The Haunting at Hawke's Moor Read online

  Out the window, she could see Alfie in the distance, walking alongside the cow out to pasture, a stick over his shoulder. Anne couldn't afford to send him away. They needed him.

  Anne found herself in the same position after supper, sitting in her parlor, now lit by a candle, as Alfie had taken the lantern to go check on the stables. The wind had picked up again. It was unrelenting along the moors.

  A banging noise was heard upstairs and Anne looked toward the staircase where heavy footsteps were heard. Lisle appeared, looking drawn. "I hate this house. Always whispers and shadows."

  "It's the wind," Anne said.

  "Even when there is no wind, it's the wind. And it isn't the rats," Lisle accused. "This house isn't right."

  Anne didn't know what to say. Everyone accused this house of malice and Anne was starting to feel protective of it. They owed everything to this house. "It is still a damned side nicer than some decrepit room in Spitalfields."

  "At least in Spitalfields, there are other people."

  Lisle had a point. This place was desolate. Maybe it was the desolation that everyone found so oppressive. It did take some getting used to—feeling so small in the world.

  Turning warily, Lisle looked up the stairs again as if she was expecting someone to come down them. "Where is Alfie?" Anne asked. Surely Lisle wasn't silly enough to bring him up into the upper stories. He had no business being there now that he'd taken up residence in the attic in one of storage buildings that kept old and rusted farm equipment.

  "Taken to his bed, I suppose," Lisle said.

  Anne wondered again if she should bring up the inappropriateness of Lisle's relationship with him, but Lisle wasn't silly enough to be unaware of that, or even the risks she was running, making herself available to him.

  "I'll go check on him," Lisle said.

  "Do you think that's a good idea?" Anne said, relieved to finally have a way of voicing her concerns.

  Lisle turned suspicious eyes on her. "Why? It certainly shouldn't be you."

  Anne's eyebrows raised. There was that tone again, and accusatory, this time. It dawned on her that Lisle might see her as competing for Alfie's affection. What a ridiculous notion and couldn't be further from the truth. How could Lisle even think so? Perhaps Lisle wasn't quite as intelligent as Anne had given her credit for, if she thought that Anne had any interest in Alfie other than his work as their… well, she didn't quite know what title suited him, Field hand, maybe.

  Had the world turned against itself and nothing made sense anymore? Lisle strode out of the parlor and walked through the kitchen to the back door. Anne only stared after her. That conversation had certainly taken an unexpected turn, not without a fair measure of absurdness.

  Maybe Lisle's place in this household was more temporary than Anne had assumed, with her irrational suspicions, inappropriate behavior and disregard. In Mayfair, this behavior had been kept under control by the house keeper, but here, Lisle was apparently more unrestrained.

  Chapter 9:

  It was easier to walk out the back door than the heavy front door if Anne wanted to go outside. The hinges still hadn't been attended to, but that was simply a matter of time. Perhaps she would do that later, go around the house and place droplets of saddle oil on all the hinges. It did feel like they were restoring order to the house and it was a good feeling. And good feelings had been rare lately. She treasured them now and hoped there were more to come.

  But right now, she had to find a way of dealing with the rats, and she'd consult with Alfie on how to tackle this problem, hoping his animal management instincts extended to unwanted guests from the animal kingdom. She crossed the yard to the stable, seeing that the cow had already been taken out for the day. The stable was empty. Alfie had cleared the rest of the mess and even the stable was starting to look respectable.

  Stopping, she listened for him and soon heard what sounded like whispering coming from the saddlery—hurried whispering. She tensed. Were Alfie and Lisle being inappropriate again? Wringing her hands, she didn't know what to do, but the door to the saddlery opened and Alfie stepped out and spotted her. He didn't look particularly disheveled. "Miss Sands," he said.

  Anne cleared her throat. He made her uncomfortable. "I believe I heard rats in the walls or ceiling last night and thought I'd consult you on it."

