by Blythe Baker
Possibilities swirled in my mind until I felt dizzy, and I just wanted to get away. I’d learned and seen more than enough for one night, and it was high time I found my way back to the house. I could discuss all of this with Catherine in the morning. Maybe once she realized the robed figures she remembered were humans and not spirits, she’d be more willing to tell the story of her accident the way it had actually happened. Together, we could convince Charles and Camellia and Nurse Gray that Catherine and I were not insane, but rather, our neighbors were.
Or, if not insane, very strange, indeed.
I crawled away from the fire on hands and knees, just the way I’d approached, and made my way back up the hill. The climb up was difficult, but I was determined and made it quickly. Once I’d crested the hill and gone down the other side a good bit, I rose to my feet and began to run.
I did not sprint as I did before, allowing myself to fall into holes and trip over stones, but I crossed the wide-open area quickly to avoid catching the attention of the sisters.
Now that I knew who wore the robes, my fear had abated. If necessary, I could outrun the older women. I just didn’t want it to come to that.
Now that I was far enough away from the fire, I could see that the full moon was bright enough to cast my shadow on the ground. It allowed me enough light by which to move safely over the ground, and to pick out an opening in the tree line up ahead.
The woods still closed around me like a coffin, sealing me in, which only encouraged me to keep moving in order to get out faster. It was too dark under the foliage to be able to tell if I recognized the path, but unlike the path I’d taken at the start of the night that had branched off in many different directions, this one seemed to be a continuous trail like the one I’d travelled a few nights before. So, I felt more and more confident with every step that I was moving in the right direction.
Then, just as I’d grown confident and, therefore, less cautious, I tripped over a large branch.
I noticed the limb just a moment before my foot connected with it, but there had been too little time for me to correct or change course. I fell over the thick branch, landing on my knee. Pain radiated up my leg to my hip, and I held my knee and rolled to my back, groaning.
The idea to scream came to me first. If I could scream loud enough and alert someone in the house to my trouble, they’d come and find me. The problem, however, was that I had no idea how far from the Wilds bonfire I currently was. There was every chance that I would alert the old women to my helpless plight before anyone in the house even realized I was missing from my bed.
While I wanted to believe the women wouldn’t actually hurt me, I didn’t know that for certain.
I tried to straighten my leg, but the moment I did, pain shot up my leg anew, and I pulled it in close to my chest. I squeezed my eyes tight against the tears burning at the backs of my eyes. If I started to cry now, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to stop, so it was better to not start at all.
Keeping my leg pressed to my chest, I sat up on my tailbone. My head and vision swam with pain and exhaustion before clearing, but when it did clear, I looked at the branch again.
It was perfectly in the center of the path, as though it had been left there on purpose. In fact, there were drag marks coming from the right side of the trail. Stranger still, one side of the branch was perfectly cut. It wasn’t a jagged snap that had occurred naturally, but there were serrated edges left by the blade of a saw.
The branch had been cut and left, but why?
The moment the thought crossed my mind, something solid and heavy connected with the back of my skull. Pain flared in my head like a firework, and then everything went dark.
14
Sherborne raced ahead of me down the street, his long legs outpacing mine two to one.
“Wait. Sherborne, slow down,” I called, but he didn’t listen. He kept moving down the London streets, turning onto small side roads and disappearing before I’d find him again, towering over the short crowd of pedestrians around him.
I couldn’t remember how I’d gotten to London or what I was doing chasing after Sherborne, but it was imperative that I find him. I knew that much.
So, even though my legs burned with fatigue and my feet ached from the crushing pace, I lowered my head and pushed on, determined to catch up to him.
I wondered if this had something to do with my letter. Maybe it had reached him too late, and he couldn’t forgive me. Or, even worse, I’d misunderstood his original letter and my returned sentiments, however subtle, were more than he had bargained for.
What if he only wanted to be my friend? What if he only wanted to be business partners?
He’d once made it clear he wanted more than that, but that was before I’d rushed away to New York and before I’d left New York to go straight to Yorkshire, all without stopping to see him.
A lot could have changed by then.
“Sherborne, wait!”
The crowd seemed to part at the sound of my voice, and finally, I was gaining ground. With every step, I grew closer to Sherborne. Even though he never turned around at the sound of my voice, all I had to do was reach out a hand to grab him, and…
My fingers were just about to close around his coat when he spun around.
His long face seemed stretched, his chin resting on his chest unnaturally. And his eyes, usually dark, were black glimmering pools, bottomless and empty. He was Sherborne, but…not.
I backed away from him, but his hand reached out and wrapped around my wrist. His fingers had grown long and thin, the nails curved at the ends into talons that dug into my skin.
“Let me go.” I yanked my arm, trying to free myself from his grip. “Let me go.”
“Wake up, and I will.” His voice sounded different, too, like my mind couldn’t remember what he was supposed to sound like.
“Wake up?” I pulled on my arm again. “I am awake.”
