The noise of London was disconcerting and woke her throughout the night. She hadn't realized how silent Hawke's Moor was until she left. The thought of losing it sat like a weight on her chest. What if she had to leave? She couldn't imagine it.
Bleary-eyed, she stepped into the train to Oxford. It was time to go to the source and get an explanation for this action. The compartment was crowded, the train full of students heading back after visiting London for whatever purpose. Closing her eyes, she tried to soothe the headache in her temples. In a sense, she wanted to ignore this whole unfortunate development and pretend it hadn't happened. Something bad was going to emerge out of this discussion and she didn't want to face it, but she couldn't allow herself that luxury.
A train journey was remarkably short when one dreaded reaching the destination. The station was bustling and busy and for a moment, Anne felt disorientated, people rushing past her. Standing aside, she waited for the worst of the crowd to pass, then emerged out of the station. A hack stood by, waiting for a customer and she hired him, giving the address to her son's lodgings, her stomach tightening with every passing moment. She felt nauseous, as if she wanted to throw up.
Arriving, she stepped out into a covered archway, where behind a gate, a wooden door lead into a sandstone building. A man emerged, a porter.
"I need to speak to my son, Harold Kinelly," she said, holding herself upright.
"Please, madam, come inside," he said, opening the iron gate for her. "Please follow me."
They walked into the sandstone building and up a narrow set of stairs. Rooms were spread along a corridor, passing one by one, until the porter stopped and knocked on one. "What?" she heard Harry's voice inside.
"A visitor for you, Master Kinelly," the porter said and nodded to her before leaving.
Heavy steps and Harry opened the door, looking slightly shocked to see her. "Mother," he said.
"Harry." Anne wasn't quite sure how to modulate her voice. She was extremely angry and disappointed in him. "I’ve come to see what it is you're up to. I received some disturbing information."
"Come in," he said, looking down the hall and back as if to see if they were observed.
Anne stepped into his room, which held a bed, a wardrobe and a desk. He stood by with his arms crossed. "It is for the best," he said.
"Swindling my house off me? How can that possibly be for the best? You're taking the only thing I ever had from me."
"Don't be so melodramatic, mother. That house is too big and too distant anyway. It is better this way." Hearing this confirmation clenched her heart. This wasn't a misunderstanding; he had deliberately acted against her.
"How could it possibly?"
"I'll sell the house and we'll get you some rooms somewhere. We can purchase an annuity for you."
"Who are we exactly?"
He looked caught for a moment.
"This is your father's doing."
"It makes sense."
"It is my house!" she yelled.
"Keep your voice down," he replied sharply. "The stress is too much for you, speaking of unnatural things going on in the house. I'm sorry if you don't understand, but this needs to be done."
"No, you will stop this," she said firmly. "You will not take my house."
He came up and stroked along her arms. "It will be fine, you'll see. We'll get you some rooms somewhere by the seaside." Nicely hidden from sight, he neglected to mention. "A house of that size is too much responsibility for you. The stress is making you neurotic. Besides, with the money, there are other things we could do. It opens up possibilities. For example, some of the chaps are planning a trip to Italy in the summer, and I could join them." His face looked bright. "You want me to experience such a thing, don't you? It will be like a traditional Grand Tour. Wouldn't that be fantastic?"
Anne blinked. "Something your father should provide for you."
Harry gave her a chiding look. "It would be difficult for him. Likely he will be expecting additions to the family soon. This is the simplest option."
Anne stared at him as if she didn't know him at all. "Do you not care for me at all?"
"Of course, I do. I am doing this because I care." He made a smiling laugh as if wondering how she could question that. "This will be for your benefit, freeing you of the obligation and responsibility. That land should be managed. How could you possibly manage land?"
"I am," she said.
He looked at her disbelievingly. "Please just trust me, mother."
"I do not agree to this," she said, feeling her voice weaken. She took a step back and turned away from him as tears were threatening.
"A nice cottage by the seaside will be lovely. All that fresh sea air. It will be marvelous for your health." At least he was upgrading her from rooms to a cottage—obviously an expression of guilt. It was there in his eyes, and now he refused to meet hers. "I can take you to lunch if you’d like."
"No, I need to get back. I have a farm to manage." She couldn't bear sitting across from him for an hour; she had to get away. With her spine straight, she walked to the door. "You know, son, I thought Stanford's betrayal was terrible, but I'm not sure it compares to that of your own child."
"Mother," Harry said with exasperation, "there is no need for such dramatics. This will all be well, you will see."
Anne turned and left, neglecting to close the door behind her. Her heart felt frozen in shock and grief, not far different from how she felt when her aunt had died. This felt like a death—a death of her trust. Harry refused to even listen to her. All he wanted was the money he could milk out of her, to then discard her. Maybe she was being too harsh. Perhaps in his mind, he did believe this was for the best, but she suspected to him that was simply an added benefit.
Hailing a hack, she returned to the train station. Her mouth was tight as she stepped onto the train heading back to London, where she would change to one heading north.
Absently, she watched the scenery fly by, not really noting anything. Her heart was too heavy, but it also gave to a deep and encompassing anger. She was determined to fight. She didn't know how she would find the means, but she would. Mr. Charterham expected she would lose and maybe she would, but she would still fight, if for no other reason than for them to know she would not agree to this. They had to force this out of her grip, and at the very least, people would know what they were doing to her. They deserved for this to be known.
She slept poorly on the train, waiting hour after hour. There was a small child in the compartment, clinging to her mother for comfort and care. The mother gently stroked the girl as she slept, doing what she could to make her comfortable. Mothers were like that; they did what they could. Anne had always believed that relationship was sacred, but was now wondering if some used that instinct to their benefit. She hated the suspicion and doubt that had crept into her. It colored everything. Still, even with Harry's lack of caring, she couldn't stop loving him. Maybe that was the cruelest part of all.
At times, it felt as if this train journey would never end. Day passed to night, and before long, light was creeping along the horizon again. She was well beyond tired when she finally arrived in Goathland. It felt a long time since she’d left, when it had only been a matter of days.
It didn't take long to find someone heading her way, but she had to walk from the road. It took hours, the last of it walking in the moonlight, which fortunately was enough to let her see. Her tears were not always as generous. Every part of her ached, but mostly her heart. This might be the cruelest blow yet. Perhaps it would be worse if on some level she hadn't expected this. She'd know something was coming.
The house appeared in the distance, silhouetted in the moonlight. It looked dark and almost morbid, but she had never been happier to see it. Inside there was a being who actually saw her. He might have started as a monster, but underneath was a soft place for her, where she felt safe. The people who were supposed to love her, whose duty it was to love and care for her were the other way around, pleasant of the surface, but monsters underneath. It revealed itself whenever she stood between them and what they wanted.