  He stared at her unblinkingly. He wasn't ugly. Even with his youth, he was broader than her husband was. But he didn't look as well comported. In fact, he looked ill, a bit pale and gray. Dark circles had formed under his eyes. "I can lay some traps."

  "That would be good," she said, feeling relieved. "Are you alright, Mr. Hayman?"

  "Fine," he said.

  "If you are unwell—"

  "I am not unwell," he said and walked past her. "I'll find some traps." He disappeared into one of the storage buildings and didn't return.

  Anne wrapped her shawl tighter around her shoulders and returned to the kitchen door, stopping short when she found Lisle there, baking pastry for supper. Anne hadn't seen her cross the yard. Maybe she had and Anne simply hadn't noticed, but she was fingers-deep in sticky pastry dough.

  Lisle turned to look at her. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

  Anne turned and looked out the small window panes of the back door. "Sorry, I thought you were outside."

  "No. I'm busy enough here." That jealous accusation had snuck into her tone again.

  "I'm sure I heard you speaking to Alfie just now."

  "No, I've been here." Now Lisle was looking at her like she was mad. "Is there something you wanted me to say to Alfie?"

  "I've just asked him to lay some traps for the rats, or mice, or whatever it is."

  Lisle stared at her for a moment longer, then returned her attention to the pastry.

  Whether the traps worked or not, Anne didn't know. Alfie didn't come present the winnings. But the scuttling noise could still be heard at night. It didn't bother Anne as much as it had the first time. She frowned in the dark and wished Alfie more success in his trapping endeavors. As she was falling asleep again, there was another sound, one that wheedled into her mind with sharp precision, just a small click such as joints made when rising. A person or an animal, but in her mind, not a noise that rats made. It had to be the rats.

  Listening intently, Anne focused all her attention on the room. She couldn't quite identify a single specific noise, like a creak, but it sounded like the weight of a step coming down on the wooden floor, then another. Someone was in the room with her.

  Urgently, Anne fumbled for the matchbox, her fingers bumbling as she searched for a match, finally lighting one, her eyes frantically searching, but there was nothing there. There was no face or form, just emptiness. Everything was as it should be. The chair stood where it ought to be and nothing seemed to have been disturbed.

  With shaking fingers, she brought the match to the candle, the light growing a bit brighter. Her heart was still beating powerfully, anxiety running high in her blood. Her breath shook and her mouth was dry.

  She had to stop reacting like this to every noise in the house. This was probably how madness began and she needed to put a stop to it. There probably was someone walking around the house, but her mind had interpreted the sound to be within her room when it wasn't. Maybe the solitude of this place was getting to her, too.

  It was probably Alfie sneaking down the stairs having visited Lisle in the darkest hours of the night; young lovers in a hidden assignation. The thought of Alfie sneaking around the house made her intensely uncomfortable. The idea of anyone sneaking around in the dark was cringe worthy, especially now that she was terrified of her own shadow, waking every other night in fear of her life.

  Anne dressed the next morning, determined to take the task in hand. Technically, she couldn't forbid Lisle from having anything to do with Alfie, but she could forbid anyone being brought into the house at night—that was her right.

  With steady steps, Anne descended the stairs and turned to the ki
tchen, as expected, finding Lisle baking. "Lisle," she said sharply, straightening her back. "It is not acceptable Alfie coming into the house at night."

  Lisle stared at her. "He's not."

  "I heard him last night. I heard him sneaking out of your room."

  Lisle's eyes watered and she wiped her hands on her apron. "If he's coming into the house, it's not me he's coming to see."

  Unease stole up Anne's spine. If what Lisle said was true, things were infinitely worse than she'd hoped. The thought of the noise last night actually being someone in her room was terrifying.

  Lisle broke down in sobs. "He just changed. He was so sweet, but now it's like I'm not even there. He barely looks at me. For some reason, you have ensnared him."

  "I haven't," Anne said, feeling sorry for the girl who clearly looked heartbroken. "This was why you don't play fast and loose with your heart. Boys take advantage. You have been comprehensively silly, and risked so much, and for what?"

