Anne arrived home with all the provisions they were running out of. She'd even bought herself a bottle of sherry and hired a cart and driver to bring her home with supplies that would last them a few months. It was near dusk when she thanked and said goodbye to the driver, who wanted to continue to the Turner farm. Apparently they were related.
The house looked as she'd left it. A sharp worry had her wondering if it had found a new target to torment in her absence.
"Lisle?" she called as she walked in the door. It was silent for a moment and Anne felt her panic rise, until she heard footsteps above. Lisle eventually appeared and Anne sighed her relief. "Everything alright?"
"What would have happened?"
"Nothing," Anne said. "I brought supplies. We need to carry them in. There is coal coming in a few days, too." Anne was too exhausted to even think about it, but she forced herself. After this was done, she could rest. Since the moment she had left Lady Willowford, she'd been in the company of someone.
Once all the supplies were in the kitchen, Anne retreated to the parlor, taking the bottle of sherry with her. She poured herself a small measure and sat in a chair by the fire. It had been an awful few days, after another set of awful days. Now she was back to dealing with her original problems and she didn’t feel she'd been allowed to absorb the loss of her aunt.
At the general merchants, there had been a letter for her. The handwriting showed it wasn't from Harry, so Anne assumed it was from Mr. Harleston. She should open it and read it, but she was too tired to concentrate. No, she was too exhausted to sit in the parlor and wanted to undress and wash the journey off her skin and hair. Retreating to her room, she undid the stays that kept her confined and breathed deeply.
If there was anything in the room, she didn't feel it and was too tired to feel concerned about undressing in front of a dark man with murderous intent. Right now, she didn't care. Pouring water in a bowl, she cleaned her skin and ran a wet cloth over her hair.
Sleep wouldn't come immediately. She was overtired and perhaps too sad. What she really needed was to let go of all the hurt and awfulness she'd been holding in.
She'd lost her only true supporter and friend, and in some sense she was alone now. Pulling on a fresh nightgown, she lay down on the bed and cried—deep, heaving sobs. Her lovely aunt was gone. It was the only link she had left to the family she'd been born into. Harry was the only family she had left and she was a burden to him.
Shadows from the candlelight played on the walls and she watched it for a moment. There were wet stains from her tears on her pillow. Right now, she wanted to sleep and not think of any of this, but it eluded her.
Iciness crept into the room and she knew she wasn't alone anymore. Her tormentor had arrived.
"Go away!" she said sharply and tucked her hands under her cheek. "I don't want to deal with you, you awful man."
The creak from the floorboards moved closer. Sadly, this horrid man was the only thing that wanted anything to do with her. This was all she got. What was it exactly she had done to deserve this? Was there something she should have done better? Had Harry's accusations been right? Should she have been something entirely different from what she was, and was this her punishment—for being too… colorless?
Tears welled in her eyes again. Another creek was heard, closer now. He was moving toward her, probably ready to attack.
"Just stay in your world. This is mine," she said sharply. "There is no reason on God's green earth that you need to come over here. Stay in your part and stop invading mine. I'm not leaving, so you can just grow accustomed to that. I don't care what you do. I don't care about you. I don't care what your wife did to you. You probably deserved it. No doubt you did something awful to her. I wouldn't doubt it. Men, you're the worst creatures ever existed. You take and take, and give nothing back. I don't want to hear about your horrid life or your horrid wife. Leave me alone!"
A sharp tug on the bed, scraped along the floor, rocking her on the mattress.
Picking up the pillow, she threw it into empty space. "I hate you," she yelled and turned away from him, rolling onto her stomach, facing away from him. "There is no reason to stay when no one wants you."
It didn't escape her that it was that exact sentiment that had driven her onto the road when she should have stayed and recuperated in Devon. That was her, the presence no one wanted. Fresh tears flowed, and silently sobs wracked her frame and her knees drew up tightly.
