9
The days following Wysteria’s departure were lonely, the nights long and fretful. Outside, a strange fog settled over the cliffs, lingering in the gullies and spreading out over the fields. Dr. Mead could not make his way out to me each day as he had promised, for the air had become dense and impenetrable. I did not venture past the front gates of the Manor myself, as I could not see beyond my own hand. I pitied any sailor caught out on the lake in such weather. A mist that thick could close in and envelop a boat in its impervious vapor for hours, parting only long enough to display a small circumference of water and no land in sight.
Perhaps it was the mist that obscured my thoughts, for like a sailor caught in its spell, I could think only that I was bound to the Manor forever and could not see my way free of it.
As well, I had discovered in Wysteria’s absence that the Manor was plagued by strange noises after dark, and the Hounds bayed and howled at the walls as if something lingered inside them, wishing to escape. I consoled myself with the knowledge that fog often produces odd echoes, catching and holding sounds and throwing them far off to betray the senses, and that the Hounds were known on occasion to bark at their own shadows. Still, I could not dismiss my mounting sense of unease at the thought that the Manor was mourning the loss of its mistress and in its grief had turned its full attention upon me, wrapping me firmly in its gloom.
On nights when I fell into a deep enough sleep, my dreams were disturbed by shadows of dark creatures and oppressive forces, and I often woke feeling as if the walls themselves were alive and pressing in upon me. At such moments, I would stand up and walk about my room to convince myself it was not true. By the time morning arrived, I would have vowed to leave the Manor and never return, to take my chances in the fog, but by afternoon I could not imagine why I had felt so, and chastised myself for ever having entertained a desire to flee.
It was during this time that I once again saw the fire on the beach. This was most uncommon—not only that someone would choose to make camp there during such foul weather, but that I could see the fire at all through the bleakness. In the drifting mist I caught distinct glimpses of it. The same fire, the same spot. When I opened the front door to let the Hounds out, I caught the scent of woodsmoke as it drifted inland on the faint and lifeless breeze.
I kept the lantern burning through the day, as was done in the case of fog, but I did not attempt to signal again to the maker of the fire, for I did not know to whom I signaled, friend or foe. Although the fire offered me hope that I was not entirely alone, a strange feeling had begun to sweep over me that perhaps there was no one besides myself that I could trust or turn to.
One afternoon, while calling the Hounds in for supper, I noticed, in the parting of the fog, a figure standing out beyond the gates, at the very end of the drive. I waited for it to move, thinking at first that it must be Dr. Mead come to visit, but the specter stood as still as a statue, gazing up at the widow’s walk. I strained my eyes to bring its form into focus. It appeared to be a woman—or the ghost of a woman, for what woman would come out to the Manor in such weather?
Perhaps in my isolation I had lost my sense of reason, but I felt that I must know whether this apparition was real or not. I leashed one of the Hounds and made my way to the front gate.
“Can I help you?” I yelled into the mist.
The figure turned in my direction and walked slowly toward me. As it neared, I saw to my great relief that it was made of flesh and bone and that it was in fact Dr. Mead’s nurse, whom I had met at his office. She stood stoically before me, wrapping a scarf tightly about her neck against the dampness.
“Miss Moreland,” she said, nodding as a means of introduction.
“Yes. I remember.”
“I have come in the doctor’s stead to inquire after your welfare.” She held out a small basket from her side and presented it to me. “Dr. Mead sends you turnips and apples. Enough for a simple soup.”
“Thank you,” I said, taking the basket. “Tell him that I am fine, and grateful for his kindness.”
Miss Moreland made no response, her eyes staring beyond me to the Manor.
“Is the doctor well? I haven’t seen him in some time.”
“Yes, he is well,” she answered nervously. “He is very busy, with little time for errands . . . in places such as this.”
“I see.” The details of my first meeting with Dr. Mead’s nurse came to mind, and I was suddenly wary of her. Her expression in the dimness was even more strained than I remembered, her skin sallow and weathered, yet there was a sincerity in her manner I could not deny.
