The Bride of Ashbyrn House Page 10

  Chapter Sixteen

  Katinka - 1859

  The next morning, Charles is waiting in Father's study, which is where I anticipated finding him. With Mother and Pippa having gone for a walk, I feel that I shall not have a better chance to speak to my future husband about important matters. Still, as I reach the door and see him reading, I cannot help but note that he appears very calm and untroubled. And whereas I always thought I would like to see him working at Father's desk, I find instead that the sight sickens me.

  I could greatly esteem a man, just from seeing him sit at that desk, but he would have to be a strong and studious man. Not Charles.

  “Might I disturb you?” I ask, forcing a smile. “Mother said that you wanted to see me.”

  He glances at me, and now I see a hint of fear in his eyes.

  “Please sit,” he says cautiously. “I'm sorry, I...”

  Making my way across the room, I take a seat opposite him. Something seems to have changed in his demeanor, but I am quite sure he does not know that he and my sister were overheard last night. I have remained quiet and pleasant all morning, preferring to wait for my chance to take revenge. The wedding must go ahead, of course, and really not much has changed. I must simply ensure that Charles does not think me a pushover.

  “There's no easy way to say this,” he mutters finally. “I have been thinking, Katinka, and I have decided that the church simply must be torn down before the end of the year. I know you wish us to be married there, and that is acceptable, but thereafter we have no need of the place. It's not as if the church is used by anybody these days, so I shall have some men from Poole come next month and take it apart brick by brick. The money raised from this endeavor shall be reinvested in the upkeep of Ashbyrn House, and then we'll take stock and see what needs doing next.”

  I wait for him to finish, but he simply adjusts himself slightly in the seat, as if he feels he has said enough.

  “No,” I tell him.

  He continues to read his papers for a few more seconds, as if he didn't hear what I just said, and then he glances at me. “I beg your pardon?”

  “I said no.”

  Again, he seems shocked. “What... What do you mean?”

  “I mean it's out of the question. You will not knock down the church, nor will its stones be sold to some men from Poole.”

  We sit in silence for a moment.

  “I'm not sure you quite understand,” he says finally. “The decision is mine to take, Katinka, and mine alone. I'm sorry if this upsets you, but I shall be the man of the house and my decision is final.”

  “No. It's not.”

  “Katinka -”

  “You will not touch that church,” I continue, daring to interrupt him. “If you do, I shall kill you.”

  I see an instant sliver of fear in his eyes.

  “I shall come to you while you sleep one night,” I tell him, “and I shall drive a dagger into your chest, puncturing your heart. Either that, or I shall slit your throat. Whichever seems easiest at the time.”

  He furrows his brow, as if he can't quite believe what he's hearing.

  “You will also refrain from meeting my sister for any more late-night assignations,” I continue. “If she has the misfortune to be with child, you will have her sent away for the duration of her term. If I catch you with her again, I will kill you. Is that understood?”

  “Katinka -”

  “It's not that I care about your infidelity, of course,” I tell him. “I do not. I care only that we are married, and that I carry your children. Other than that, you may do as you please, as is your right. But Charles, my dear, if you continue to sleep with my sister, then there is potential for great embarrassment all round. And embarrassment is to be avoided at all costs, don't you think? We must appear proper and decent.”

  I pause for a moment, maintaining eye contact with him until finally he looks back down at his papers.

  “Oh, I'm sorry,” I add. “Did I upset you by being so direct?”

  He grips the arms of the chair, but evidently he is still too horrified to move.

  “And in case you are thinking that you might cancel our wedding,” I continue, “then I should warn you that such a move would be most unwise. If you do such a thing, I shall find you and I shall kill you. Even if you run, I shall follow. It is far, far too late for either of us to back out of this engagement now, and I will not have my family's name dragged through the mud. I also know, Charles, that your claims of money and business acumen are mere fantasies, but that is something we can deal with later. For now, simply be aware that our wedding is going ahead next week. We shall be married now, whether you like it or not.”

  He looks over at the door.

  “Look at me , you imbecile!” I tell him. “Not over there.”

