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.
With a heavy mood, Anne closed the door to her bedroom. Luckily there was moonlight that night so she could conserve what was left of her bedside candle. Perhaps they needed to get a beehive so they could produce their own wax and honey, but she had no idea how one procured a beehive. Why was she so utterly unprepared for everything? Because she was supposed to have a husband that took care with her and did what was necessary. Now she was discarded like an old newspaper, left to fend for herself like an abandoned dog no one wanted anything to do with.
Sadness threatened to envelop her again as she lay down underneath her blankets, having hung up her gown. No, she had to be grateful; she had this house and it was everything. This house was her savior. She would just have to learn to fend for herself. Others managed.
Weariness set in and she couldn't keep her eye open, falling asleep short moments later.
She walked down corridors that didn't seem to end. She'd lost track of where she was. Was she on the third floor? Nothing looked familiar. The paintings on the walls stared down at her accusingly, as if she was an impostor in the house. She couldn't even remember where she was trying to go, but she had to get there, there was something important there—something she couldn't forget.
Now it was dark and there was coal dust. The heady smell of coal and smoke tickled her nose. It looked like a basement, but there wasn't a basement in the house. But everything seemed familiar, and yet not, as if she was supposed to know it.
A set of stairs led up and she followed them, returning to the corridors which stretched along each side. Looking down, she noted the candle holder in her hand, but the candle had burned down to nothing. If she put it down, she'd lose it and she'd never find it again. She needed a candle holder, but then it was gone. She had put it somewhere. Turning, she tried to find it, but there were only vases on the few tables she saw.
In an alcove, she saw Alfie leaning over Lisle. They were whispering and both turned to her when they noticed her, hard eyes considering her.
She wanted to call out, ask them how to get… where? Instead, she kept walking and they returned to their whispering. They were much too close; it was inappropriate. Lisle would lose herself if she wasn't careful.
A thought crawled through her mind as if spoken, saying they would have the house if it wasn't for her. She could disappear and no one would bother looking for her, and they would have the house all to themselves. Unease sat like dampness between her shoulder blades. Everything felt cold and damp. There was a window open and rain was coming in, ruining the carpet.
Anne woke with a start. It was still dark, but the unease of the dream followed her. Leaning over, she lit the nub of the candle and soft light spread through the room. It wasn't dawn yet, but she had no idea what time it was.
Sitting up, she tried to shake the remnants of the dream. It was just her anxiety finding a voice, she told herself. The notion that Lisle and Alfie would covet the house was ludicrous. They barely knew each other, but then they barely knew Alfie. In reality, they had no claim to the house, even if it had been forgotten for a hundred years. Someone would eventually notice. Harry would notice. He would inherit the house.
Perhaps Anne had developed a distrust for Alfie. There was nothing in his behavior to suggest he was untrustworthy, and the reverend had recommended him. That stood for his good characters, at least.
The candle burned. The longer it burned, the sooner she would be without one. She had to blow it out to conserve it, plunging the room back into near darkness. Her heart was still beating. Was her life to be endless worry from now on? When would she find her balance again? Could she even remember a time when she had felt balanced?