If the others weren't so intensely uncomfortable around her, she would seek out someone right now, but her welcome was uncertain. "But I don't believe in such things. And I absolutely have no hatred toward Miss Trubright." As she said it, she felt a little like a fraud, because in her dreams, Miss Trubright had been a terrifying character and she had been trying to destroy her—which had apparently manifested in her sleepwalking actions. "I have, of course, apologized profusely to Archie for destroying his property."
"I think you have done him a favor in the long run." Whatever Mrs. Dartmoor believed with such a statement, Vivienne didn't want to know. "Although I suspect Mrs. Bollingworth is more bereaved at the loss. They were friends. Or perhaps it is better to say Miss Trubright was a mentor and a companion."
Mrs. Bollingworth had not been in her dream last night, but she had been in previous ones. These dreams that only happened when she was sleepwalking. Maybe she did need to consult a doctor when she returned home. This was a troubling development with her faculties.
"I would apologize to her, but I'm not sure she is prepared to receive it."
"No, I dare say not. She does not have a magnanimous bone in her body. I suspect something they shared in common."
Vivienne remembered Mrs. Sims words that Miss Trubright had ruined her from the carefree girl she had been when younger. All in all, Miss Trubright didn't seem to have an amiable personality at all. The woman she had conjured in her dreams certainly didn't. In fact, she was horrible. But why would her mind conjure such a personality for a woman she didn't even know?
And this talk of Miss Trubright's soul trapped in the portrait was sending chills down her. Such things she was better off not believing, although Mrs. Dartmoor clearly did—along with other strange notions such as souls of the departed revisiting their homes after death. Death was something Vivienne preferred not to think about at all, but had been continually confronted with since arriving at this house.
"I think I will rest soon," Vivienne said with a wavering smile. "It has been a trying morning."
"I understand the slip will be clear in a few days," Mrs. Dartmoor said. "I suspect my employ with Miss Sophie will end when we leave. We do not seem to see eye to eye on many things."
That was true. Sophie didn't like her at all, and had even sought to gravely embarrass the woman.
"Perhaps someone a little older would be a better employer for me. I, of course, cannot leave my post until Miss Sophie is back with her parents."
"That is very considerate of you."
"Well the choices we make impacting other people is the providence we create. It all builds up."
Maybe there was something to the statement and it was providence that left most people with such a poor opinion of Miss Trubright after her life was complete. It was certainly not the opinion she wanted to leave people with when she left this world. Except Mrs. Bollingworth, who apparently missed her friend gravely. But truthfully, no one seemed to have a good opinion of her now, and she was still alive.
Then again, right now, most of Vivienne's friends didn't have a marvelous opinion of her either, considering most of them believed she'd tried to murder them in their sleep.
This was all too tiring to contemplate.
"I hope we can all leave here soon, Mrs. Dartmoor," Vivienne said. "I think it's been a stressful visit for everyone." Even Archie had to doubt the wisdom of having guests after what had happened to him.
"I hear they are getting closer to clearing the slip."
"Let's hope so."
*
Vivienne rested during the afternoon while the men were out. No one particularly wanted her company and all these night wanderings had depleted her.
Supper was a somber affair with tired men and even a subdued Sophie.
After bidding goodnight at the earliest opportunity, Vivienne made her excuse to the party, suspecting they felt relief as she left. But Mrs. Dartmoor was right—there was a different atmosphere to the house, lighter. Even now when it was just as dark as before. Even with a murderer still in the house. A few suspected she was the responsible party, but others knew she wasn't. Hopefully Archie didn't doubt her. Surely she had proven it by watching him so diligently.
With a heavy heart, she returned to her room and lit the fire. It was exhausting that they couldn't leave. No one in their party wanted to stay in this house after the time they'd had, including Archie. As Mrs. Bollingworth was hopeful in Archie wanting to relinquish this house, it might actually be true now, but it wasn't her supposed claim to the place that made it so—that he should give her the house because Miss Trubright would have wished it. In truth, Vivienne could believe it. But it was never Miss Trubright's to give, but clearly the woman, nor Mrs. Bollingworth, had tolerated that.
"How are you?" John said behind her.
"I'm alright," she said, but couldn't keep her weariness out of her voice.
"I will stay with you tonight again."
Absently, she nodded. It wasn't a reasonable solution, but it was all they could do as she did dangerous things, unwitting of the harm to other people, while she wandered. It couldn't go on like this.
"When we get home, I think we'll have to have a maid sleep with you."
"Truthfully, I'm not sure this will continue when I get home," she said. It was a suspicion that had come to her while she'd been talking to Mrs. Dartmoor that afternoon. "The dreams I have while wandering have to do with this house and Miss Trubright. Every time I've done so, I have dreamed of her. So I'm hoping that they will pass once I leave here."
John stared at her for a moment, as if thinking over what she just said. "I hope so. Sounds very strange." Moving over to the wall, he tapped and listened. "Where is this secret entrance?"
"I don't know," she admitted.
"But if there is no other key, then you had to have used it."
"I have no idea where a secret entrance would be."
