The Haunting at Hawke's Moor (5 page)

Putting her rag aside, she took the small
lamp resting on a table and moved upstairs. She missed gas
lighting, having grown used to a lit house. Here, darkness
encroached from all angles.

At least there was now order in her bedroom.
The floors were clean, if carpet-less, and the mattress had been
stuffed with fresh vegetation they had dried. Hay would be
preferable, but it wasn't an option just at the moment. She had
nothing like the wool overlay she used to have, but perhaps that
would come one day. Surely it wouldn't prove difficult to find wool
in Yorkshire.

The bed was bare of the curtains that had
hung tattered and moth eaten. With the decay removed, the room was
acceptable. It was a large room and the fireplace was massive
compared to modern preferences. It smoked, so she couldn't really
use it, which was a problem she wasn't sure how to tackle.

Instead she heated bricks by the
kitchen fire, which kept her warm enough under her blankets.
Hastily, she undressed and donned her night dress. Before she would
braid her hair, but there would be no elaborate hairstyle in the
morning; a simple bun was most useful when performing arduous
tasks.

Grabbing her book, she crawled under
the blanket and started reading. The house creaked as it settled
with the increasing cold outside the window. There was no frost on
the window panes yet, but it would be there in the morning, when
her room was icy. They really needed to sort the fireplace, but
then there was the wood to consider—another problematic task.
Perhaps having a strong lad around would be a good
thing.

Her eyes quickly drifted shut, but
flew open again when the acrid smell of smoke hit her nose. Sitting
up abruptly, she looked around. There were no signs of smoke.
Perhaps Lisle was cold and was trying to keep warm. If so, she was
smoking the house out. Maybe she'd even fallen asleep and the fire
had gotten away from her. Anne jumped out of bed and ran to the
door.

As soon as she reached the landing,
the smell was gone. There was no trace of smoke at all. She stood
in the darkness and considered what to do. The smell of smoke had
definitely been there so it had to come from somewhere. Walking
into the bedroom again, it was still there, pungent and stinging
her nose. There had to be something amiss.

Taking her lamp, she walked upstairs and
knocked on Lisle's door.

"What?" the girl said sourly, coming
to the door.

"I smelled smoke. Have you lit a fire?"

"No," Lisle said. "And the fire in the
kitchen's out."

"I'll just go check."

Anne heard Lisle's door close behind
her and continued down the stairs. The kitchen was dark and empty,
no sign of a fire anywhere. Anne checked the whole house but found
nothing. Even when she returned to her bedroom, the smell of smoke
was completely gone.

Maybe she had dreamt it, she wondered—a fear
playing with her senses. Feeling disturbed, she crawled back under
her blankets and extinguished the lamp. Even through her
exhaustion, it wasn't easy to return to sleep now. She kept
checking if she could smell smoke, then worried her nose had grown
too accustomed to notice.

The ice lay in moons around the window
panes when she woke, her breath condensing in front of her. Some
coal would be marvelous, but who would drive coal all the way out
to them? Anne missed the comforts of the city and her old life, but
conceded she had to be grateful. London was few on comforts for
anyone without means. Once they had the house sorted, they would be
comfortable here.

Taking a moment longer in bed, she
thought through the massive list of things that needed doing. First
the cow. She needed to get the milk flowing. Lisle apparently knew
how to make cheese and rennet, which according to her, could be
made from nettles or thistles, neither of which were in short
supply.

The cold assaulted her as she slid from
under her blankets and she dressed as quickly as she could, her
body getting colder by the second. The thick wool shawl helped and
she was soon getting warm enough again.

When Anne returned to the house after
seeing to the cow, movement caught her eye and she saw a figure
walking along the path leading to the road. Hope flared as she
wondered if it was Harry, but Harry would not be approaching the
house on foot. As far as she knew, Harry wasn't aware walking was a
mode of transport.

The figure drew closer, a young man
with a sack over his shoulder, brown hair shorn short and with
long, striding steps. Perhaps this was the young man the reverend
had spoken about. He wasn't so young, in fact, he was tall and
broad. Anne had expected someone ten or twelve, but this man was
more a man than a young man. Definitely older the Harry, maybe even
over twenty.

He stopped when he reached the gravel.
His clothes were worn and his hands were dirty. A patch had been
sown across one of his knees and his shoes looked like they barely
held together. "I have been told there is a position here. Reverend
Whitling sent me."

"I hope he told you there is only room and
board. That might change in the future, but for right now, we have
no means."

"He might have mentioned," the man said. He
didn't greet her in any way, probably had no manners at all from
what she guessed.

"I am Miss Sands, formally Mrs.
Kinelly."

If her reduction in status meant anything to
him, he didn't show it, and he stood there with a thumb inside his
belt.

"It is just I and my servant, Lisle,
here. We have just acquired a cow that is pasturing. Have you any
experience with cows?" Anne said hopefully.

"Aye. Not what you'd call clever
beasts."

