“Now it is your turn. Tell me, why did you not come downstairs this evening? Why did you not join us?”
I took a deep breath. “Your mother did not want me downstairs.
Sylvia told me I should stay in my room, so that I would not distract you from Miss St. Claire. Of course, you know how I feel about such things . . . about staying in my room.” My voice shook at the end, despite my attempts to keep it steady.
Henry moved his head, just enough for the moonlight to show me the anger in his eyes.
I rubbed my nose and looked away. “I am not crying about it. Indeed, I appreciate the solitude, and as I said, I have been exploring . . .”
“Kate.” His voice was gentle and tugged at the fragile strings that were holding my emotions together.
I rubbed my nose harder and turned away from him. My foot struck something hard, and bending down, I found my candle lying at my feet.
I cleared my throat. “I should leave you to your guests,” I murmured as I 66
moved away from him. I crossed the hall and opened the door to my room, its glow of firelight and candlelight spilling into the dark corridor. I turned to thank Henry for checking on me and found him standing very close.
“Listen,” he said, his voice intent and hushed. “You are my guest here, just as certainly as Miss St. Claire or any of the other visitors who will be arriving. You are my guest, Katherine Worthington. Blackmoore will be mine, not my mother’s. In fact, my mother has no power here.”
I loved the sound of those words: my mother has no power here. But Henry was wrong. His mother had power here in spades.
“Now. You may come downstairs whenever you wish,” Henry said.
“You may look for secret passageways as much as your heart desires.” He lifted a hand and gently brushed his thumb over my cheek, wiping off a stray tear that had slipped past without my notice. I caught my breath in surprise. “But I would hate for you to spend any part of your visit here sitting in your room and crying because of something my mother has said or done. Just . . . ignore her. As much as possible.”
I smiled a little. “Thank you. But to be fair, I was not sitting in my room and crying. I was exploring the west wing and decidedly not crying.”
His eyes lit up with gentle affection. “Of course you were. I would never accuse you of anything else.”
My heart reached out for him, and I had to pull it back under my control with a swift yank. I looked down, trying to hide my feelings. I was very good at hiding my gentler feelings from Henry, on a normal basis.
But this night, in this darkened house on the edge of the world, I felt miles away from normal.
“So, Miss Kate, will you come downstairs this evening? Join us for a game of whist?”
I shook my head. “No. All of this exploring and not crying has worn me out.”
“Not to mention the past two days of humming.”
“Exactly!” I chuckled. “I swear you knew about the humming all along. Didn’t you?”
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He grinned. “I refuse to answer that question.” He looked into the room behind me. “You will be alone in the west wing. Are you sure you want to stay here? I could find another room for you . . .”
“No. I love this room.” And, truly, I did. I loved the dark wood paneling and the velvet drapes and the colors of the moors. In fact, in this room I was beginning to think differently of the moors. I could already see how they might grow on me. “I will be fine here. Don’t worry about me.”
He shook his head. “I think I will always worry about you,” he murmured. He took a breath and looked at me as if he meant to say something more. But instead he abruptly turned to leave. I watched him cross the dark hall and pick up his candle where he had left it by the window.
“Henry.”
He looked back but didn’t come closer.
“I just wanted to thank you for keeping your promise. Thank you for bringing me here.”
He smiled, but he continued to back away as he said, “I will always keep my promises to you.” Then he turned and left as fast as his long legs could carry him, until he almost looked as if he was running. The flame of his candle flickered, and then he was gone.
I closed the door to my bedchamber, changed into my nightclothes, and slipped into bed, bringing the covers up to my chin, snuggling down against the chill of the room. A low moaning sound crept through the stones, and the drapes moved, just a little—a wave, a wrinkle of velvet. I wondered if the wind blew off the moors or the sea. Which wind made the moaning sounds and which made the howls? When something creaked outside the door, I wondered if someone was there, or if it was only the old house being moved by the fierce wind.
The fire threw shadows against the walls, and the drapes continued to move, idly, as if a small hand were twitching them. I closed my eyes tight while the wind moaned and the old house creaked around me. And finally, after a long time, I slipped into sleep.
68
Chapter 9
The wind woke me with its howls and moans throughout the night.
I cracked my eyes open to a blackened room, then closed them again and slipped into strange dreams of howling birds and dark corridors and a boy who ran away from me and would not turn back no matter how I called for him. When I finally pulled myself from my dark dreams, it was to the sound of knocking on my bedroom door. I rolled over, blinking in confu-sion at my surroundings. The knock came again.
“Miss Worthington?” a voice called through the door.
“Yes?” I answered groggily, trying to shake off the remnant shadows of my dreams.
The door cracked open, and a young face framed by a maid’s white cap appeared. “I am your maid. May I come in?”
“Oh.” I sat up and pushed back my dark hair. “Yes, please do.”
She entered the room and dropped a curtsy. Her cheeks were rosy and covered with freckles. Her hands fidgeted with her white apron.
I smiled to try to ease her obvious nervousness. “What is your name?”
“Alice, miss.” She dropped another curtsy.
“And do you come from Robin Hood’s Bay, Alice?” I asked, remem-bering Mrs. Delafield’s instructions to Dawson the night before.
“Yes, miss.”
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“Well, I am very happy to have you.”
She smiled bashfully and, gesturing to my trunk, asked if she should finish unpacking my things for me. I nodded, but when she moved to open the drapes first, I groaned with disappointment to discover how late I had slept. Moving to the window, I saw that the sun had risen during my dreams, and the moors were already brightly lit but shrouded by fog.
How could I have slept past dawn on my first morning here? I had gone to bed with every intention of being outside before sunrise in order to hear the birds.
I shivered standing near the window with nothing but the cold floor beneath my feet. Tomorrow morning I would not oversleep. I would not let the nightly hauntings of this place steal my morning birds from me.
With Alice’s help I dressed and then made my way downstairs for breakfast, finding only Sylvia and Miss St. Claire in the dining room.
I paused in the doorway, trying to collect my composure and my good intentions. I had been tired last night after my days of travel. That was the only reason I thought Miss St. Claire a tad irritating and a bit presumptuous. Perhaps she was perfectly acceptable as a human being. Perhaps she would make Henry a good wife.
“Good morning, Miss Worthington,” Miss St. Claire called as I made my way to the sideboard, where breakfast was laid out for the guests to choose from. “I hope you slept well.”