  “It wasn't like that," Lisle said earnestly. "But he changed and it was sudden. One minute he was lovely and the next he showed no interest at all, moved on. And to you. You're old," Lisle accused and Anne felt a bit offended, but then to Lisle, who was only eighteen, Anne would seem old.

  "That's utterly ridiculous, Lisle."

  "What other explanation is there? There are only two of us. Boys don't just lose interest like that unless his interest has turned elsewhere. And he shows no interest in me."

  She had to concede that Lisle had a point. If Alfie was willing to partake in what Lisle offered, it was unlikely he'd suffered an attack of conscience afterward, particularly as this appeared to have been an ongoing affair. "I can assure you, there is no interest coming in my direction. It wouldn't be welcome if it was." Strictly speaking, Anne hadn't received a single degree of cordial behavior from Alfie outside of the proper relationship between the mistress of the house and a field hand. But then if he was sneaking around the house at night, and not interested in visiting Lisle, they had a very grave problem. This had to be dealt with. If Alfie had developed inappropriate feelings and was, in turn, demonstrating inappropriate behavior, he had to go.

  Walking out of the back door, Anne marched to the storage house where she knew Alfie had his room. Confrontation wasn't something she was used to, and certainly not something she enjoyed, but this had to be done, or she would be living a life she didn't want. She marched in and hitched her skirt as she walked up the rough stairs to the attic. "Mr. Hayman," she called as she reached the rough wooden door to his room. She knocked with a moderate amount of force, enough to show she was serious.

  The door opened and Alfie was dressed, suspender belts over his blue linen shirt. His hair was freshly combed, but again he looked tired. "I absolutely forbid you to enter the house after dark," she stated.

  Leaning on the door frame, he looked at her. "I've never been in the house after dark, ma’am."

  "I heard you."

  Biting his lips together, he considered her. "I swear it wasn't me." He sounded earnest, but she didn't know if she could believe him. In truth, she knew nothing about him. "Perhaps you need to lock the doors at night if you think people are sneaking around the hallways."

  They hadn't been locking the door. She hadn't thought it necessary considering how desolate they were, but it was technically possible that someone could be—someone from the Turner farm, or even another further away.

  She still didn't know if she believed Alfie, but she knew he didn't have a key to the house and she would be locking the door from now on. She'd accused him; he'd denied it. There was a possibility it was someone else, so she didn't feel right dismissing him outright without any real proof. There wasn't much else she could do. So she gave him a nod and left. She would be watching him, though.

  Chapter 10:

  Lisle appeared in the parlor. "A carriage is coming," she said, excitement lacing her voice. Anne couldn't remember how many days it had been since the vicar came to visit, but it had been quite a few. Time seemed irrelevant out here. One day followed another with little variance.

  "Who is it?" Anne said more to herself.

  Lisle shrugged. "They're still quite far away."

  Rising from her seat, Anne moved to the window and looked out, seeing the carriage in the distance, barely looking like it was moving. The weather was gray and cloudy, and today they would have a visitor.

  "It's probably the reverend again. Should I bake a cake? The time they're taking, it will probably be ready by the time he's here."

  "Yes, why not? It would be nice to have something to serve."

  Anne paced around the parlor, waiting for the carriage to draw closer. She stepped out the front door as the carriage started turning. A blond head appeared out the carriage window. Harry. Anne's heart soared and she rushed forward as he opened the carriage and stepped down. He wore a blue-gray jacket and he looked so grown. Still so very thin with youth and there were blemishes on his cheeks. Anne couldn't stop smiling. "You came."

  "Quite a trek. Where are we, the end of the world?"

  "Just about."

  Harry turned and looked up at the house and frowned. He looked so much like his father, Anne noted.

  "Grim,” he said, his accent cuttingly sharp. Oxford had changed his voice.

