Sleep was uneasy that night. Things were chasing her in the dark; things she couldn't entirely put her finger on, but they were near. In a way, she wanted to be caught, was tired of running, and fighting, and being frightened.
But the sun shone brightly as she woke. It had been a while since they'd had a bright day and Anne rose and made her way to the window. The moors stretched before her; she could see all the way to the horizon.
It felt as if it were her room again. He felt distant, the sun chasing him away. As far as she suspected, he was still there, but inaccessible. She was glad. There had been a shift in their relationship and it made her uncomfortable—not that it ever had been comfortable. Bringing her hand up to her throat, she wrapped her arms around herself. A man had never looked at her so blatantly. She knew he'd done it to prove a point, but it was still disconcerting. Even her husband had never looked at her like that.
He was just trying to intimidate her, she concluded. The underlying message had been to keep her away, so obviously, it had been put on for effect.
It certainly didn't make it more comfortable for her as she washed and dressed behind the screen. If he walked around and observed her, she would have no idea, but perhaps she was as remote to him during daylight hours as he was to her.
Her intention today was to oil some of the harnesses she needed, so when she reached the kitchen, she put on the apron she wore for dirtier work. Lisle was chopping carrots. They were small and thin, but it was their own crop. They must have grown in the small greenhouse they'd created out of a pair of spare windows found at the back of one of the buildings.
It was exciting that they were starting to eat some of their own crop. "I milked the cow already," Lisle said. "I will be doing laundry today, so if there is anything you need washed, let me know."
"I will bring it down." Anne wanted to say something else, but Lisle walked down into the pantry. Instead, she grabbed an oat cake and made her way outside. Lisle was right in that it was a good day to dry laundry—sunny with a fair bit of wind. It was a good day for fresh air for all. Reaching up to the top shelf, she grabbed the saddle oil and made her way to the stable, finding a little stool where she could start her work.
The smell of the oil gave her a headache, but she persevered and in the end, all the leather straps were darkened and hanging to let the oil soak in. Much of the leather was useless, particularly any that had been exposed to the air for years on end. They would snap as soon as pressure was placed on them, but hopefully, some of the ones in better shape would serve their purpose again.
Exiting the stable, Anne stretched her aching back and shoulders, when she noticed something in the distance. A carriage was coming.
"Lisle," she called to the girl hanging up washed linen on a length of rope. "We are to have visitors." Lisle's eye shifted to the road.
"I have some treacle. I can make a cake."
Anne nodded and walked out front. The smell of saddle oil emanated from her hands and clothes, and her apron had stains all over it. With a looking back, she retreated into the house to clean up.
It must be the vicar, she concluded, but he was yet too far away to tell.
It wasn't the vicar. Mr. Harleston's neat, yellow hair came out of the carriage first, along with the rest of him. He wore a light blue suit and galoshes.
"Mr. Harleston, this is a pleasant surprise." She reached her hand to him and he kissed her knuckles. Hopefully, the smell of saddle oil was scrubbed away.
"I have been worried for you, my dear. Your last letter was not reassuring." Shifting his gaze past her, his eyes moved up the façade of the house. His head shifted sideways, before returning to her.
"There have been some developments," she said.
Raising his eyebrows, he nudged her on her arm. "I can tell. It seems, Miss Sands, that you have managed to tame the beast."
Opening her mouth to say something, she couldn't know what to say. It was an absurd statement for anyone who had met Richard Hawke. Taming wasn't a word that corresponded with him. "We have reached an accord."
"This is a very different place from the one I visited before. I might even dare pop my head inside, if that would be amenable."
"Of course, come in," she said, and Mr. Harleston carefully moved up the stairs to the entrance way. "This is remarkable. The air is completely different. How did you achieve it?"
Again, Anne opened her mouth, but nothing came out.
"No matter, my dear." Tentatively, he stepped inside. "Ooh," he said, clearly excited about whatever it was he saw, or felt.
