knew it. Both of her parents protected her, and her brother.
And she'd never been forced to make any compromises in her life. His tone and expressions suggested that he had.

  This wasn't quite the conversation she'd expected. It had simply unfolded this way, to discuss topics much deeper and closer to the heart of a person.

  "What are you two whispering about there?" Sophie asked. Her tone was jovial, but there was something in her eyes. Speaking to him, establishing a friendship with him was going to trespass against Sophie, but Vivienne wasn't entirely sure she would back away simply for that reason. While Sophie expected her to, Vivienne wasn't quite as retreating as Sophie expected. A friendship would be something Brynnell would choose, and she would not turn it down if he extended it—even for Sophie's sake. "Nothing of importance," she said, which was a lie. It had been a topic of deep importance. Sophie didn't appear satisfied with the answer. "How sheltered my upbringing has been," she filled in and Sophie's face lightened.

  "You would not believe some of the daft things Vivienne has said." This was a topic Sophie enjoyed, but Vivienne refused to allow herself to be mortified. "She is in all things an innocent, completely unaware of the world in most cases." That was going a bit far, but Sophie was obviously trying to make a point. Perhaps a point of difference between them.

  There was nothing wrong with being innocent.

  "But she is also one of those girls for whom everything seems to fall into place," Sophie continued. "Things are always easy for her."

  Vivienne frowned slightly, having been unaware Sophie thought this of her.

  "That is because the fates favor her," Lewis said. Was this how they all saw her?

  "Sometimes I wonder what you all think of me," Vivienne said. "Some innocent wandering around, just narrowly diverting disaster?"

  There was silence for a moment and now she truly had to wonder. "No, that's John," Lewis said and there was laughter around the table. Yes, John could be a bit oblivious to the world around him. And he did lack that cynical streak that both Lewis and Archie had. "You are his infinitely wiser sister."