  "Well, it is nicer inside. Although we will have to prepare a bedroom for you." Anne thought with panic, wondering which of the spare rooms was in shape to house a visitor. Lisle would have to do the best she could to tidy a room for him. "Come," she said with a smile. "I am so pleased you're here."

  Harry looked around, apparently less than pleased to be there. Straightening his jacket, he walked up the steps to the house. An unaccounted for breeze met him, making his step waver. "Quite a draft there."

  "The kitchen door must be open. It gets quite windy out here. There is little stopping the wind coming over the moors."

  "Um," Harry said, looking around the vestibule and taking in the dark wood carving. The distasteful look on his face only deepened. "I suppose it is a house, which is a mercy for someone in your position. We must be grateful for that."

  Anne grinned tightly, not knowing how to respond. Lisle walked into the parlor, carrying the tea service and placing it on the table.

  "Come have some tea. You must be parched after your journey." Anne sat down by the table, but Harry didn't join her. Instead, he paced around the room similarly to how she had waited for his arrival. "I am so pleased you came to see me."

  He didn't say anything, just kept pacing.

  "How is Oxford?"

  "Good."

  "How long are you staying?"

  "I can only stay a day."

  "It is a long journey for a day."

  "It is a long journey for any reason. I would say you should sell this place, but I doubt it is worth anything. It looks practically derelict."

  "It isn't ideal, but… "

  "Still, considering, it is a bit of a triumph on your part having this place. Father is getting married."

  Anne frowned. She wasn't surprised, but it still felt like an insult. It had been Stanford's goal and he'd casually tore her life apart to get what he wanted. She looked down at her lap. "Then I will wish him felicitations."

  "I'm not sure he cares what you wish." Harry's tone was dismissive. "Well, at least you have managed to make an existence for yourself out here. I think it would perhaps be best that you stay away from London for the next month or so, considering."

  "I have no plans to go to London."

  "Good, because it would just be awkward for all."

  That was what she was now, awkward. For Harry, too, likely an embarrassment. He would have been better off if she'd died. "Have you seen your father?"

  "I dined with his intended's family a few days ago."

  Anne knew what had happened now. Harry had agreed to speak to her on everyone's behalf. Well, there was no need. She had no reason to go to London. No one there wanted to see her. Anne smiled, wonderin
g if Harry would have come at all if it wasn't for wanting to warn her away. She hoped so, but couldn't quite fully believe it.

  Lisle returned with a sponge cake, placing it on the table. "I sent Alfie to the Turner's to get us something to cook for supper," she whispered.

  "Good thinking," Anne said, pleased that Lisle could be reasonable and come through when it was necessary. Now she didn't have to subject Harry to their usual fare. They had managed to grow some snow peas, too.

  Harry sat down and cut a generous portion of the sponge cake. "Clementine. Unusual." They had found a late harvest wild clementine tree and it was the only conserve they had. "Not bad, though."

  "I might rest for a while," Harry said after he finished his tea.

  "I'll show you the way," Lisle said quietly from behind him, bobbing an awkward curtsy.

  "Excellent," Harry said and rose, placing his napkin on the table. "There were a few rough nights in London before I left. Some of my acquaintances do tend to let things get out of hand."

  Anne didn't quite know what he meant but smiled contentedly as she watched him walking upstairs.

  Harry spoke much of his friend's antics during supper, describing the young men's revelry. The amusement shone through as he spoke of it. He had found a group of friends, it seemed.

  Alfie had brought a knuckle of lamb back and it was the richest meal Anne had had for quite a while. Harry ate with the gusto of a young man and Anne spent most of the time just watching him as he talked about his life and experiences. He was most disappointed that she had no claret and Anne apologized. Yawns soon took him in the absence of more diversion and he excused himself.

  Retiring to her room as well, Anne sat by the fire for a moment, still so very happy he was there. It felt as if she'd been waiting for this. But he was leaving in the morning. She didn't want to face that, return to the utter solitude of her life. Perhaps she needed to get some claret to serve for when he came again.