Rain lashed at the carriage. Hyacinth was grateful to be inside. Even with Mr. Gardner’s mention of specters at Ashthorne, he was a delight, but the thought of his man James made Hyacinth’s flesh crawl.
His threatening manner, the way he stood much too near, not to mention the stink of stale smoke and alcohol meant she would be quite happy never to see him again. Nor would she waste any more time thinking about him.
Closing her eyes, she imagined placing all thoughts of the unpleasant man in a shallow dish. Then she pictured her mind beginning to spin the dish, collecting the thoughts so she could dispose of them. She let her mind swirl, and, as she had practiced, she was able to dismiss the disagreeable thoughts.
She turned her attention to the window once again. Clouds thick enough to block any moonlight combined with the curves of the road made it difficult to discern the distance from town to the manor, but Hyacinth estimated somewhere between a mile and two. A reasonable walk if the weather was right.
The weather was anything but right tonight.
She cradled Eleanor’s pot in her arms, whispering to the plant as they drove. She described what she saw from the carriage windows—although there was little to speak of—in an attempt to calm herself. “There, up on that rise. Do you see?”
She held Eleanor up to the window. “That poor tree, growing all alone. There is nothing nearby to protect it from this ghastly wind. Do you see how it bends? Do not worry. You will never be left alone to do battle with the elements. I will keep you safe.”
She knew speaking to her mother’s flower was a signal that she was lonesome, but she did not worry. Gentle Mr. Gardner, so like a gnome or a forest elf, would be a colleague for her, and additional human companionship was only a short carriage ride away. Surely she would make friends with the Ashthorne housekeeper, not that a new acquaintance would make her love her dear Eleanor any less.
As the carriage continued forward, Hyacinth squinted into the darkness.
A line of trees loomed out of the shadows. Nothing else on the moor grew as tall. These must not be natural growth, but she could tell they’d been planted generations ago. As the carriage approached, Hyacinth could see the manor’s property was crowded with trees, full and tall, giving the estate a feeling of warmth and homeliness. Off to her right, she could make out a tiny light winking, and as she stared at it, the shape of the house seemed to draw itself on the darker canvas of the night.
Instead of intricate rooflines and innumerable chimneys, the façade of Ashthorne Hall rose like a blank wall, huge and rectangular, behind a fringe of scrubby trees placed either for decoration or protection. Those trees swayed in the constant wind, leaning first in one direction, then another. They did not seem to fare as well as the groves planted throughout the property.
Only one window showed any lamplight: on the top story of the house, a silhouette of a woman stood framed within the borders. The carriage swayed as it moved through the storm and onto the manor’s curving approach. Hyacinth uncovered the opposite window, trying to keep her eyes on Ashthorne through the twists and turns, but by the time she could reliably see the house again, the upstairs window was dark, and the driver had pulled to a stop at the front entry.
“We appear to have arrived, Eleanor,” Hyacinth murmured.
Rain and wind rocked the carriage, but there was nothing for it but to brave the elements and enter her new home.
Hyacinth disembarked, adjusting her skirts and gripping her hat to her hair as the driver unloaded bags and garden deliveries onto the drive. Glancing around for a butler or footman, Hyacinth realized there might be no one of that description on staff since the family was away. She reached inside the carriage for Eleanor and her valise, prepared to instruct the driver to take her bags to the door.
As she turned back to the house, she was startled by a stern-faced woman wearing a neatly pressed housekeeper’s dress and holding a large ring of keys. Hyacinth jumped, surprised by the woman’s silent arrival. Her valise dropped to the ground, but she kept tight hold of Eleanor.
“Miss Bell, is it?” she asked, and in the dark of the stormy night far from home, Hyacinth realized what a small name it seemed. Miss Bell. She could be anyone or no one with a name like Bell. For a moment, Hyacinth thought of telling her no. She could make up a different name, be whomever she wanted to be in this new place. But then she realized the question was merely a formality. It wasn’t likely the woman was expecting a great many people to arrive tonight in the middle of this storm.
Hyacinth nodded and extended her hand.
The woman glanced down but did not take it. “I am Mrs. Carter, Ashthorne Hall’s housekeeper. You may follow me.”
