She clutched her ancient, woolen cardigan tighter, feeling a chill. Once—just once—she wished for warmth, for light.
Angelica didn’t resent Freddie or Mother for leaving her, and would not hate Captain Neill when the time came for him to go, too. Oh, he might imagine himself infatuated with her, and she might even believe him for a time—she wanted so badly for it to be true—but men like Captain Neill did not chain themselves to girls like her. And, she supposed, any sweet, innocent girl should know better than set her heart on such a wreck of a man. Their parting might pain her, but it was for the best.
Angelica shivered as she sat, listening to the incessant ticking of the clock. Counting down every loathsome second, helpless to shut it out of her mind. But, as she sat there, wishing her ears would fail her too, another sound began to creep through.
Footsteps.
They were not Captain Neill’s. And, yet…who else’s could the be?
He heard them, as well. “My God! You can’t tell me there’s not someone else here!” Captain Neill leapt to his feet, and stormed across the room. He stopped by the open doorway, to—she presumed—peer out into the hallway beyond.
Angelica followed the sound of his voice. She turned in his direction. “There is no one.”
“Miss Grey! Who is upstairs?”
This time, Angelica stood, too, though the did not go to him. “This is madness. The storm is playing tricks on our ears. It’s…oh, I don’t know…tree limbs scratching the walls. Or…or, rain beating down through the attics. Whatever it is, it isn’t another person marching around upstairs.”
“You said ‘our ears’. Our ears! This is no product of my morphine-addled mind. You hear it, too, and your mind—clear as a bell—is telling you it can be nothing but another person marching around upstairs.”
“No. My mind is telling me that, before you arrived, I had nothing to fear inside my own home. The threat was always outside. The world. The war. The asylum. But now, now I’m terrified of something in here!” She grabbed at the back of the chair for support. The sound was there, pounding like a hammer overhead. She could not shut it out any more than she could convince herself it was nothing but the rain. “What evil have you brought into my home?”
He crossed the carpets to stand before her. “I never meant to put you in danger. Is there somewhere you can hide?”
“Hide from what? From whom?” She reached for him, finding his hand without faltering. “Where are you going?”
“Nowhere—yet. But if my misery is somehow manifesting itself into…whatever is up there…then I don’t want you around me. Find somewhere to wait out the night, and then come find me in the morning.”
Angelica held firmly to his trembling hand. “I won’t! If I leave this room, you are coming with me. We can go down to the kitchens. It’s safe there. It’s where I sleep. We can bar the door.”
“You’d risk locking yourself in with me?”
She pulled him toward the panel in the wall. “Come.”
Never stumbling, Angelica led Captain Neil across the room. They weaved between the heavy, Victorian clutter to the opening, and then proceeded down the corridor. He ducked the cobwebs and low-hanging pipes that ran along the servants’ area. For the first time, she realized how tall he must be. Taller than she was, certainly, for she never had to duck.
“This way,” she said, counting the paces of the passage until she reached the kitchen stairs. She guided him down. Angelica didn’t need to use the handrail, but she slowed her steps for his sake. He was sick, and weakened. Suffering from vile hallucinations.
How easy it would be to stumble with the Devil on one’s back.
At last, they reached the kitchens. She shut the door behind them, and barred it with a heavy timber. Their last line of defense was sturdy, but not impregnable. If whatever was upstairs wanted them badly enough to kick the door in, it could bloody well have them.
Angelica went to the basin and splashed water on her face. Funny how she’d originally wanted only to keep Captain Neill out, but had now led him right into her own private space. What in God’s name was she thinking, bringing him here?
“We should be safe until morning,” she said, quietly.
He seemed not to have heard her. Instead, Captain Neill walked the room, his footfalls echoing off the tiled walls. It was a little disconcerting, because she couldn’t tell exactly where he was in the space. He could be near the worktable, or perhaps by the range. He could be in the dumbwaiter, for all she knew.
He inspected her quarters. “So this is your little nest? It’s surprisingly warm down here.”
“The stove is very efficient.”
“Oh, rather.” He gave the blackened, cast iron beast a fond pat. “You keep it running yourself?”