Crimson Peak by Holder Nancy

Author:Holder, Nancy [Holder, Nancy]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Horror, Media Tie-In, Fiction
ISBN: 9781783296293
Publisher: Titan
Published: 2015-10-20T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

MORNING IN CUMBERLAND was so different from Buffalo. The snowy mud was rutted from wagon wheels and the residences were nothing more than hovels. Thatched roofs were not uncommon, and the air between the snowflakes was a murky brown and gray. A few brick buildings stood staunchly upright but their walls were dotted with moss and smeared with smoke. There was a pub called the Red Hand; the windows were steamed up and as their wagon bumped past the door, Edith inhaled the greasy odor of boiled meat and cabbage.

“It’s much more pleasant in the spring,” Thomas said; then his brow furrowed and he returned his attention to some schematic drawings in a notebook across his lap. He hadn’t spoken much on the trip, and she had been unable to engage him in a serious discussion of the horror of his mother’s butchered corpse ordering her to leave Allerdale Hall. Like Lucille, he had patronizingly suggested that it was nothing more than a bad dream. Then he told her some ridiculous theory held by some that spoiled rye bread could bring on hallucinations. They had been eating rye bread of late, had they not? She had used some to make his sandwiches.

“Yes, and you have not had any hallucinations,” she’d countered.

“Well, perhaps I’m used to it,” he said. Then he’d given her a look. “Have you been working on your novel?”

He knew she had. He’d read bits of it aloud mere days ago and found it quite wonderful. So now he was trotting out the “it’s just your vivid imagination” rationalization, was that it? That perhaps she had not seen a grotesque corpse shrieking her name. Rye bread, nerves, that huge, decaying house…

That woman in the elevator. He and Lucille were so entirely unconcerned. Perhaps they’ve both seen things they could not explain and don’t want to frighten me with the truth. But if they can see them, and know now that I can too, wouldn’t it be more reasonable for them to admit as much to me?

But Thomas would discuss it no longer and she finally gave up. None so deaf as those that will not hear; none so blind as those that will not see, she told herself. On the subject of hauntings in their stately home, Thomas could not be persuaded to entertain any other idea than that she had frightened herself.

Then I will prove it to him, she vowed.

The snow was falling thicker and faster, and the postal depot bustled with horse-drawn farm wagons loading and unloading parcels and crates in advance of the impending storm. Finlay attended Thomas as he pointed Edith toward the back of the depot, where a small postal office stood. She had a reply to Ferguson’s most recent update to send.

As she counted out some coins to pay for the stamps, the postal clerk noted her name and address.

“You’re Lady Sharpe, then?” he said. “Forgive me, madam, but there’s a few letters for you. One came in just this morning.”

He disappeared for a moment, then returned with some envelopes.

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