of the manor, it had a lovely view of the grounds. The windows had no curtains, and fully allowed a glimpse of the surrounding forest, the trees so close to one another I could hardly see the snowy earth.
Finding my hands all too soon straying from the work I’d set for myself, I gave it up altogether. Who would care to check up on me, especially since it wasn’t one of my approved duties? A rather convincing argument, I found. So I gave myself up to the sight of the sun setting over the flock of trees.
It was a soothing moment, allowing me to even forget, somewhat, the strange atmosphere that prevailed in the manor, that sense of something hidden and not too friendly.
The sun burnt, large against the trees. I’d never seen it quite like that before. In London, I’d always gotten just a peek of its mantle as it lowered, its beauty crushed by buildings and smoke, but here, it was magnificent. First, it burnt orange, then red, lending the landscape its warmth for a few more minutes. One of its rays caught a tendril of my hair in its light. A flash of color wrapped around me, triggering a memory I didn’t even know I possessed: a woman’s face, frowning as she looked at something behind me, her hair a crown of gold on her head, resplendent with sun. My mother.
Pain grabbed me. Like a hand tightening around my heart, I felt grief taking over my body. For most of my life, I’d been rather independent, as any servant with a father like mine had to be, but at that moment, watching the sun die over the barrier of trees, feeling the cold growing by the second, all I wanted was a comforting arm around my shoulders. A voice to tell me that things would be just fine.
When I felt a tear coursing down my cheek, I shook my head. What nonsense. I just missed Elsie, that was all. And my home.
No, I chided myself. Caldwell House was no longer my home. This manor, with all its faults, with all its strangeness, was where I belonged now.
“Supper, Anne!” Dora’s voice screeched up the stairs.
“Coming.”
Good, supper, and then bed. I’d feel better in the morning.
As I began to turn away from the window, I saw movement near the borderline of trees. I frowned and looked closer. There was that figure again. Although I was sure he had to be the master, he looked . . . peculiar. The word came into my head without any real basis in fact. He was dressed nicely enough, he moved with elegance, but still, there was something about him that I couldn’t quite place.
Looking down at the figure, I thought of what Dora had told me the night I’d arrived. Why did he choose to live so isolated?
Without any warning, the man turned, raised his head, and looked directly at me.
I gasped and raced down the stairs.
Later that night, scratches at my door woke me from a restless slumber. I swam up through the layers of twisted dreams to the dark and cold of my room. My heart was pounding, and my breath insisted on abandoning my lungs with such force it burned through my throat. I lay still. For a moment, I thought I’d imagined the sound, that it had just been a dream’s tail disappearing around my ears. But then, I heard it again—scratching.
I didn’t know if there were any animals in the manor, but I doubted it. Except for Mr. Keery, no one else seemed the type to care for pets. Rats were never out of the question, even in such a grand house, but even that thought rang false in my head. I grit my teeth and unwound my limbs from the sheets.
“Bloody hell!” I exclaimed as the cold struck me. I could see my breath again. I looked over to the window. It was closed and bolted, something I had checked again and again before retiring to bed. There had to be a draft. How could the temperature change like that, in dips and plunges?
I walked to the door. The scratching continued, lazy and regular, like a cat grooming itself. As I neared the noise, though, it stopped.
Holding my breath, I inched an ear against the wood in the hopes of
Finding my hands all too soon straying from the work I’d set for myself, I gave it up altogether. Who would care to check up on me, especially since it wasn’t one of my approved duties? A rather convincing argument, I found. So I gave myself up to the sight of the sun setting over the flock of trees.
It was a soothing moment, allowing me to even forget, somewhat, the strange atmosphere that prevailed in the manor, that sense of something hidden and not too friendly.
The sun burnt, large against the trees. I’d never seen it quite like that before. In London, I’d always gotten just a peek of its mantle as it lowered, its beauty crushed by buildings and smoke, but here, it was magnificent. First, it burnt orange, then red, lending the landscape its warmth for a few more minutes. One of its rays caught a tendril of my hair in its light. A flash of color wrapped around me, triggering a memory I didn’t even know I possessed: a woman’s face, frowning as she looked at something behind me, her hair a crown of gold on her head, resplendent with sun. My mother.
Pain grabbed me. Like a hand tightening around my heart, I felt grief taking over my body. For most of my life, I’d been rather independent, as any servant with a father like mine had to be, but at that moment, watching the sun die over the barrier of trees, feeling the cold growing by the second, all I wanted was a comforting arm around my shoulders. A voice to tell me that things would be just fine.
When I felt a tear coursing down my cheek, I shook my head. What nonsense. I just missed Elsie, that was all. And my home.
No, I chided myself. Caldwell House was no longer my home. This manor, with all its faults, with all its strangeness, was where I belonged now.
“Supper, Anne!” Dora’s voice screeched up the stairs.
“Coming.”
Good, supper, and then bed. I’d feel better in the morning.
As I began to turn away from the window, I saw movement near the borderline of trees. I frowned and looked closer. There was that figure again. Although I was sure he had to be the master, he looked . . . peculiar. The word came into my head without any real basis in fact. He was dressed nicely enough, he moved with elegance, but still, there was something about him that I couldn’t quite place.
Looking down at the figure, I thought of what Dora had told me the night I’d arrived. Why did he choose to live so isolated?
Without any warning, the man turned, raised his head, and looked directly at me.
I gasped and raced down the stairs.
Later that night, scratches at my door woke me from a restless slumber. I swam up through the layers of twisted dreams to the dark and cold of my room. My heart was pounding, and my breath insisted on abandoning my lungs with such force it burned through my throat. I lay still. For a moment, I thought I’d imagined the sound, that it had just been a dream’s tail disappearing around my ears. But then, I heard it again—scratching.
I didn’t know if there were any animals in the manor, but I doubted it. Except for Mr. Keery, no one else seemed the type to care for pets. Rats were never out of the question, even in such a grand house, but even that thought rang false in my head. I grit my teeth and unwound my limbs from the sheets.
“Bloody hell!” I exclaimed as the cold struck me. I could see my breath again. I looked over to the window. It was closed and bolted, something I had checked again and again before retiring to bed. There had to be a draft. How could the temperature change like that, in dips and plunges?
I walked to the door. The scratching continued, lazy and regular, like a cat grooming itself. As I neared the noise, though, it stopped.
Holding my breath, I inched an ear against the wood in the hopes of
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