"I cannot see them, or hear them, during the day," she said.
"They're still here."
Mr. Harleston's eyes traveled up to the ceiling toward where the Master's bedroom was. "So very strong," he said, "but such a shift. The darkness that hung over the entire house has retreated. Still so powerful, though."
Wide, excited eyes shifted into the parlor, as if he watched someone walking in. Anne couldn't see anyone. "A young girl," he whispered as he continued watching empty space, his eyes shifting with this spirit's progression. "Dark hair. Elizabeth." Mr. Harleston bowed deeply. "She is the most earth-bound."
"What do you mean?"
"She is the one who has been watching over you, the one more cognizant of the living residents of the house. The others do not necessarily know you are here." A silent noise seemed to distract him and he looked up again. "And a boy, slightly younger. Her brother."
"I have not met him," Anne said.
"He is more retreated."
"Would you like some tea?"
Mr. Harleston turned to her as if he hadn't quite heard. "Marvelous," he said and followed her into the parlor, where they sat down at the table. "It seems I didn't need to come. You have things quite in hand. I am pleasantly surprised. I feared a much worse situation, I don't mind telling you. I worried so much I could not stay away."
"I appreciate your concern, Mr. Harleston, and that you came all this way. I would not go so far as to say I have anything under control. There were times when I thought I would freeze to death out of the moors. He did chase me out of the house a few times, but we have reached a truce." Anne blushed. "But there is one that still causes me trouble," she continued carefully.
"The master?"
"No, someone other." Well, that wasn't entirely true, the new development with the master was disconcerting, but not perhaps in a supernatural way. Her cheeks reddened even more. "One of them… tried to touch me."
Mr. Harleston's eyebrows rose. Anne couldn't bring herself to look at him. "Oh, I see. Yes, well," he said, taking the tea off the tray Lisle had placed down. "With the deeply oppressive weight of the house lifting, other things come to the forefront."
"Am I in danger?"
He blinked repeatedly and took a sip of the tea. "Repression does have its consequences. Later, we shall go upstairs, if you permit, and see what we find."
Anne smiled. It seemed she now had access to many of the answers that had been bouncing around in her head. Perhaps Mr. Harleston could speak some sense into Lisle, too. "Is she still here?"
"Who?"
"Elizabeth."
"No, she walked down the hall."
"Is she unhappy?"
"No, I think she is pleased with the development in the house. She said as much."
"Oh."
Mr. Harleston took the offer of resting from his journey in one of the spare rooms. He had agreed to stay the night—or rather, he had suggested it.
Anne sat waiting as he joined her in the parlor, and he appeared, wearing a different suit. Anne had to help Lisle carry his trunk up while he slept and they left it by his door. He'd obviously found it.
"This is remarkable," he said as he seated himself. "The entire house is its replica."
"Can you see it?" Anne said, feeling hopeful, because she had not been able to describe entirely what it was she experienced.
"Oh, yes," he said, his eyes still traveling all over the place, seeing things she did not. "Quite remarkable. This extent is quite rare."
"I have seen it, but only if I am brought there."
"You must be careful not to stay too long, or you won't be able to return."
"I fear that is what happened to my field hand."
"I met the young man."
"He seeks to harm Lisle."
"My belief is that he will not act against the girl's wishes. They… commune."
Anne's breath hitched. She wasn't entirely sure what he meant, sure it was a euphemism for the continuation of things they had done before he'd died. "That cannot be natural."
He shrugged. "People are people, and they had the same follies. Energies build, and this house has been repressed for a very long time. Other energies are coming alive, even earthly instincts with those who bind themselves to the earth, or are bound by others."
The man's words were making Anne feel uncomfortable, but she pushed it down. "Are they bound?"
"Of yes, the master still binds them. He keeps them here. It is he that has created this whole… oasis."
"He does not wish to leave," she said.
"You have discussed it with him?" Mr. Harleston said, obviously fascinated.