With his fingers, he ran along the edges of the wall and sought some mechanism. "There has to be some way of opening it. How can you know how to do something in your sleep and not when you're awake?"
How indeed? It was a question she couldn't answer. John continued to search, but found no secret entrance. Even the idea of a secret way of getting into the room was uncomfortable. Why did this house have to be so strange? The sooner they could all leave the better.
"Do you think spirits can linger after people die?" she asked.
"Where are these funny notions coming from?"
"Mrs. Dartmoor believes it. I think she believes a part of Miss Trubright was still here."
"Trying to poison Archie because he's inherited the house instead of Mrs. Bollingworth?" John said jeeringly. "From what I've heard of her, I wouldn't put it past her. Archie said his father never liked her, and that dogs didn't like her either, which I think says a lot about a person."
All these things were so confusing. Her life was infinitely simpler before ghosts and missing heirs, and people trying to poison them.
"I don't like it here," she admitted. It was something she'd felt for a few days, but she hadn't allowed herself to voice out of loyalty to Archie. They had all thought it such a stroke of luck him inheriting the house, but coming here had resulted in a string of bad occurrences.
Chapter 31
THE MOON SHONE INTO the room, eerie in its pale light. In the corner, John slept in his chair, snoring slightly. She didn't feel cold as she rose from the bed. Neither awake nor asleep. This was different from before, but she didn't know why. There wasn't the darkness. Even like this, she could feel the difference in the house, but her work was not done yet.
With silent steps, she moved over to the wall, and her fingers searched to find the clasp that released the door. In her heart, she knew where it was, but didn't know why. Tugging, she released the door and it creaked open. There was something in there she needed.
Walking through, she stepped into sheer darkness. Even so, she knew the way. Dirt crunched under he
r feet and she walked, the floorboards at times groaning.
Her feet drove her on, while a part of her mind told her she should be frightened, but she wasn't. There wasn't anything to be frightened of. Even as she was walking through the dark in a place she didn't recognize, she felt no fear at all—assured nothing bad would happen.
Light peered through somewhere in front of her. There were people. She didn't know who they were, but knew instinctively from the sounds that there was lovemaking. "Lewis," a woman gasped. In the back of her mind, she knew that voice, but it wasn't important. They weren't important, because she had something important to do and it drove her on.
She reached a staircase and she walked down. There was dust under her feet, but she could not bring herself to care. The stairs led her so far down, it felt as though she was walking down for an age, reaching a dark space. She knew this space—had been here before.
In her mind, she knew it was cold, but she couldn't feel it. A warming feeling filled her mind. There was no fear, there was no harm.
Her mind noted that she walked past the hidden room and to another wall, where her fingers searched through the dust for another release. This was somewhere she hadn't been before, but this was the way she had to go. It hurt her fingers to press the rusty release, but it finally gave and a crack appeared along the stone seem.
The door was heavy and it scraped along the ground. It was utter blackness inside, but she knew not to fear. Nothing was going to hurt her and this had to be done. It had been too long and now it was time.
Trusting her instincts, she stepped into the black space and her bare feet met stone. It smelled of the sea.
It is time, her mind kept repeating.
"Miss Harcourt," a voice said and there was a hand at her elbow, drawing her back, but she fought it.
"No," she said.
"You cannot be down here." She knew the voice, liked the voice, but she didn't want him to be here.
"It is time," she said.
"Time for what?"
"Let me go."
"You are sleepwalking. This isn't a safe place. You must return to your room."
"No, I have to."
"Have to what?"
"Release me," she demanded and the grip on her relented slightly, enough for her to pull her elbow away. But he didn't disappear as she hoped. Instead he followed her.
"You must return to your bed. Awaken, Miss Harcourt."
Annoyance swept through her, but it wasn't her own. She was so close to finding what she needed. "I'm so close."
"Close to what?"
"Just a little farther."
"This is not safe." Grabbing her again, he patted her cheek and it jarred her.
"Stop," she said, trying to quell his hands. "I need to go down there, Brynnell."
Immediately he stopped, but he didn't let her go.
"Why do you need to go down there?"
"Because what I search for is down there."
There was comfort now being like this in his arms. She liked it. The sounds of the lovemaking she'd walked past before returned to her mind, making her curiously warm. The light from his lanterns lit up his face and she stared into those eyes.
"Vivienne," he said softly.
"I seek something that's down there. I don't know what, but I have to go there. I am not asleep now. Not like before, but I'm searching for something down there. Something important."
"How did you even find this place?"
"I just knew it was there. How did you know where to find me?"
"I didn't. I just heard the sound of someone walking and knew it was probably you. But you are not asleep now, are you?"
"No, but I feel things—thoughts. I really need to go down there. I don't know why, but I want to know what is so compelling that I have to seek it."
The muscles in his jaw corded for a moment as if he was deciding what he wanted to do.
"These are not my own thoughts, my own actions."
"Then whose are they?"
She shook her head. "I don't know, but this has something to do with Miss Trubright. I think everything that's happened has to do with Miss Trubright."
