The Curse of Wetherley House by Cross Amy

Author:Cross, Amy [Cross, Amy]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Dark Season Books
Published: 2017-02-24T16:00:00+00:00

***

At least the cacophony ends when night comes. Alone in my bed, staring up at the moonlit ceiling, I tell myself that I must enjoy these hours of calm. I dare not waste the peace by sleeping. Instead, I force all bad notions from my head and focus on the thought that I have got what I wanted, and that everything will be alright in the end.

Just a few hours later, however, the world intrudes yet again.

Eve

“Morning, Mrs. Carmichael.”

Ignoring the trader, I hurry across the street, storming toward the building that houses the infernal Mr. Trin and his glass-making business. I thought I had made him understand the other day that I do not wish to be disturbed, yet early this morning I received another message from him, telling me that I simply must come down here this morning. Evidently there is a matter of life and death for us to discuss, although I honestly find it difficult to believe that it could not wait.

Unless the man has developed a method for turning manure into gold, I shall consider this trip to be a waste of my valuable time.

Rounding the corner, I slow as I see that all bedlam has broken out in the vicinity of the factory. Scores of rough-looking workers are using joists and ropes to lift a series of large glass panes onto the back of a carriage, and the scene has attracted gawping spectators from nearby buildings. Some children are playing nearby, letting their laughter ring out across the town square as if they have no self-control whatsoever. I have half a mind to turn right around and march right back to Wetherley House, although after a moment I spot someone waving to me and I feel a shudder run through my chest as soon as I see the grinning face of Mr. Trin.

“I'm so glad you could come down,” he beams as I reach him. “I know you said you didn't want to be disturbed again by business matters, but I really thought you should witness the proudest moment in our company's history.”

“Are you a cretin?” I spit.

He turns to me, and now his smile seems a little frozen and uncertain.

“Dear Lord, man,” I continue, struggling to keep from screeching at him, “did my words yesterday pass into one of your ears and straight out from the other? Do you think that I was speaking simply so that I could listen to the sound of my own voice?”

“But -”

“Glass!” I hiss, looking toward the latest large pane that is being lowered onto the pile. Several meters wide and several long, the pane is certainly large, and I can't help noticing that it's dangling rather precariously from the ropes that are being used to maneuver it toward the carriage. “You brought me down here so that I could look at glass? Again? Glass is something that one looks through, Mr. Trin. Not at!”

“I thought -”

“Did you?” I ask, turning back to him. “Did you really think, or did you simply let your excitement get the better of you? I am sorely tempted to believe, Mr.

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