Dark Season: The Complete Box Set (69 page)

Book
Four

Tenderling

Prologue

January 17th 1885.

Last night I dreamed of them again. And the house.

Ever since my marriage to Edward, I have experienced nightmares that threaten to tear my mind apart. Tortured dreams of places I have never been, people I have never met, and things I could never even imagine. Sometimes they are clear and lucid, other times they are vague and abstract. But two things remain constant: all the dreams feature the same huge house, and all the dreams involve the same girl. Her face filled with concern, her eyes alive with fear.

Her name is Sophie.

In most of the dreams, she is scared. When I encounter her, she is invariably running and hiding from something. We are in a large Edwardian country house, and every dream starts with me wandering alone before Sophie arrives. Sometimes she begs me for help; other times she warns me to leave in case
he
finds me. She wears strange, unfamiliar clothes and her voice is somewhat harsher than one would expect of a young woman. I can only assume that she is from common stock. Given the choice, I would disassociate myself from her at once, but I have no such choice, and she returns to my dreams and nightmares every night. It is almost as if she wants something from me, but what can I possibly do to help someone who exists only in my own mind?

She is running from a man named Patrick. Every night, the dreams are the same. She runs as he storms through the house. Determined to catch her, he breaks down doors, smashes windows and even destroys walls as he forces his way toward her. He is a strong man, tall and with dark eyes. He never speaks, and he never quite seems to catch Sophie. The dreams always end with her still running, even if Patrick is only inches from her. And my role is simply to watch, and to try to help, as the flames continue to burn and the spiders crawl across the ceiling. So many spiders...

Last night, I had a dream in which the house was burning. Sophie had fled into one of the large dining rooms and had pushed furniture against the door as a form of barricade. She ran over to the window and, as the flames became more intense all around us, she tried to open the latch before resorting to kicking the glass out.

"We have to get out of here," she said, turning to me.

"Who is he?" I asked, begging her to tell me the truth. "Who are you, and why do you come to me every night?"

She stared at me. "You know who we are," she said, and at that moment the door was smashed open and Patrick made his way into the room. "Run!" Sophie shouted, and she leapt out of the window into the darkness outside.

"What do you want from her?" I asked, turning to Patrick, but he ignored me and followed Sophie out through the window, leaving me standing there in the burning room. There was a loud creaking sound; I looked up and saw the ceiling collapsing straight on top of me, bringing down thousands of spiders. I turned to run and -

***

I wake up, startled but immediately thankful that it was all a dream. I am in my bed, at my father's house, but there is no sign of Edward. I sit up and look around the room. Why am I cursed to have these dreams night after night, about people and places that I have never seen? Everyone has dreams, of course, and nightmares; but it feels as if lately, mine have become very specific. It's as if these two people - Patrick and Sophie - have stepped into my mind and are fighting their battle in my head. But who are they? And why me?

"Good morning, Madame," says Margaret as she enters the room. "I trust you slept well."

I get out of bed as Margaret gets my clothes ready. "No," I say, feeling a little absent-minded. "I had terrible dreams again."

"I do hope those stop soon, Madame," says Margaret as she helps me dress. "Nightmares can be awfully vivid."

"They can," I say as my dress is fastened. "Or maybe the nightmares are real, and this life is the dream."

Margaret doesn't reply. Such ideas are clearly above her. She's a good servant, but not a particularly intelligent woman and I wouldn't expect her to understand my torment beyond the issuance of a few platitudes and niceties. I wish I had someone to talk to properly, but there is no-one. Since my dear mother died last summer, I have been without a true companion.

After breakfast, Edward and I set off on the last leg of our journey. We are traveling to his family's ancestral house, which Edward hopes to one day turn into our home. There is the unfortunate matter of his uncle Dunstable, who lives in the house and who must die before it can become ours, but Edward wants me to see the place and cast a womanly eye over the possibilities. As his wife, I will of course obey. Edward is a good man and a good husband, and my father - whose opinion I greatly value - loves him as if he were his own son. If only Edward could save me from the nightmares.

