Page 16 of Mistress of Darkness

Chapter 7

The next morning, Gwen was reluctant to get out of bed. She stared up at the ceiling for a long time, trying to find some halfway reasonable excuse to stay there for the rest of the day. She was more confirmed than ever in her belief that the hall was haunted. Now it was only a matter of trying to convince Robert.

Even the weather seemed to want her to stay in bed. Outside a gale was raging, the force of the wind bending the trees like grass. It blew as if God himself had taken a breath in anger and released it into the world. Even at this hour, the sky was as black as coal. Her room was darker than she’d realized, so she rose and lit the candle.

Finally stirred to action for the sake of adding a little light to dispel the gloom, Gwen knew she must relent. She must join the day, such as it was. It was no time to hide away.

She struggled into her thickest dress, unused to dressing herself after having got used to Frances. Frances… She shuddered at the memory of the poor girl’s death, and wrapped a shawl around her shoulders; to think Frances had been the victim of some malicious sabotage.

Gwen’s gaze landed on the sheet of paper where she’d begun recording her own thoughts the previous night. She strode to the dressing table, and fetched a sheet of clean paper, before dipping her quill in the ink.

Dear Journal,

Poor Frances, the maid, has died, and I might have been the cause. I’d rung for her so that I could order warm milk that might help me to sleep. But when she didn’t come up, I started downstairs to make it myself. At the top of the stairs we almost ran into each other and I gave her quite the fright, so much so that she lost her footing and fell backwards to her death.

More than this, though, was the matter of the fractured marble. Though poor Frances had surely been frightened by my sudden appearance, the step upon which her foot had landed was ready to break. Robert is sure that the sabotage was intentional. I cannot say, for I am not an expert in such matters of masonry. But if it was, it was cunningly done.

It would seem then that the Ghost of Dredthorne Hall knows a thing or two about stonework. The malevolent phantom has finally managed to perpetrate its black will and kill someone. Had it not been for Frances coming up just as I was heading down, I might have been

Gwen set down the pen,her hand shaking, and pulled the shawl tighter. Not only did she refuse to admit that she might have been the target of something malicious, but she refused to be daunted by it. Whatever was in store for her this day, she would have to go out and confront it.

In the hallway, except for the sounds of the storm, it was quiet. Carefully, and holding tightly to the handrail, she slowly made her way down the stairs, stepping over the damaged one, and taking each one after that one at a time.

Finally having successfully made her way down, she peered into the living room and found it was empty. Where was Robert? Each morning he liked to know what she had planned for herself that day; she liked knowing that perhaps her day meant more to him than it should. Not only was there no Robert, there was no breakfast. With a hand to her heart, she dashed to the kitchen—also empty.

All manner of thoughts flew through her mind. It seemed as though the entire hall was vacant. There were no sounds at all. Why would Robert leave her here in Dredthorne Hall by herself? As thunder boomed from above, tears sprang to her eyes.

But in the next moment, she went still. What if he hadn’t abandoned her? What if he’d been killed or disappeared? What if all of them had?

As she stood unmoving, she felt a frigidly cold breeze stir a few tendrils of her hair. Where was that coming from? Again she ran and found herself in the entry hall, and then at the open front door.

Robert would never have been so careless, and neither would Parks, nor any of the other servants. A tremor ran down her spine as she peered through it. Driving rain and lashing wind made it almost impossible to see anything. But a sudden flash of lightning illuminated the entire front grounds and also the stable. There was a silhouetted figure standing in front of it.

“Robert?” she shouted.

If he’d made a reply, she wouldn’t have been able to hear it. The wind was howling through the trees now and again thunder crashed. Standing in the doorway, she cupped her hands to her mouth and shouted for him again, but she could barely hear herself.

There was nothing for it. If she was going to find him—or whoever was at the stable—she would have to go there. She glanced back into the empty house and found that its dark stillness made up her mind. Nothing would keep her in the haunted hall by herself, not even a storm. She pulled her shawl as tightly around her as she could, then took a deep breath before she launched herself into the gale.

The wind whipped around her, sticks and leaves flying in every direction. Desperately she shielded her face with her hands, and only just managed to keep the torrent of rain from suffocating her. Placing one foot in front of the next, she trudged blindly forward in the direction of the stable. Puddles the size of small ponds had formed everywhere and in under a minute her shoes were sodden. But there was no thought of returning to the hall. She had to know if Robert was alive.

She squinted through the rain and found that she was nearly there. A shadowy form seemed to dance across the opening. Was that him?

“Robert!” she called, as loud as she could.

She began to run toward him but only managed two steps before she slipped and landed in the mud. With a great splash, she landed on all fours, her hands disappearing in the muck, and the rain drumming on her back. Suddenly there were a pair of boots in front of her face.

“Gwen!” Robert yelled. Despite her predicament, she almost wept with joy at the sound of his voice. She felt his strong arms around her waist as he lifted her to her feet. “Are you all right? What are you doing out here?”

“Looking for you!”

He hauled her into the stable and out of the blasted rain, where she took a moment to catch her breath and push her sodden hair out of her face.

“What are you doing out here?” she gasped. “The hall is empty.”

“I know,” he said. “I came to check that there was still a horse. The stable door had been left open, but we still have your horse and rig.”

A sharp whinny punctuated his sentence, and she whirled to see her own mare, but the beast had a wild look in its eye.