  He turns back to me, and I think he might actually be shaking with fear. Behind him, a spider is crawling up the wall.

  “Do you doubt my word?” I continue, tilting my head slightly to one side and allowing myself a faint smile. “I am not of an age that makes it easy to find a husband, and I most certainly do not have the luxury of ending our engagement and going off to seek out someone better. For better or for worse, Charles, we have agreed to marry, and marry we shall. I shall give birth to your children, and everybody beyond the walls of this house will esteem us as a happy, normal family. Meanwhile, my sister Pippa must be sent to live far away, and her visits shall be very few and far between.”

  “Katinka...”

  “Is that clear, Charles?”

  He hesitates for a moment, as if he's genuinely lost for words.

  “I don't want to kill you,” I tell him. “I want to marry you. But if you go against my wishes, I have nothing to lose. I have made my decision, and you would do well to recognize the new constraints that I have placed upon you. If you do not, my word is my bond. I shall kill you. Is that clear?”

  Realizing that he seems frozen, as if he cannot believe what I have told him, I get to my feet. It would be as well, perhaps, to let him remain here so that he might digest my promise, so I turn and head toward the door. Somehow, I feel strangely calm, as if I have finally begun to take control of my own life. Charles still has great potential, and I am sure he will look like a fine husband once we are married. I just have to deal with a few of his rough edges first.

  “And now,” I add, glancing back at him, “you must excuse me. I must deal with my sister, for it is her betrayal that hurts me the most.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Owen - Today

  I don't know precisely what has changed, but suddenly I feel as if I'm in the form of my life. I spend the rest of the day in my new study, working on some old papers that I'd left semi-abandoned, and I find myself typing furiously. I'd hoped that moving away from London would give me a kick up the bracket, and I'm finally starting to see the fruits of my new environment.

  In fact, I spend the entire afternoon working, without taking so much as a break to make a cup of tea. This old mahogany desk just seems like a perfect fit, to the extent that I can't even drag myself away for a few seconds. By the time evening arrives and the light gets low, I'm still not tired at all, so I simply plug my lamp in and switch it on, and then I keep working for several more hours.

  All the while, Bob is curled next to my feet, napping and occasionally letting out a sigh.

  Somehow I manage to lose myself in my work, in a way that hasn't happened since I was a much younger man. When I was in my early twenties, I could burn the candle at both ends and still feel strong when morning came, but in recent years I've been slowing down. Now, however, I feel as if the words are flowing out at an unprecedented rate, and I don't even consider stopping. Finally Bob paws at my leg, but I don't have time to stop right now and feed him, or to let him out. He'll just have to cross his legs for a few more hours.

  And so the work continues to flow.

  This is exactly what I wanted. This is why I left London, and why I looked for a remote
house where I'd be able to focus on what's important. With no people around to distract me, I'm able to just type and type and type, ignoring the clock and just powering through this latest novel until finally I feel a faint flicker of pain in my left hand, which causes me to sit back for a moment and let out a gasp. My fingers are starting to feel a little tight, and when I look at my phone I'm shocked to see that it's almost 3am.

  I've been writing for twelve hours. When I check the word-count, I see that I've managed almost sixty thousand, which I didn't think was even possible in half a day. I'm surprised my fingertips aren't smoking.

  Looking down at the laptop, I'm shocked to notice that I seem to have worn the E and I keys down until they're just black squares.

  I should get up.

  I know I should.

  It's not healthy to sit here like this for hour after hour. I want to start typing again, but I know it'd be wise to at least stand and walk around for a few minutes.

  As soon as I start to rise from the chair, however, I feel a series of stiff aches rippling through my body. Apart from typing, I don't think I moved a muscle during the entire time I was at the desk, and now I'm paying for that lack of mobility. Limping slightly, I hobble through to the corridor and then into the kitchen, where I find Bob waiting patiently at the back door. After letting him out to do his business, I put some food in his bowl and then I realize I should probably get something to eat. Turning, I head over to the kitchen table, only to stop as soon as I see a single glass of whiskey waiting at the far end.

  I didn't pour that whiskey.