Instead of mounting the impressive front stairway to the great dark door, the housekeeper moved to walk around the side of the house. Hyacinth tucked her orchid into her elbow and lifted a bag in each hand. The driver carried the trunk with two smaller cases stacked on top, and they followed the housekeeper along the path.
Turning the corner, Hyacinth began to understand the scope of the building. A great wide swath of gardens swept along the side and rear of Ashthorne Hall. Some flanked by hedges, some by groves of trees, the estate’s parkland was vast. She’d grown up in a large and lovely country home, but this made her father’s house feel insignificant by comparison. She stopped in her tracks, head lifted in the rain to take it all in.
Mrs. Carter tsked in impatience and motioned for Hyacinth to keep moving. “Stay close, if you please. You don’t want to get stranded out here.”
Hyacinth glanced at the driver, who followed her at a respectful distance, keeping his eyes on the ground. Would Mrs. Carter truly leave her behind? She hurried her steps, just in case, and in a few more moments, they stood in a warm kitchen, fire blazing against one wall and a spotless table before them.
“I wasn’t sure precisely when you’d arrive,” the housekeeper said, looking at Hyacinth from beneath a brow that, if not menacing, was certainly not gentle. Austere. Well, Hyacinth could manage austere. She lowered the cases she’d carried onto the floor.
“I regret any inconvenience. As I stated in my letter—” Hyacinth began, but Mrs. Carter interrupted her.
“I saw your letter, but trains are often late, and the moors can be unfriendly to coaches and wagons, especially during an autumn storm like this.” She turned to the driver. “You may place the remaining parcels at the back door. If you’d care for a cup of tea, I suppose I can prepare one for you now.”
If there was a less welcoming, less inviting way to offer refreshment, Hyacinth couldn’t imagine it. Instead of correcting the housekeeper, she turned to the driver. “Thank you for bringing me here in a safe and timely manner, sir. Won’t you sit down for a cup of tea before you bring in the packages from Mr. Gardner’s shop?”
The man shook his head, shooting a glance into the dark doorway that led into the next room. “I’ll be unloading at the door and returning now, thank you.” A pause, then he looked at Hyacinth and added in a low voice, “Take care, miss. Keep your eyes open for what might be hiding.” With a short nod to both women, he let himself back out into the night.
Hyacinth was sure her face reflected her surprise at both his warning and his hasty retreat. He had clearly heard the jokes from Mr. Gardner and threats from James in Suttonsbury village, and as much as Hyacinth eventually dismissed the ghost stories as quaint folklore, the driver obviously felt the full weight of her impending doom. When she looked to the housekeeper, Mrs. Carter shifted and glanced away, as if not wanting Hyacinth to know she’d been watching her.
Mrs. Carter did not renew her grudging offer of tea but lifted a case and stepped toward the dark hall. Taking a lighted candle from the table, she spoke to the darkness. “I’ll show you to your room, then.”
Hyacinth readjusted her grip on her bags and her orchid and followed the woman out of the kitchen. Immediately she felt the loss of the kitchen fire. A chill draft wafted in the dark hall, lifting the damp hair at the back of her neck and whistling mournfully. The candle was woefully inadequate for the task at hand, and as the women stepped into a widening corridor, Hyacinth felt engulfed by shadow.
The hallway stretched out for what seemed like forever, but eventually they reached a space where Hyacinth could not see walls on either side.
“Main entry hall,” Mrs. Carter said, as if in introduction.
Hyacinth’s eyes had adjusted to the dim glow of the flickering candle, and she looked toward the manor’s front door, a dark smudge against a darker wall. Through tall windows she watched the dance of the windblown trees standing guard outside. Across the vestibule from the door, she could just perceive two grand staircases, rising out of the floor and curving upward to either side like wide leaves at the base of an orchid.
Mrs. Carter crossed the vast floor and turned up the elegant staircase to the right, and Hyacinth followed. Questions filled her mind as she climbed the stairs, but she asked none of them. The housekeeper’s reticence did not welcome conversation. At the first landing, Mrs. Carter led Hyacinth to the right, entering another long hallway. They walked past closed door after closed door, accompanied only by the whistling wind and the shush of their footsteps on thick carpet. It did not occur to Hyacinth to count the doors they passed until there had been too many to guess. The hallway went on and on.