"Yes," she said, and the man looked her up and down, perhaps wondering if she was also communing within the spirit world. She felt offended. "Yes, we called a truce—after I explained I am not the woman he seeks to wreak his vengeance on."
Mr. Harleston considered her. What was going through his mind, she couldn't read, but there was more to Mr. Harleston than the kind man he presented himself as. Not unkind, or resentful, but a man who'd seen more than most.
"He wishes I do not disturb him further," she filled in to ensure Mr. Harleston did not misunderstand their dealings. "He said that he does not remember he is dead unless I remind him."
"That is not uncommon in spirits, particularly those less cognizant of the living as our Miss Elizabeth. Many never realize they have passed from this world to the next. The injuries that bind them here are too distracting."
They dined on a stew and Anne was embarrassed she could not offer something better, but Mr. Harleston was gracious about the simple meal.
"Now, my dear, shall we see what else this house has to offer?"
"Please," she said. "I have been told there are seven or eight spirits here." His arm was extended to her and she took it.
They walked out of the parlor and Mr. Harleston stopped. "Ah, there is the stable hand. I remember seeing him on my previous visit," he said as they reached the hall where Anne often saw him. She didn't now, but Mr. Harleston obviously did. "What is it you seek?"
Anne looked down the space, but there was no response. Mr. Harleston took her by the elbow and led her to the library. "He is young and mischievous, that one," he said. They walked through, and Mr. Harleston turned toward the portrait. "Is that him, the master?"
"It is."
"Handsome."
"That was some years before he died. He was a soldier for many years before his death, and hardened by it. Are you to meet him?"
"No, I think it is still best to stay clear of him."
"Oh," Anne said, not knowing if that was a bad thing.
"Shall we proceed?"
They retreated toward the stairs and Mr. Harleston looked around constantly. "You see their world without being drawn into it?" she asked.
"That I do. It is created from the master's memories, as the house was during his time."
"He built the house."
"Partly why he is so attached to it, I don't doubt. Ah," Mr. Harleston said. "I suspect we have your assailant."
Tension tightened Anne's whole body as she watched Mr. Harleston staring into space. He said nothing and Anne's discomfort only grew.
"He was the elder son of a family who lived here in the house, died of a fever. I understand he is unrelated to the master's family, but trapped here all the same. Quarrelsome man."
Mr. Harleston pushed her down the hall and then stopping as if listening. "There is a woman crying. I can hear her anguish."
"I haven't heard her."
"It is faint." Mr. Harleston walked toward a room Anne rarely went into. He stared and listened. "She cries for a child, a lost child. It seems this woman is of a later generation to the master and his contemporaries."
Anne crossed her arms, sure she felt fear and anguish that wasn't her own. She hadn't felt like this before walking into the room. It must be this woman's feelings. Heartbreak for a child. Anne couldn't help but respond.
"Her child would have passed long ago, but she was trapped in this house, still searching for it."
"Can we help her?"
"Like the others, she is trapped."
"There must be some way of releasing her?"
Mr. Harleston frowned. "Let's continue."
This woman's anguish played on Anne's heart and it didn't feel right to walk away.
In the servant quarters, Mr. Harleston found one of the master's manservants, Mr. Thompson, and a maid, Beatrice, who both perished when the house burned down. Apparently there was some intelligence with the manservant, but he wasn't terribly helpful, while the maid was catatonic, according to Mr. Harleston's words.
So now she knew who was in the house. The grieving woman still bothered her and she couldn't let it go. And the catatonic maid, that could not be an enviable fate for anyone.
"Now, I think I must retire," Mr. Harleston said. "Even for me, this is taxing."
"Of course," Anne said, her mind still whirling with all the new things she'd heard. Her guest retreated into the guest bedroom and Anne stood in the hall, until she remembered that the lewd eldest son was likely there with her, which made her hastily retreat into the master's bedroom.
These people had to be released, if only for the woman to find her child. It was cruel of Hawke to keep them there.