His black eyes beheld me for a moment, and then he threw back his too long face and laughed. The sound grated on my nerves. It wasn’t a laugh, but the sound of dry twigs and leaves breaking against my ear drums. It drowned out every other noise until I couldn’t even hear my own voice. My mouth was moving, but no sound came out.
Sherborne let go of my arm, and even though I still couldn’t hear anything, I turned and tried to run. Before I could take more than two steps, his spindly fingers wrapped around my ankle.
My weight shifted, and I toppled face first onto the ground. My cheek was raw and my jaw hurt, and my mouth was full of dirt. I coughed, and he dropped my foot and walked around my body to check on me.
Then, he grabbed my leg and began to pull.
The ghoulish version of Sherborne dragged me down the street by my ankle, chanting something I could just barely hear over the strange sound of his laughter that was like dead leaves: wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up.
“I am awake!” I shouted back at him, pulling on my leg to try and free it from his hold. “Stop saying that. I am awake!”
Suddenly, the pulling stopped along with the sound of his laughter and his chant. Everything was quiet. Until…
“Are you awake?”
But this time, the voice didn’t belong to the strange Sherborne. It sounded familiar…female.
Before I could place it, there was another sharp blow to my head, and the dream was over.
The first thing I heard was water. Not fresh running water like a stream or creek, but the sound of water splashing. It happened once, twice, and again, like someone was slipping their hands beneath the surface and bringing water to their face. Then, it went quiet.
I wanted to open my eyes, but they felt too heavy. My entire body felt too heavy.
Each of my limbs ached to the bone, and even the thought of turning my head made my brain slosh. My thoughts were beautiful trinkets hidden behind a soaped-over window. I couldn’t seem to make them out as clearly as usual. Everything was happening from behind a veil of fog and confusion, and I didn�
��t know where I was or how I’d gotten there.
The sound of the water stopped and the crunching of leaves started.
I recognized the sound from my dream. It was what I’d heard come out of the strange version of Sherborne. But it hadn’t been a dream at all. I realized now the sound had been real. It had been reality leaking into my dream, trying to warn me. But about what?
Wake up, Sherborne had said.
Are you awake?, another voice entirely had asked.
My muddied mind clung to that second question. I rolled the memory over in my thoughts again and again, looking for a foothold, for something to grab onto. I recognized it, but why?
I’d heard voices earlier in the night, too.
Shadows dancing around a fire. Old women praying to the moon.
Margaret and Abigail Wilds had been trying to cast spells on the moors, and now I was being hauled through the woods.
Were they doing this? I’d been confident I could outrun the old women, but were they faster than I could even imagine? Made faster by their supernatural connections? Were they dragging me through the moors now?
Are you awake?
I heard the voice again and it didn’t sound like the women. I knew their voices from time spent together in their home, and it wasn’t either of the Wilds. So, who?
Before my mind could clear enough for me to be sure, my sore body was hefted up by sure hands under my arms. I managed to crack my eyes open, but there was only more darkness.
Then, a splash.
Icy water soaked through my coat instantly, stinging my skin and stealing my breath. I opened my mouth to gasp, but water flooded between my lips and down my throat. I gagged and choked before I realized I needed to get out.
It was so dark that I couldn’t tell which way was up, but when I kicked my legs, my foot hit something hard. I assumed it to be the bottom. So, I pressed my foot against it and pushed.
I stretched my heavy arms over my head and felt the moment my fingers broke the surface of the water. Cool air turned them icy, and I knew I needed to get back to the house as soon as possible once I got out of this water. It was too cold to be wet and outside.
My knee screamed in pain as I kicked for the surface, but I ignored it and kept going. My head came out of the water, and I sucked in the cold air, filling my lungs with ice.
Everything around me was dark. The light of the full moon couldn’t reach wherever I was, so I had to feel blindly for the edge of the water, hoping it would be close. I didn’t assume Catherine and Charles had any lakes on their property, so the body of water had to be small. At least, I hoped it would be.
Those hopes proved true when my fingers grabbed onto cold wet mud.
I threw my arms onto the damp ground and tried to lift myself out of the water, but my coat was so heavy, and my legs were going numb from the cold. I could no longer feel anything below my ankles.
Kicking hard, I released my hold on the bank just long enough to shrug my coat off. It had been a gift from Mama and Papa last Christmas, but I trusted they would understand.
Immediately, I felt lighter, freer. My body was still cold and numbing by the second, but a huge weight had been lifted, and when I grabbed onto the bank and fought to pull myself out of the water a second time, I was able to get my upper body onto the shore.
I waited there, catching my breath, resting my cheek against the cool ground.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, something told me to go to sleep. To rest.
Close your eyes, take a rest. You deserve it.
My eyes fluttered closed, but the moment they did, I heard Sherborne Sharp’s voice from my dream: Wake up!
If I fell asleep, I would die. I would freeze halfway out of this water. Charles would have to chip me from the bank like ice built up around windows in the winter.
If I got myself out of the water, there would be time for sleep later.