Anne didn't quite know how to take the
statement, or even if she liked this young man. She wasn't
immediately warming to him. "And what is your name?"

"Alfie," he said. By his accent, she could
tell he had grown up in these parts.

"Well, we only have one cow. The intention
is to get some chickens as well, but we have nowhere to keep them
just at the moment. Is that something you could contrive?"

"It is." Not a man of many words then, just
like Mr. Turner.

"This house has been derelict for many
years, so it needs care, as will a room for you. We can prepare
one."

"I'll find something," he said.

"Of course," Anne said, feeling
foolish, but not exactly sure why. "I will leave you to find your
way, then."

The clock ticked gently on the mantle.
Somehow she had managed to make it run. It was of ornate wooden
construction with a bell at the top and a round clock face in the
center. Anne didn't really like it and she had no idea if it ran on
time, but it did run after she'd dusted out its innards and found
the little key that wound it.

She had a parlor now and sat on one of the
chairs, taking a moment to drink tea and reflect. Her hands were
red and swollen, her nails ragged, but the parlor was clean. She
could even receive visitors if any were ever to come. Perhaps the
reverend would come back one day.

Having Alfie around had made a
remarkable difference. He was proficient with the cow and had
managed to fix the stone wall enclosing the pasture. There was milk
every day now, and the kitchen garden was starting to sprout. Being
a Yorkshire man, he also seemed able to deal with the surly Mr.
Turner, although he disliked being sent for the long walk over to
their farm. He'd even coaxed the man to give them some chicks, that
would hopefully lay eggs in a matter of months.

Anne sighed. It felt like the knot of worry
and dread in her stomach was starting to ease. At least they were
probably not going to starve.

There was apparently a coach that traveled
on a road that was three hours walk from the manor. Maybe at some
point in the future, she could acquire a horse and carriage, but
that was an impossibility right now. It may never be a possibility
as far as she knew. They didn't have the resources to farm as the
Turners did, could only feed themselves, but if that was all they
had, then she would be glad for it.

The sun was setting on another day. Lisle
would be in the kitchen preparing the evening meal, which was
probably nettle soup. At least there were nettles, as many as they
could use.

As Anne watched, it grew darker both
inside and out. The house seemed to change when it got dark. The
world outside disappeared and they were floating in a sea of empty
blackness.

They were out of candles, so there was only
the lantern left. At some point, they needed provisions. Anne would
have to find something to sell. Maybe the clock, but then they
would have no way of telling time—but what was there to keep time
to out here? The sun rose and it set, and there was endless work in
between.

Straightening her stiff back, Anne
stood and walked to the kitchen. The fire in the heart lit the
space and Alfie sat at the table while Lisle tended to the soup. He
straightened as Anne walked in, uncomfortable in her presence, as
if he didn't know what to do when she was around.

According to etiquette, Anne should be
dining by herself, but if etiquette was observed, she would never
have any company at all. Some things had to be sacrificed, and
Alfie would get used to her presence.

Whatever conversation they'd had
didn't continue with her there and they were both silent. Anne
almost felt unwelcome, but she seated herself. "I hope everyone has
had a good day," she said. "It feels that, with your presence,
Alfie, we are making strong progress. I hope all was well with Mr.
Turner."

"Aye," Alfie said without elaborating more.
He rarely did say anything other than what was strictly
necessary.

Lisle carried the iron pot to the
table with a towel protecting her hand and set it down. It didn't
smell very nice and it was barely edible, but it was all they had.
Lisle wasn't particularly gifted in the kitchen, but she had more
skills than Anne did.

"I swear I heard a child laugh today," Lisle
said as she tore a piece of bread.

"Must be the wind," Alfie said. "It plays
tricks."

"Maybe," Lisle said. "My money's on there
being something evil in this house."

"What a notion, Lisle," Anne chided.

"From the moment I arrived, I knew something
weren't right."

Anne didn't know what to say but felt
she needed to put a stop to this ridiculousness. Lisle always
imagined a villain lurking in the shadows, waiting to pounce. "You
also thought our neighbors in London would murder us in our
sleep."

"They would have, too, if we'd have
stayed long enough."

"That's ridiculous, Lisle. Your imagination
is running away with you."

Alfie didn't say anything, just watched the
exchange between them.

"When the house has been righted, it
will start feeling more homely, you'll see," Anne said with such
finality it invited no more discussion. It didn't help anyone Lisle
telling fantastical tales when they were all stranded in an
isolated house where shadows seemed to move on their own at night.
She was stirring up trouble, but Lisle seemed to like causing a bit
of trouble.

There was no more conversation that evening
and Anne excused herself to retire upstairs. Lisle didn't follow,
instead chose to stay in the kitchen, which Anne shouldn't
encourage, but felt powerless to stop. She couldn't very well
forbid Lisle from speaking to one of the two persons in their small
and simple lives. Lisle wasn't a complete ninny; she knew how to
keep herself… strong.