“Do you wish to come in, Miss Moreland? I could make tea.”
“No.” She appeared to bristle at the very suggestion. “I will not step across the threshold of that dwelling. I will come no farther than the gate.”
“Why is that?” I asked, steadying my voice, for something in her tone sent a chill through me. The Hound was growing restless at my side, but I was glad of his presence and did not release him.
“Surely you have not lived here these many years and not felt its pull upon you?”
“It is only a house, Miss Moreland. You speak as if it were a living thing.”
“Some believe it to be so.” At that moment, a veil seemed to drop before her eyes, and again she stared past me to the Manor as she spoke. “This house. Your mistress. They have destroyed others. They could destroy you.”
“What do you mean?”
“They sent him to his death.”
“Captain Barrows?”
“No storm took him. Of that you can be sure.”
“The captain did not die on the lake?”
“He did not.”
“How, then, Miss Moreland?” I was eager for her reply. Perhaps she would tell me what the doctor could not.
“Some thought he went mad over her,” she said, “wandering the beach late at night, building fires and sleeping out in all weather. They say he threw himself off the cliffs in despair. He would not have been the first in his family to do so.”
“I did not know.”
“There is much you do not know, miss.”
“Can you tell me more?”
She nodded. “When the captain’s body was found washed up on the rocks, the coast guard declared his death a drowning, another casualty of the storm. Dr. Mead did not disagree.”
“But you believe he should have?”
“If he had looked further, if he had not already made up his mind that the captain had merely followed in his family’s footsteps, he would have found other reasons for the captain’s death.”
“And what would they be, Miss Moreland?”
“I cannot say. Only that she had a hand in it.”
“But surely Dr. Mead would have—”
“Dr. Mead is a good man, but this house exacts a price from all who’ve had dealings with it, miss. The doctor is no exception. The Mead family is as deeply entangled in its history as the Barrowses.”
“In what way?”
“The Meads were the original owners of this Manor. It was named after the doctor’s great-grandmother Sylvia Bourne. Early on they lost it to the Barrows family over some misunderstanding. In the end, they lost not only the house, but supposedly the fabled fortune as well. It happened long ago, but I’m afraid the matter is still not laid to rest. He still cannot let it go.”
“I do not understand. There is no longer any fortune. Surely Dr. Mead must realize that?”
“I do not know what he realizes, or what he covets. I know only that he will have no peace now until he finds whatever it is he seeks. Though he has stayed away these many years, the Manor has once again cast a shadow over him, and under its influence he cannot be trusted to think clearly.” She steadied herself against the wind. “Please, miss. Promise me that you will not let him pass through the doors of Bourne Manor again,” she pleaded.
“But this is my home you speak of, Miss Moreland.”
“It is a dangerous place, miss. Leave it as soon as you are able. Do not wait for her return. If she could destroy her own husband, would she not do the same to you?”
“But—”
“I must go,” Miss Moreland said, looking nervously about her. “I trust you will not tell the doctor of our conversation.”
“No. Of course not.”
“I bid you good day, then, miss,” she said without meeting my eyes. And with that she was gone.
In the days that followed, I tried to make sense of Miss Moreland’s words. Though they did not come together in any coherent way, I found I could not dismiss them as simply another story. Neither could I ignore one disturbing phenomenon: while I slept, the door of my room locked and then, shortly before dawn, unlocked on its own. This happened each night, though I never saw the key turn in either direction. I only discovered it when I woke in the early hours, attempting to make my way to the washroom at the end of the hall. I also distinctly heard something that resembled footsteps on the lower landing and once saw a light cast briefly under my door. I had always assumed that it was Wysteria who was responsible for the locking of the doors, but perhaps I had been wrong. I began to suspect that the rumors were true and that something indeed lingered in the house, though if it was a human spirit, I never saw or heard it in the daylight. I found that each time I thought of abandoning the Manor, the noises would grow louder. The more afraid I became, the more convinced I was that I must remain inside its walls.