So, I pushed through the exhaustion that hung over me like a fog, dug my fingers into the slippery mud, and pulled. I used every bit of my strength to bring one leg out of the water, my sore knee digging into the ground for more purchase, and then the other.
When I was on all fours, I didn’t stop. I crawled like a small child away from the water, moving until I was sure I wouldn’t slide back beneath the dark waters. Because I knew, if I went into the water a second time, I wouldn’t come out again. I wouldn’t have the energy.
I was numb up to my knees now, and soon, my entire body would be numb unless I got up. But I couldn’t yet. My chest heaved with exertion, and I rolled onto my back and stared up at the crisscrossing of the trees over the dark blue sky. I watched as my labored breaths created small white clouds in front of me, and I was grateful for each and every one of them. Every exhale meant I was still alive. I was still breathing. Still fighting.
Fighting.
The word caught in my thoughts. I’d been so focused for countless minutes—or hours, I wasn’t sure—on getting out of the water that I’d forgotten I’d been thrown in there in the first place. Someone had done this to me. On purpose.
Someone had tried to kill me.
Nearby, leaves crunched, and fear cut through my exhaustion like a scalpel. Though I longed for sleep and rest, my body zinged with adrenaline like an electric current.
Are you awake?
I heard the voice in my mind again, and this time, I wasn’t remembering it through a haze of unconsciousness. My mind was clear, and my memory was, too.
I’d heard that voice in my sister’s home. At the dinner table and in the sitting room for drinks. I’d heard that same voice cooing lovingly at my niece through her nursery door.
And I heard that voice again, now, when a figure loomed at the far edge of the water, studying me with eyes that glowed in the darkness.
“You’re making this too difficult, Alice,” Camellia Cresswell said, her soft tone in harsh juxtaposition to the cruel intent of her words. “You’re supposed to be dead already.”
15
Camellia sighed and shook her head, seeming as disappointed as if she’d miscounted stitches on a scarf she’d been making rather than having failed to properly murder someone.
“Camellia.” My voice was hoarse from disuse and the cold, and I tried to clear it, but phlegm caught in my throat, refusing to budge.
“See?” she said, extending an open hand to gesture at me. “You weren’t supposed to know it was me. I thought that would be a comfort to you. To not be aware of what was happening. Despite what you may be thinking now, I tried to be kind. Now, everything is ruined.”
She spoke with the same clarity she’d always spoken with, but her words were incomprehensible to me. I couldn’t seem to connect what she was saying with the cool, rational way she said it.
“Ah well, there isn’t anything that can be done about it now except to see it through.” Charles’ sister clapped her hands together and advanced around the edge of the bog towards me.
I scooted further away from her on my hands and feet, but it was achingly clear I would need to stand up if I wanted to defend myself. If I wanted any chance at all.
The numbness advanced up my legs like frost crawling across a window pane, but I hoped my legs could still hold me even if I could not feel them. I pressed my palms into the cool dirt and stood up.
My body wobbled forward and back, but I braced myself on my half-frozen stubs and lifted my hands to defend myself. “Don’t come any closer.”
Camellia’s blonde hair caught what little light there was, glistening like a halo around her head. Nothing had ever been more ironic. She was a monster. A demon walking amongst us, murderous in the dark of night.
But why?
It didn’t make any sense. I knew Camellia and I didn’t get along, but this seemed extreme.
“What are you going to do to defend yourself?” Camellia asked with a laugh. “You can barely stand. You could barely stand even before I threw you in the water. Do you really think you can beat me now?”
No, I didn’t. Not at all. But that wouldn’t stop me from trying.
“Why are you doing this?” I asked.
“Because of that,” Camellia said, pointing an accusatory finger at me. Her top lip was pulled back in a sneer. “You refuse to keep your nose out of everyone else’s business. My brother didn’t want you to come here, but Catherine insisted, and he can’t seem to ignore her wishes even when it is what is best for her. So, he allowed her to send for you. He allowed you to roam this house as though you own it. He allowed you to trick his insane wife into thinking she is well again, when we both know she is as mad as ever.”
“It seems to me you aren’t qualified to say who is and isn’t mad,” I said, my hoarse voice managing a touch of sarcasm.
Camellia ignored me and kept talking, her hands fisted at her sides. “Things were fine before you came. We were making things work, but you came and filled Charles’ head with lies.”
“What lies?”
Her eyes grew large in the darkness, the whites around her irises visible. “You told him I may not be safe around the baby.”
So she had overheard my conversation with Charles in his study. Charles had assured me at the time that Camellia would never hurt Hazel. “If you heard that, then surely you heard that Charles had no worries at all. He trusts you with Hazel more than anyone.”
“Not more than Catherine,” she said, her head turning bitterly towards the trees. I followed her gaze and realized I could see the top of the house from here. It was distant, but visible.
Something like relief flooded my chest, though it was mingled with doubts and apprehension.
Yes, I knew which direction to run now, but that did not change the fact that I could hardly stand as it was. My legs felt numb, my knee was injured, and I didn’t have the endurance to outrun Camellia in my current state.