My relief was replaced by questions—why was Charles’ sister already here if I’d only just been called for? And why would she hum a song like that to the baby?
Before I could ask any questions at all, Charles set down my case in front of a door and nodded towards it. “Your room during your stay.”
I thanked him, but then Charles added, “Catherine’s room is at the end of the hall if you wish to see her first.”
I’d wanted nothing more than to see my sister for weeks. I’d been desperate to get to her and learn the source of her troubles, but now my stomach dropped at the prospect. It all felt so real and personal. More than that, the idea of seeing Catherine in any kind of distress was unfamiliar to me. She’d always been strong and capable and tough.
I didn’t want to view my older sister in another way.
I debated my answer for only a second before I bent down, grabbed my case, and turned the handle of my door. “I want to freshen up before seeing her. I’m dusty from travel.”
Charles didn’t say anything, but he looked disappointed as he bowed his head and turned for the stairs. I shut my door quickly and pressed my back against it, taking deep breaths.
I didn’t believe in ghosts in the slightest, but being in this house gave me doubts. Five minutes inside, and I’d been reduced to a shivering coward.
What could be the explanation for that?
3
The guest room had a small fireplace and embers glowed in the center, signifying a once burning fire. The first thing I did was lay a couple small logs into the hearth and poke them around until the embers could be coaxed back into life. Warm flames licked at the dry wood as I walked a small circle around the room, admiring the space.
Or rather, inspecting it.
The plaster around the window was cracked, and I could feel a distinct breeze coming through the window and rattling the glass panes. Thankfully, after several weeks of sleeping on a ship with very thin walls, I didn’t think I’d have much trouble falling asleep.
Thick quilts were laid over the bed and the pillows were fluffed, but dust had collected in the corners of the room and the headboard and bedside table were both scratched and dented from years of use. The items looked too old to have been bought new by Charles and Catherine after their wedding. Had they been purchased with the house?
Regardless, they were in need of repair, and I wondered who was in charge of such things. Certainly not Charles. Though, I couldn’t truly discount it as an option.
I changed out of my walking skirt and jacket, and put on a pink cotton dress and long tan sweater, instead. Even if my surroundings were dreary and gray, I wanted to look cheerful. That was why I’d been called here, after all. To cheer Catherine up to the best of my abilities. A pop of color seemed like a good place to start.
Just after I’d buckled my shoes, Charles knocked at the door. I took a steadying breath, pressed a smile on, and met him in the hallway.
“I don’t mean to rush you. If you’d like to rest before we go in, then I’m sure Catherine would under—”
“No, I’m ready,” I said cheerfully. “I was just coming to look for you.”
That wasn’t true at all. If left undisturbed, I could have stayed in the room for an hour or more. Out of all the things I’d faced, having to be an emotional encouragement to my sister frightened me the most.
Charles walked towards Catherine’s door, but hesitated just outside, his hand hovering over the knob. Then, as if mustering his confidence, he nodded once and then pushed the door open.
I followed him in and then stopped in the doorway, mouth open.
The room was dark—the curtains pulled closed and the lights all low—but I could make out the shape of a woman in bed. Blankets were pulled up to her neck, her arms mummified to her sides. The only reason I could tell it was Catherine was because of the blonde curls that spilled across the blanket, longer than I’d seen them since I was a little girl.
“Mrs. Cresswell is resting.”
Another figure I hadn’t seen rose from a chair in the corner and stalked towards us, and I jumped back in surprise. Charles, too, I noticed, jumped.
“I’m sure she’ll want to wake long enough to see her sister,” Charles said.
The woman—petite with long gray hair twisted into a bun and a somber black dress—shook her head and grabbed the door, pushing it half-closed on us. Charles took a step back to avoid being hit and knocked me into the hallway.
“I’ll find you when she wakes.”
Charles opened his mouth to argue, but the woman closed the door on us both, and I heard it lock from the other side.
I would have been more surprised by the strange woman forcing Charles from a room in his own home—a room his wife was sleeping in—if I hadn’t been so shocked by the sight of Catherine in the bed.
It was hard to tell beneath the covers whether she looked well or if she was thin, but even in sleep, I saw the dark circles beneath her eyes. I saw the pale color of her lips and the thin quality to her skin.
She looked ill.
“You said she was physically healthy,” I said, staring at the door like I could see through it.
Charles let out a breath and turned for the stairs. I followed him several seconds later, not knowing what else to do.
“She is,” he said. “It is her mind that causes her trouble. Sleeping helps her.”
Of course, sleeping helped. Because she was unconscious while sleeping. No one could talk about hallucinations and seeing ghosts if they weren’t awake to see them.
“How often