It takes us two hours to make the last leg of our journey. Our carriage winds its way along small country roads, and I'm overcome with the feeling that this house must be out in the middle of nowhere and, consequently, a little difficult for anyone to visit. When throwing parties, we will have to consider the needs of those who would wish to join us, and we will perhaps have to accommodate them a little more keenly.

"There it is," says Edward, looking out the window. "Gabriel Hall, my family home."

I follow his gaze and see the most wonderfully large mansion. It is tall and wide, with huge windows and the most beautiful green gardens. My heart instantly falls for the place, seeing the potential to turn this into a true home and also a social marvel. But as the carriage comes to a halt outside, and as Edward helps me down and I look up at the house, I am slowly filled with the most immovable sense of dread.

"Evangeline," Edward says, clearly sensing my concern. "Is something the matter?"

I stare straight ahead. This is the house from my nightmares. The exact house, down to every detail. It exists, and it has found me. And if it is real, then what other horrors might be waiting inside?

Chapter One

As Edward directs the footmen in unpacking our belongings, I find myself left alone to explore Gabriel Hall. I move cautiously from room to room. The house has such a strong presence, I feel as if it is watching me. Although Edward's uncle Dunstable lives here, the place seems dusty and undisturbed, as if no-one has been here for some time. Yet there are signs of life, as if the occupants did not think to properly pack up before they departed.

In many ways, it feels wrong to be here. How can a house that has existed for months in my dreams, suddenly become a reality in the English countryside? It is as if someone reached into my mind, pulled out the house and set it here. Yet Gabriel Hall has been around for many years, and was designed long before I was born. So how is it that I recognize every room? How is it that I have such vivid memories of being here, albeit in my dreams? And if the house is real, then might not the other elements of my dream also be real? Are Sophie and Patrick alive? The thought of meeting them in the flesh makes my blood run cold.

Stepping into the dining room, I immediately recognize every detail. This is not merely
like
the house in my dreams; it is the exact same house, with the same paintings on the walls and the same carpets. This is the exact room in which, last night, I dreamed of Sophie smashing the window to get away from Patrick. Walking over to that particular window, I lean close and look at the glass. It is, of course, unbroken. Those things in my dream did not actually happen. And yet everything feels so vivid. Were my dreams a form of premonition? Or am I just losing my mind? My mother went mad in her later years; perhaps this mental instability is something that I have inherited?

"I have no idea where the old fool's got to," says Edward, entering the room. He seems frustrated, though not surprised. He has often told me that Dunstable is unpredictable and unreliable, so I presume this absence is just the latest act in a long line of poor etiquette.

Startled, I turn to Edward and for a moment - just a moment - I almost expect to see not my dear husband but, instead, Patrick's looming presence. "Did he not know that we were coming?" I ask, my heart racing.

"I sent word," Edward replies, walking over to join me at the window. "He didn't respond, but Dunstable never does. I was quite sure he'd be here, though. It's not as if the old fool has anywhere else to go. Nobody will spend any time with him; they've all tired of his buffoonery. But there's no sign of him, or of his servants."

"Did he have many servants?" I ask.

"With a house this large?" Edward replies. "Certainly. More than he could afford. But they all seem to have gone off somewhere."

I nod politely. "Edward, perhaps we should leave," I say. "If your uncle isn't here, perhaps it would be impolite to just take up residence in his home, however temporarily. Perhaps we can come back another time -"

"Nonsense," Edward says somewhat brusquely. "We're here now. Dunstable will show up sooner or later. And it's my family's home. We're perfectly entitled to be here. Dunstable is little more than a glorified lodger, given permission to live out his days here by my poor, loyal father." He pauses. "As I've said before, Evangeline, I will not mourn the day when Dunstable passes and the house is finally mine. Perhaps. if we are lucky, his absence is due to an unfortunate accident, and we shall not have to go through the unpleasant experience of actually spending time with him."

