CHAPTER ONE
Sydony watched dark clouds skitter across the sky with a wary eye, knowing that the approaching storm made for an ominous arrival at their new home. The heavens seemed bigger out here, the elements of nature more powerful, or perhaps it was just the strangeness of the countryside that gripped her as she gazed out the carriage window.
Her brother Kit would say she read too many Gothic novels, yet there was no denying that their destination was a far cry from the neat brick house they had called home for so long.
The sad truth was that she and Kit were orphans—not the wretched sort forced into the workhouses, but orphans nonetheless. Their mother had passed away when they were still young children, and she was remembered fondly, if not well. But their father had died less than a year ago, and the wound was still fresh.
An especially deep rut in the road flung Sydony against her brother, and she was grateful for Kit’s solid presence. They had come to lean on each other more since the accident, by both choice and necessity. Their father had been a scholar—a man of books, not business. And since his death, they had been forced to tighten their purses.
Although only two years Sydony’s senior, at nineteen Kit had kept a clear head. He had never succumbed to the lure of gambling or drinking to excess that made so many of his peers fools and paupers or worse. He might sometimes tease Sydony that she was their only real asset, a beauty who would fare well on the marriage mart, but they had neither the heart nor the funds for a Season in London.
So they had remained together, continuing to lease the house where they had lived with their father. But not long after his death, the owner pressed them for more money. Apparently, he was leery of two young people running a household, and, truth to tell, their various stipends and resources were stretched thin. But where were they to go?
It was then, when things looked rather dismal, that their sagging fortunes finally took a turn for the better. The news that they had inherited property from a distant relative seemed like a windfall. They sold off their furniture, packed up their belongings, and set out immediately for their new home. But now, as Sydony watched leaves chasing across the bleak landscape, denuded oaks stark against the sky, she wondered whether their circumstances had sunk even lower.
She caught sight of a sprawling stone structure rising in the distance just as the heavens burst. The storm was upon them, and so, now, was their future. Sydony drew a deep breath as she clung to her seat. The rough road that had seemed nearly impassable before was not improved by the downpour.
“That must be Oakfield! Do you see it?” Kit said, leaning forward and pointing eagerly.
“Yes,” Sydony murmured, squinting into the sheets of rain. “Though this hardly seems a promising welcome.”
Ever the optimist, Kit ignored her dismay. “Well, at least we’ve found the place before the road washes away.”
“That’s a lovely thought,” Sydony said. Their lifelong neighbor Lady Hawthorne had warned them that the site sounded remote, but Sydony had not thought it beyond the reach of modern highways.
Kit laughed, and Sydony set aside her misgivings as the carriage halted in a thunder of splashing hooves. Without waiting for the coachman, Kit pushed at the door, but the wind and rain were so fierce that he had to use some force to thrust it open.
Heedless of the elements, he leapt down and turned toward her, his hand extended. But when Sydony stuck her head out, she faltered, blinking against the wetness and gaping at the scene before her.
The world outside was thick with the unnatural twilight of the storm, blinding rain making it hard to see beyond the feeble glow of the carriage lantern. But there was no mistaking the hulking darkness of a building that rose behind the figure of her brother, eerily forbidding, and yet somehow familiar, as if Sydony had seen it in dreams.
“Syd!” Kit yelled, and she turned her attention back to her brother. By the time her slippers touched the graveled drive, her cloak was whipping around her and the hood had been thrown back from her face. Ducking, she held on to Kit’s hand as they dashed toward an arched entrance.
“It looks really old, from the Middle Ages perhaps,” Kit shouted, pointing upward.
The Dark Ages, Sydony thought, lifting her face to see a vague outline of battlements. She paused, once again, to stare at the forbidding façade of old stone laced with even blacker shadows. Either it was crumbling to pieces or it was covered in some sort of growth that made for an altogether unpleasant aspect.
“Hurry, before we’re both soaked,” Kit urged, dragging Sydony inside.
It was too late for that. Sydony’s gown was already plastered to her legs, the cold and wet seeping into her bones. For once, she found it difficult to share her brother’s enthusiasm. Being male and of an age that sought excitement and new experiences, he viewed the move as a big adventure, while Sydony longed for the familiar and a routine that might have chafed before, but now would be appreciated.
As they stood under the archway, Kit banged upon the door, but there was no answer to their summons. When their coachman Henry deposited a trunk upon the doorstep, Kit waved him away. “See if you can find a stable around the back,” he shouted over the storm.
Henry nodded and hurried back to the coach, obviously eager to locate a dry berth, while the Marchants were left standing before the massive doors, rattling the knocker.
“Maybe they can’t hear us,” Kit said.
The thought was no comfort to Sydony, who shivered under the onslaught of rain and glanced around her dismal surroundings. “The place looks deserted,” she said.
Indeed, it did, for no lights glowed warmly at the mullioned windows. The walkway was overgrown, as was the grass and shrubbery. The solicitor had written to warn Kit that the house had not been kept up over the past few years and that additional staff would be needed. Now, as Sydony stood in the pouring rain, she pondered the exact meaning of “additional.”
Finally, Kit tried the door, which swung open after a brief struggle. Inside, all was dark and quiet, with little light filtering in from outside.
