It was surprisingly bright for a September morning at the Priory. The curtains were flung wide to allow it to drift into each dark corner, banished the shadows. A breakfast tray sat on the table beside Nancy’s bed.
Her chest hurt like a lorry had mowed her down.
‘Here, madam. Allow me.’ Lizzie plumped the pillows. ‘There you go, that’s better. I took the liberty of bringing you a tray this morning. Rise when you’re ready. The boys are up and about. They are lively souls this morning, already playing outside—some adventure, I imagine.’
‘The boys are outside after what happened to Elliot yesterday?’ Nancy questioned.
‘We don’t see sunshine like this often and thought it best they make the most of it. It’s even quite mild, would you believe it? Best not look a gift horse in the mouth—that’s what the mistress always says.’ Lizzie stood by the window, quite taken by the sunshine.
‘My mistress will meet you in the library when you’re ready,’ Lizzie said. ‘She has something for you.’
‘Lady Hardacre?’ The image of Estelle, limp and lifeless by the fireplace, darted in front of her eyes. ‘She’s well?’
‘Of course, madam. She has a few minor errands to sort first, so enjoy your breakfast. She also said not to hurry down.’ Lizzie bobbed in a quick curtsy and beaming smile.
Nancy reached for her mug as her mind snatched tiny snippets of the day before, hoping tea would aid the task. Possibly some aspirin too. She gulped her tea as the maid vanished, taking her glow with her. She had no appetite—fried eggs and bacon didn’t mix well with amnesia. She walked to the window and drained the last drop from her cup. Lizzie had been right—despite the absurdity of it, the day was bright and the sun high. Even a hint of heat seeped through the glass, warmed her face.
There were her twins. The grounds spread as far as she could see, acre upon acre, all the Hardacres. The twins, dressed in shorts and wellies, were running and stopping every so often to twist and turn. Elliot held out the sides of his red anorak like a superhero cape whilst Oliver thrashed the sparse grass with a short stick.
‘It won’t last, Nance. It can’t. We both know that.’
Andrew spread his arm around her shoulders, folding her into him. Nancy eased her head back until it touched his. If she closed her eyes, allowed the sun to warm her eyelids, she could pretend just a short while, forget what truly swept the halls here; time to be the mother of young boys who deserved to be free to run and play in the sunshine. If only it could last just for today.
She sighed. ‘I miss you.’
‘You don’t need to miss me.’ He kissed her hair.
‘I’m so angry. I keep trying to let go, but I’m afraid I’ll give in to all this madness if I do.’
His arms fell from her as the sun dimmed from her eyelids. Nancy opened them to find white clouds had crossed the sun.
‘Stupid, foolish grief,’ she spat.
‘On the contrary, Nancy Hardacre, I am fond of the grief you hold on to so tightly. I do not doubt the strength of that love in your heart. Mind all that harboured anger does not turn it black.’
‘Fuck off!’ she yelled. ‘We’re leaving, do you hear me? I’m taking my boys. You won’t have them.’
‘Do not be so rash.’
She’d had enough. She would pack their belongings and leave this morning… if she could only move… Her feet were stuck, fused to the floor, her bare flesh bonded to the old polish of the floorboards. Her hands spread flat on the glass in front of her, with each long finger spread over the glazed panes, touching the old leading. No matter how she tried, she couldn’t budge.
Deep breaths, she thought. This isn’t real.
Nancy felt it climb. Almost gentle, almost sensual. Thin tendrils found her ankles and coiled up her legs. When they reached her thighs, they pushed her legs apart. She tried to look down, but no matter how much she battled, her efforts were wasted. Opening her lips to speak, she found she was mute. Her cries were silent.
‘Why fight it, Nancy Hardacre? Is this not what you want?’
The room sank weighty about her shoulders. Nothing except blackness reflected. She no longer saw the gardens, the grounds, or her boys. The space beyond the glass was a black void, nothing but her wide-eyed reflection. Close your eyes, she ordered herself. I don’t want to see. It was hopeless. Even as she fought, the compulsion to watch rose dark and angry in her gut.
Nancy’s hands pressed firmer against the bitter cold glass. Thick frost grew from the sides and headed towards her hands; it closed in on her until it covered her fingers. Tiny, beautiful frost patterns embellished her hands. Mesmerised, she watched, unable to do anything else.
The tendrils coiled and folded around her. With her legs bound and stretched apart, thin finger-like vines snatched her nightgown from her shoulders, it fell to the floor in shreds, leaving her exposed. Her heart froze.
‘Do not fight me.’
But she would fight. She would fight so long as air filled her lungs and blood rushed in her veins.
‘Oh, you are a delight to behold. Hearing your thoughts only makes you more delectable.’
‘I will take my boys away, and you will lose. They are mine.’ She sounded strong in her head, bold and determined, though the words never made it to her mouth. No one heard her screams. ‘You will not have my boys; do you understand me? Never! I won’t allow it.’
‘It is not your boys who I want. Not yet.’
Those twisted fronds braced her body, folded, and wrapped thicker, bound over her breasts up to her throat. Moments of oblivion flashed with moments of pure, blinding clarity. The foulness that had encircled her legs now loosened. They were free, but only a little—just enough for what it wanted. Panic. Fear. Nancy clenched her eyes tight. With intense ferocity, it thrust deep inside her, pounding, pulsating, filling her over and over.
She tried not to look, but the pain pulled her back to the now, and her eyes flew open. Nancy stared into the glass. In the dense blackness of the reflection, the shadow coiled into a solid form.
‘Something for you, Nancy Hardacre. Consider it my gift.’
Andrew’s likeness, as accurate as if it were him, emerged from the fog. The lips that kissed her ear, the tongue that trailed over her neck. The eyes that flashed wicked with lust. Even the smile was faultless.
‘I will have you first.’