If she hadn't been cold before, she was now. Whatever had held her enthralled before didn't have its hold anymore and she felt cold.
"Then let's finally see what it is you hope to find, but you cannot walk like that," he said and lifted her up in his arms, carrying both her and a lantern to see their way. "I smell the sea. This must be one of the old smugglers' tunnels."
The tunnel was carved into the very rock. Cold emanated from the rocks, but being enveloped in Brynnell’s warm arms was too comfortable for her to care, and she felt she needed to complete this quest she chased. That urge to find what she sought was still there—it still drove her. This was important. It would explain everything, her mind told her.
The roar of the sea could be heard and he walked her closer to it. Fear finally did seep up through her mind.
"This must be access to the sea," Brynnell said, staring ahead as he held her tightly. While she hadn't feared before because she'd been feeling so strangely, now she didn't fear because Brynnell was with her. "It might be useful as a means of leaving if the road proves unstable when we clear the slip, because there is no access to the sea elsewhere.”
They reached a rusty door with an old lock on it. Through the bars, she could see light shining ahead, the eerie paleness of moonlight. Whatever had stopped her from fearing before was lifting now and she felt worry creeping into her brain. What would they find? What was down here that called her? Was it something unnatural? There was something unnatural about all of this.
Brynnell didn’t seem burdened with such concerns. "It leads to the sea," Brynnell said. "If there is access, we can send word with Clive to the village to send a boat."
"It must be well hidden," she said. No one seemed to know of it.
"And I doubt it would be safe. Sea and rocks don’t make for safe landing areas."
Putting her down carefully on the cold ground, Brynnell grabbed a rock and banged on the lock. The strikes rang loudly in her ears. Why would she be shown this? What was so compelling about this that it drove her out of her bed? And what was urging her to do this? Miss Trubright? It didn't sound right. There was something else in the house—something that didn't mean her harm. It didn't feel like it meant her harm—it just wanted her help.
The lock gave and crashed into the ground. The hinges groaned loudly as Brynnell pushed on the door. He was dressed as opposed to her, who was in her nightgown. This was highly inappropriate, but as soon as she entertained doubts in her mind, the urgency to discover reasserted itself. It was only around the corner. Just a few more steps, her mind told her.
Picking her up again, Brynnell walked carefully. The rough edges of the tunnel were seen now that the moonlight shone on the water just head. They reached a ledge, but the water was far down. It rose and sank violently and a thrill of fear snaked up her stomach seeing it so close, as if it would come up and claim them any moment.
"A boat would be smashed to pieces coming in here," Brynnell said. "I don't think this was ever for smugglers. It would be too dangerous, but it might have been an escape route for the truly desperate. Look there," he said, pointing over to the side. "I think a boat was hoisted there once, to be lowered down in the most desperate of escapes. Long gone now."
"The sea probably claimed it," Vivienne said with a shudder. This place was scaring her. The sea so close with all its power. "But this isn't why I'm here," she said, not quite able to explain. Not yet, her mind kept saying. Keep going.
"What do you mean?" Brynnell asked, turning his attention to her.
Looking around, a dark corner attracted her and she urged him to release her so she could find what she sought. Brynnell followed. She didn’t want to look, but couldn’t stop herself. "There's something over here," she said, her feet carefully stepping over the rocks, slimy from centuries of sea spray. Because whatever drove her
here wanted this so badly and had insisted she was so close. And she was close. Her heart beat and her throat had gone dry.
Sharp and uneven stairs were carved into the rock. Here, her mind said and she grabbed the lantern from Brynnell and proceeded into the dark space. This had been her destination, and there was going to be something she didn’t want to see.
"This does seem like a smugglers' storage," Brynnell said. "Perhaps I am wrong. Some would risk life and limb for profit."
Vivienne wasn't interested. Now she was close. Her mind was screaming at her, and in the distance she saw a bundle. On closer inspection, she saw burlap.
We should leave. "Here," she said. This was it. She'd reached what she'd been searching for, but something in her didn't want to see more—told her to turn and run.
Brynnell crouched down and she had an urge to reach for his hand as he lifted the burlap up. It was hard to make out what she was looking at, but she soon realized it was bone and tattered clothes. It was a body, but the smell of death didn’t assault her as she expected it to. It must have been there for a long time.
Closing her eyes, she tried to force the sight of it from her mind as her stomach heaved. This was what she'd been sent to find. Something had urged her to find this body. "It's Jonathan Fitzgerald," she croaked, knowing the words to be true as she said it.
Brynnell didn't say anything, but took the lantern out of her hand. Vivienne stepped away. Her task was complete and she didn't really need to see more. A huge sense of relief washed over her and she knew it wasn't just her own. Then a sense of peace filled her. It was done, her mind told her. It wasn't words that drove her, only feelings. The drive to find and now the relief after waiting so long.
These were not her own feelings. They belonged to someone else—probably to the person lying there under the burlap, wanting to be found.
"There are cuts on his ribs," Brynnell stated. "Right where his heart is. I think he was stabbed. He had to have been placed down here."
"Hidden," Vivienne said.
The North Sea House: a gothic romance Page 17