“Hello?” Kit called out. His voice echoed in the old-fashioned hall with its stone flags. Although open, the space smelled musty, and Sydony was struck by a vision of their cozy cottage with its wood floors, brightly painted walls, and cheerful, airy windows. Despite her father’s dusty piles of books, it had always been filled with the scents of beeswax and flowers, fresh or dried.
“Well, even if there’s no one to greet us, here we are at our own place, Syd. What do you think of our good fortune?” Kit said, spreading his arms to encompass the dreary area.
“Astounding,” she said, tongue firmly in cheek.
As she had anticipated, Kit chuckled at her tone before hurrying to drag in the trunks.
Unfastening her cloak, Sydony went in search of the kitchen, but she found no comfort there. Although no servants were about, the place looked as if they had but recently left in the midst of their labors. Several bowls and utensils cluttered the work table, yet when Sydony reached out to touch them, her gloved finger came back marked with dust.
It was almost as though the inhabitants had exited suddenly, but when? Sydony shook her head. If so, they had left no food about to spoil or draw vermin, Sydony noted with a quick glance into the shadowy corners.
Even the kitchen was gloomy, she thought. And as she glanced about Sydony saw that a window high in one wall had been boarded over. No wonder it was dim.
Thankfully, a window in the other wall remained intact. Stepping toward it, Sydony wiped it with a gloved hand and leaned forward to peek out. At first she could see only blackness, but then a face swam behind the pane. She let out an involuntary shriek before she recognized their own coachman.
Her heart pounding, Sydony drew a deep breath and straightened as she moved to open the nearby door. Although hardly missish, it seemed she was not immune to the odd mood conjured by the empty residence.
“Sorry, miss,” Henry said, stepping inside. He slipped off his hat and shook the rain from his shoulders. “Didn’t mean to give you a fright.”
“Certainly not,” Sydony said, knowing how Kit would roar with laughter. She had thought a childhood of boy’s pranks had inured her to everything, but the new surroundings were enough to unnerve anyone.
As if on cue, Kit appeared in the doorway, a sturdy implement in hand that he must have snatched up from a fireplace. “Are you all right?” he asked. “I thought I heard something.”
“I’m afraid I gave Miss Marchant a turn,” Henry said.
“It was nothing,” Sydony muttered, and, for once, Kit did not pursue it. They had more important things to do.
“I didn’t see any of the crates we shipped ahead,” Kit said. “Did you see anything in the stables?”
Henry shook his head. “My boy Clarence is settling in the horses, but I didn’t see hide nor hair of anyone. The place looks like it hasn’t been used in many a year.”
“Well, we shall just have to set up our own stables,” Kit said.
“I hope you’ll be able to find some decent stable staff way out here,” Henry said, looking down at the hat in his hand.
“You’re welcome to stay on, of course. You and Clarence both,” Kit said, though Sydony knew they had discussed the possibility before.
“Thank you, sir, but it just isn’t my home here. I’ll miss the team and all, though.”
“Of course, we shall take care of them, personally, until we can hire someone trustworthy,” Kit assured him. “And you must let us know how you get on at the Fieldings’.”
“I will, sir.”
Before things turned maudlin, Sydony cleared her throat. “Well, since there seem to be no servants about, I’ll see what I can muster up for our dinner. You and Clarence come on back to the kitchen once the horses are bedded down.”
“Shall we look for a room for you?” Kit asked.
“No, sir. We’ve some rooms in the stables.”
“Very well. Thank you, Henry,” Kit said. He looked like he wanted to say more, but it had all been said. Sadly, their groom and stable boy, their cook, and their maids had elected not to move to parts unknown.
And right now, Sydony could not blame them. Lest she be tempted to take the mail coach back with Henry and Clarence, she set to work. Throwing her cloak over a chair, she stripped off her gloves and went searching for edibles, while Kit started a fire in the open hearth.
Before long there was a nice blaze going, which put forth both warmth and cheer, though the room itself was not exactly homely. Sydony told herself that a good scrubbing and some bright paint would help, though there was no altering the fact that the house was old, with its own style and quirks. A more pessimistic sort might deem it an ancient relic right out of the most popular novels, but Sydony refused to consider that.
For Kit’s sake, if not her own, she needed to keep such thoughts at bay. Besides, everything would look better in the morning, she told herself as she shook out a cloth and laid it upon a corner of the work table. They would eat here, for, despite her good intentions, she hadn’t the heart to tackle any other room at the moment.
Kit found some lanterns that added more light, which improved the atmosphere, and Sydony was grateful. Not knowing what lay ahead earlier today, she had asked for a packed basket when they stopped for luncheon, so there was cold chicken, salted ham, wedges of cheese, a fat loaf of bread, and apples for their supper. Thankfully, at some point water had been piped into the house, and Kit produced a bottle of wine that was most welcome.
But when all four of them were seated, it was a sad little group, everyone well aware of their coming parting on the morrow. Henry made obvious his disapproval of the whole situation, muttering about a godforsaken place without a soul to even greet them properly.
“Now, Henry, you are talking about my country estate,” Kit said, while slicing himself more cheese. “Don’t you think I’m suited to be a gentleman farmer?”
“More suited to be that than a gentleman scholar,” Sydony said, and they all laughed. But even Sydony’s wit and Kit’s good humor could not enliven what seemed like a gallows bird’s last meal.
We hope you are enjoying the book so far. To continue reading...
Copyright © 2024 All Rights Reserved
Please log in to recommend or discuss...