"You must not wish him dead," I say, a little shocked that Edward would say such a thing.

"You haven't met him," Edward replies, smiling. He takes a deep breath. "No, my dear, we shall stay here for a week, as planned. I want you to get to know the place. After all, it will be our home one day."

"Will it?" I ask, but I immediately realize that I should sound more enthused. "Yes," I say. "Of course it will." I smile, hoping that Edward believes it to be a genuine show of happiness.

He smiles. "Think, Evangeline Think of this place when it is ours. We have the money to make it grand again. And you have a strong feminine eye, so you can ensure that people will flock to marvel at Gabriel Hall for parties, rather than to gawp at the state into which it has fallen." He looks across the room, and there's an unmistakable hint of sadness in his eyes. "Dunstable has a lot to answer for. Look at the state in which he has left this place. Where is that blasted old fool?"

"It's hardly a ruin," I say. "It just needs a little work here and there."

"You know," Edward says, staring at me, "when we first arrived, you went quite pale. You looked like you'd seen a ghost. Is everything alright?"

"Of course", I say. "I was just overcome by the magnificence of the house."

He laughs. "Well, I'm not surprised. It's a marvelous place, or it will be when we get old Dunstable out. Can't you see us being happy here, Evangeline? Can't you see us raising children and throwing the most wonderful parties?"

I nod. "Of course," I say, looking nervously around the room. Just a few hours ago, in my dreams, this room was burning. Now it seems so peaceful and calm. I must try not to be too silly about the whole thing. Dreams are dreams; they are fanciful little things that have no impact upon the real world. "It's really the most exquisite place," I continue, hoping to persuade Edward that I have no concerns. "It requires a great deal of work, but I am no coward when it comes to such an endeavor. We will have to make changes, of course."

Edward smiles. "I will leave those matters in your capable hands," he says. "I bow to a woman's touch. For now, if you will excuse me, I must go and take another look for Dunstable. He must have left a note or some other indicator of his whereabouts. The man is the most frustrating fool I have ever met. I need to speak to him on numerous matters of urgency, yet he and his servants appear to have run off without a care in the world."

"Sir!" calls out a voice from the doorway. We turn to find that Edward's servant Lively has entered the room. "I have inspected the kitchen," he says, "and it is in quite a state of disrepair. It will take some time to have it up and running, but there are few supplies. For dinner, we shall have to make do with what we brought with us, and I shall send a boy to the nearest town immediately."

"How far is the nearest town?" I ask.

"Seventeen miles away," Lively says.

"Then we are indeed far away from civilization," I say, feeling extremely uneasy. As well as Edward and myself, we have three servants; hardly sufficient to keep a house like this running.

"Dunstable will be here soon enough," Edward says. "The crazy old man doesn't have the means to be away from Gabriel Hall for long, unless his servants have all abandoned him and he's passed out in some ditch with a bottle in his hand. In which case, we have only the inconvenience of a funeral to overcome." He smiles. "An inconvenience that I would gladly withstand if it meant getting rid of him."

He turns and walks out of the room, with Lively following, and I am left alone by the window. My own servant, Margaret, will be upstairs unpacking, and I do not wish to disturb her, yet I feel so incredibly alone here, and uneasy. There is something about Gabriel Hall that troubles me; indeed, it is as if the house has been haunting me since before I even set foot here. Nevertheless, I am not a silly or stupid woman, and I will not let such thoughts overcome me. The house is perfectly safe. It is just a house. It can't hurt anyone.

I turn to leave the room, but at that moment something catches my eye. On the floor, almost hidden behind a curtain, there is a small black object. I step over to take a look. It appears to be a small lump of coal, or a pebble. Leaning down and picking it up, I'm shocked to find that it's wet, but as I turn it over in my hand I realize that the moisture is not water but blood. I drop the pebble and stare at the red stain on my hand. What is this house, really? And what kind of things have been happening here?