One night while I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, Miss Moreland’s strange tale filled my thoughts and led me to remember something Wysteria had once said about the Manor’s being closed up properly at night. “It is imperative, Miranda, that every room be locked before bed and the ring of keys securely fastened to my side upon retiring.” As the skeleton key could lock and unlock only the third-floor rooms, I was at a loss as to how to secure all the other doors. Since Wysteria had left the Manor, I had searched in vain for her keys. I knew there was a certain place she kept them after she retired at night, for as vigilant as she was, she would not have slept with them, and I also knew she had not taken them with her, as she had only worn a light coat over her dressing gown and Dr. Mead would have noticed.
There was one place that I had not looked, and that was Wysteria’s bedchamber. Even though I had spent much time there during her illness, I felt uneasy about entering it without her permission. Still, I had to find some peace, and so I made my way there as soon as it was light.
Nothing had changed since her departure. Bedsheets still lay rumpled and twisted, evidence of Wysteria’s tossing about in her feverish state. I inspected her nightstand and looked under the bed. Lastly, I opened her armoire and pulled aside the many black dresses. On the floor was a wooden box, the top of which was engraved with the initials W.B. It was unlocked and I opened it. Inside lay Wysteria’s keys. Relieved, I put them directly into my pocket and was about to close the box when I spied something at the bottom of it. Underneath a white handkerchief lay a series of small glass bottles turned on their sides. They were not unlike the ones that lined Wysteria’s nightstand, only these looked much older and were empty but for one, which distinctly had my name written upon it in Wysteria’s hand. I picked it up and examined it in the light. Below my name, there was a word scrawled upon the slender white label that I could not decipher but that looked very much like the writing on the few small bottles Dr. Mead had prescribed for Wysteria during her recent illness. I unscrewed the cap and sniffed, detecting only a slight fragrance of alcohol. Strange, I thought. Whatever could it be for? I replaced the cap and dropped the bottle in my pocket with the keys. I then examined each of the other bottles, but, as I had suspected, the labels all bore the same illegible scrawl. I explored the rest of the armoire. It was vast and deep, yet it held nothing but petticoats and old bed curtains, and so I closed it. I left Wysteria’s chamber, locking the door behind me.
With keys in hand, I promptly locked every door and every cupboard as Wysteria did upon retiring for bed, and that night there were no noises or footsteps or lights. I locked myself into the captain’s study in the evening after I lit the lantern, staying there until dawn, and the door remained secure until I myself opened it.
In my isolation, I had much time to ponder the nurse’s story, the things Dr. Mead had told me about the captain and Wysteria, and the small glass bottle with my name on it, but no matter how I tried, nothing fit together properly. Perhaps they had nothing to do with one another. Perhaps they were just too many people’s stories tangled about each other. How could I believe that Wysteria and the Manor would harm me? Wysteria had found me and taken me in. The Manor had sheltered me. Yet Miss Moreland’s words resounded in my ears: “Leave it as soon as you are able. . . . Do not wait for her return.” I had the distinct feeling that I would never unravel this mystery while confined within the walls of the Manor, and so I promised myself that I would wait until the first clear day. Surely in the open air it would all make sense to me.
Just as I was to abandon all hope of ever leaving, the fog lifted, broken by a strong gale that raged against the glass and brought heavy rain that traveled in long, unbroken sheets across the lake. For two days, I could open the door only long enough to collect firewood from the box in the entranceway, but I preferred the rain to the fog, for now I had once again a view of the mountains.
By early June, I was sleeping through the night again, all the doors securely locked and the house quiet. I had found it difficult in the days previous to keep my concentration with the nets and had accomplished little. As well, I had grown short-tempered with the Hounds, and they had left my peevish company to take their chances in the fog. The day the weather finally cleared, the shaggy beasts came back humble and hungry, and with them they brought Farley.