She could still feel him there, but the attack didn't seem to come. What was he doing, staring her into submission? Actually, she wasn't even afraid. There were so many other emotions inside her, fear couldn't even fit. She knew what he could do and right now, she didn't care.
Something else moved in the room. She didn't even bother listening, instead grabbed another pillow and shoved it over her head. A thought snuck into her head of the soft little rabbit her nursemaid had made for her out of spare cloth when she was little. She'd loved that little rabbit and wondered what had happened to it. Was some other child finding comfort in it, or was it lonely and cold, and unloved out in the world somewhere? She hadn't meant to discard it; she'd just lost it somewhere along the way. Right now, she really needed something to snuggle into, and had to instead use the blanket.
Life had been so simple back then—the world bright and full of possibilities. She was going to marry a handsome, loving man and they were going to be happy forever. A shuttering sigh shook her whole body. Her eyes stung with tears, no doubt awfully swollen. She would look dreadful in the morning.
The iciness retreated and just like that, he was gone. Maybe she was too pathetic for her vengeful ghost to bother dealing with. Was there no honor for ghosts in terrifying sobbing, grieving women? "Coward," she muttered under her breath. She didn't want to antagonize him in case he came back.
Anne felt as if anxiety was dripping off her. She was traveling, waiting for a train, but none came. Mist covered the tracks, so nothing could be seen. There were others there, but they didn't see her. A man walking past, not even aware she was there. As much as she searched, she couldn't find a ticket booth to buy a ticket. Around and around she walked, but there was no one to help her. She could hear the train coming, but it never came. She would miss it. Without a ticket, she couldn't get on.
The dark presence came. He was there. There was no face or even form, but he was there. Darkness. He was going to hurt her, slash her like the Ripper had, leave her discarded and ignored. She ran blindly, but he kept following—she sensed him.
She woke with a start. Dawn was cresting out the window and the room was cold. Getting up, she padded over to the fire and placed some wood on it. A dull pain throbbed in her head. Her nose was congested and her eyes felt puffy.
The ghost had come and then left her in peace last night. Probably delaying the fight until his adversary was in a fit state to battle. An unwanted chuckle escaped her. Maybe her ghost had some honor.
In a sense, she was glad to be back. While nighttime was horrific in this house, the days were peaceful. The avalanche of disapproval didn't exist out here and perhaps that made this a better place to be, even with the included adversary.
The truth was that she wasn’t entirely averse to having a fight. She was more prepared now and it had felt disturbingly good getting her own back at him. He was all her problems rolled into one. He roared and bullied, but she'd stabbed him, made him let go of her. It was the only strength she'd managed to muster and she wasn't letting go of it. Yes, on some level, it was terrifying, but he was also the one thing she could fight. This might kill her in the end, but be that as it may. She was tired and bored of being weak. Although she had been ultimately weak last night, and he had turned away in disgust.
Mr. Harleston's letter returned to her. It was in the reticule she had carried all the way to Devon and back. Where was it? She had brought it up. Searching the room, she found it on the chair and sat down by the fire, cracking the seal.
It wasn't all that useful, saying removing a spirit required invoking the light and urging the spirit to walk through into the great beyond. She could hear the man's flamboyant voice through the words on the paper. He repeated that sage weakened their grip on this world. Fear was often what kept spirits earthbound and in her case, a strong spirit was trapping others. It was this spirit that had to be dealt with.
That was it. There was nothing practical. Anne's disappointment was palpable; she'd be hoping for some remedy that would simply wipe his existence, along with the others, from the house. A flare of concern for Alfie made her sad. She didn't want to wipe away his existence from the earth; she wanted him to find the right path to heaven, where he could be reunited with his family.
Family was very important; people who cared for you were very important. Alfie being trapped here by a dark ogre, kept away from everyone and his great reward was inexcusable. How were you supposed to convince a ghost to 'walk into the light'? She hadn't seen any light when she'd been transported into his realm. There had only been him.