Finally, Mrs. Carter pushed a door open. She walked in as if undisturbed by the thick darkness. For someone who already knew the layout of the bedroom, the light of her flickering candle must have been sufficient to see what she needed. Hyacinth’s eyes followed the flame, but the light seemed to only emphasize the surrounding darkness. Mrs. Carter moved deeper into the room, then touched the candle flame to an oil lamp on a small table. The room was slowly revealed by the dim glow, and the housekeeper broke her silence.
“You may settle here. I’ll bring up the rest of your bags.” She reached for the ring of keys at her waist and unfastened one. “This is for your door. Be certain to lock it when you’re sleeping, and any time you’re out.”
Hyacinth thought the woman’s instructions exaggerated any possible danger in a near-empty building but said nothing in reply. Mrs. Carter turned to the door, candle in her hand.
“Shall I help you?” Hyacinth asked.
With another glance from beneath that stern brow, Mrs. Carter shook her head and stepped out the door.
“Thank you,” Hyacinth said to the woman’s retreating back. She did not hurry to lock the door behind the housekeeper. The woman’s warnings would not frighten her.
If Hyacinth had entertained a wish of finding the housekeeper to be a friend or a mother figure, someone with whom to share thoughts and feelings and tea, she knew it was time to reconsider. Dropping her cases to the floor, she kept Eleanor the orchid tucked in her arm as she stepped to the desk and lifted the lamp. Holding it high, she could nearly make out the corners of the room, the tall ceiling, the draperies surrounding the large bed, windows, a clothing cabinet along one wall, and a painting that might have been a garden of wildflowers, but she would study it more when the sun rose.
The room, though cold, was far more than satisfactory. It was lovely. Elegant. She drew close to the bed and used the lamp to inspect the pile of embroidered pillows. She tilted her head toward the orchid in her arm.
“Eleanor, I can hardly wait to climb into this nest and stay for hours.”
A squeaking of door hinges surprised Hyacinth. Surely the housekeeper could not have made it down to the kitchen and back with her bags so quickly? She turned, but instead of Mrs. Carter’s dark dress, she saw a flutter of white at the bedroom door.
There, and then gone.
A ghost? So soon upon her arrival? She felt nothing of the fear James had hoped to inspire; rather a shiver of satisfaction ran down her spine. This was more than she had hoped for. She wondered if the spirits of the house always moved so quickly to inspect a newcomer. She was certain that, were she a ghost, such a quick glance would not satisfy her curiosity.
She tucked Eleanor deeper into the crook of her arm. “How exciting,” she whispered to the orchid.
A few steps brought Hyacinth to the door. The darkness of the vast hallway made the glow of her lamp useless to see far, but she tiptoed along the corridor back toward the huge staircase. Once or twice, she thought she could see a flicker of something white ahead, but never with enough clarity to be certain. Approaching the great curved stairway, Hyacinth slowed. Although she could see the other half of the house from the top of the stairs, it was accessible only by going downstairs to the entry hall and coming up the opposite staircase. She thought a light flickered down the hall on the other side, but before she could take more than a step toward the stairs, a door slammed, and the glow disappeared.
Despite the prickle of apprehension at the back of her neck, Hyacinth crept forward, moving slowly and softly. She only had the glow of her own lamp, which blinded her to anything more than a few feet away. Should she make her way down to the entry hall and back up the other side?
A shriek of wind brought her up short. What a terrible cry! She hesitated at the top of the staircase with her heartbeat thudding in her ears, unsure whether she wanted to hear the sound again to be assured that it was, in fact, the wind. For it would not take much to convince her the scream came from a pained human throat.
Something touched her from behind, and with a shriek of her own, Hyacinth’s arms flew upward in defense. The lamplight juddered with the movement, but Hyacinth almost didn’t notice. Her whole attention was fixed on her beloved orchid, which flew past Mrs. Carter’s outstretched arm, and Hyacinth watched in horror as it crashed onto the staircase, tumbling down into the darkness.