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That morning, Clara sat alone in the breakfast room as Wesley took his meal upstairs. It was not worth the risk if peering eyes should see him through the curtained windows. As Clara sipped her coffee, she reflected upon how right it felt to have him in the house, how his presence was like a soothing balm. She glanced towards the stairs. She longed to run to him even now. To sit upon the foot of his bed and listen to him tell her stories. To share the heat of a kiss like they had in the past.
But her reflections were interrupted by a powerful knocking. Mr. Willard hurried down the hall and Clara heard him open the door. The murmuring voice of her visitor sent chills down her spine. She gripped the table until Mr. Willard came back.
"Mr. Trevor Beltza is here to see you, madam."
She silently rose and walked into the sitting room, glad that she and Wesley had decided to keep him secreted away.
"What are you doing here?" Clara spat with barely controlled rage.
Trevor lifted one corner of his singular eyebrow, running his gloved hand across the mantle. "I am a man of my word. I told you what would happen if you crossed me. And I come to warn you that Lady Daphne Grey is currently my guest and she will be the next to die if you do not secure me the money your husband stole."
Clara stood aghast. "You would kill the mother of your true love?"
Trevor's face became hard and pinched. "You think I have any choice in this?"
Clara felt the anger rise and knew that her cheeks were flushed with rage. But she also knew that if she gave the slightest hint that Wesley had survived, the small advantage they had would be wasted. "You come here," she said, allowing her voice to tremble, "after the death of the only man I hold dear, and dare to make threats?"
"It is very important that we understand one another, Mrs. O'Hare," Trevor replied. "Your husband took that money. My benefactor requires that money."
"You are asking for blood from a stone!" Clara retorted. "You overplayed your hand! You can do nothing to me anymore! You have already taken away the only thing I wanted. Kill Lady Grey for all I care! You can explain your reasons to her dead daughter when you rot in the ground with worms eating your flesh!"
This time, Trevor Beltza was not the picture of cool, collected quiet that had greeted her the day before. He pointed his finger at her. "Don't you think for a moment this is over." He grabbed her by the arm and shook her roughly. His fingers dug into her flesh even through the thick fabric of her gown. "And you are going to give it to me if I have to wring it out of you!"
And that was when the house itself decided it did not want this man as its guest. A great wind blew through as all the doors to the room flew open at once. It wrapped around Trevor and tore him away from Clara. His eyes were wide with fear. It picked him up by the scruff of his neck and moved him out of the room on tiptoe. Clara brushed back her hair, which was pulled from its bun from the force of the wind and ran afterwards. She got there just in time to see Trevor be thrown, as if by some invisible hand, out the door and onto the sidewalk below. He landed hard on his side, but raised himself up on his elbow, shielding his face with his forearm fearfully.
"And stay out!" shouted Clara before slamming the door.
Her heart was pounding in her chest. The air in the house returned to its normal flow, nothing but the swaying of the chandeliers and an odd paper floating through the entry way to show that anything was amiss. Mrs. Nan and Mr. Willard ran into the room. Wesley ran down the hallway and stood at the top of the stairs. Clara held up her hand, motioning him to go back. She could not risk Trevor looking through the window and seeing Wesley now.
"Was that Minnie?" Clara asked Mr. Willard and Mrs. Nan.
Mr. Willard shook his head while Mrs. Nan looked around the room, as if seeing it for the first time. Clara placed her hand upon the wooden paneling of the entry way. The wall thrummed with energy.
"This house is very special, isn't it..." said Clara.
Mr. Willard nodded this time, the experience being quite beyond the vocabulary of anyone.
"Are you well?" asked Wesley. Clara could tell it tore him apart not to be able to rush down to her side.
"I am," she said. "But we are all in grave danger. Mrs. Nan or Mr. Willard, would you be so kind as to send Red around for our dear friend Marguerite Matson at the police department? I fear we are all in need of her assistance."