  The bottle is on the sideboard, where I left it, but somehow a glass has been filled.

  I turn and look around, but the kitchen is otherwise empty and untouched. It's hard to believe that I was so consumed by my work that I could have missed someone entering the house, and harder still to think that an intruder would break in and do nothing more than pour me a drink. Then again, I guess I was in such a daze, maybe I got up for a moment and just don't remember. Plus, I really, really could use a whiskey right now, so I put my fears aside and take a sip, and then I take the glass over to the back door, where I stop for a moment to look out and watch Bob sniffing some bushes.

  Vanessa would love it here.

  Vanessa would turn this house into a project.

  Vanessa always -

  Suddenly Bob turns to me and starts barking furiously. I wait, convinced that there must be some other explanation, and then I wander over to him. As I get closer, it becomes clear that he's not actually barking at me , but that instead he's barking at the empty doorway. Sitting next to him, I stroke his flank, while hoping that he'll calm down at some point.

  “Come on, buddy,” I say finally. “This has to stop. You've been freaking out ever since we got here. Isn't your throat getting sore by now?”

  He lets out an anguished whimper and then settles down on the grass, while still watching the doorway with fearful eyes.

  “It's just a house,” I tell him. “Got it? It's big, I'll give you that, and it's probably much bigger than I need, but at least it's far from the madding crowd. And that's what I need right now. Back in London, things...”

  I pause for a moment, thinking back to the arguments with Vanessa and the long nights spent all alone. And most of all, I think back to that awful night at the hospital, waiting for news...

  And the cemetery.

  I look down at my whiskey for a moment, swirling it in the glass, and then I down the rest in one gulp.

  “Yeah, this is perfect,” I continue, stroking Bob's neck even though he still seems to be on edge. “I got it, buddy. I got exactly what I wanted. And I'll be perfectly happy if I never have to deal with another human being again.”

  ***

  “No, Charlie,” I mutter the following morning, with my phone set to speaker-mode as I cook some eggs. “Honestly, I'm fine. I don't know why you keep fussing about me.”

  “Well for one thing,” he replies, “you sound stressed.”

  “Only because you won't stop calling me.”

  “For another, you've made a big change in your life and I'm still worried about your reasons.”

  “I'm not a people person.”

  “And for another, you look like crap.”

  I open my mouth to reply, before hesitating for a moment. A fraction of a second later, I hear a tapping sound at the window, and I turn to see Charlie grinning and waving at me from outside.

  ***

  “What part of ' I want to be left alone' did you not understand?” I ask, dishing up two plates of egg and bacon instead of the one I'd been planning. “Were you under the mistaken impression that this move was a cry for help?”

  “You sounded weird on the phone the other night.”

  “So? Can't I sound weird if that's what I want?”

  “London -”

  “I don't need to know about London.” I carry the plates over and set them on the table. “As far as I'm concerned, London no longer exists. I haven't even read a newspaper since I got to Cornwall.”

  “But -”

  “And my London life is in the past,” I add, interrupting him before he can bring up the name of a certain woman. “Please, Charlie, just respect my decision. I didn't make this move lightly, and I don't need you bugging me about it now.”

  “So that's why you ended up living in a haunted house, eh?”

  I take a seat opposite him. Already, I can feel myself itching to get back to the desk and start writing again, but I guess I have to play the perfect host.

  “I looked it up, you know,” he continues, with a faint, mischievous smile. “This house has a history, my friend. Things have happened here in the past. Dark, mysterious things, and there are people who reckon those things are still echoing today.”

  “Give me a break,” I mutter as I start eating.

  “You know about what happened at Ashbyrn House, I assume?” he asks.

  “I can't say that I do.”

  “Seriously? You don't know the story about Katinka Ashbyrn and how she -”

  “Charlie -”

  “Or what happened to her mother? Or her sister? Or -”

  “I've very deliberately avoided all of that,” I say firmly.

  “Because you're scared?”

  “Because it's irrelevant. It's in the past. The only reason to get into all that superstitious nonsense is if I want some kind of vicarious thrill. Which I don't. I'm sorry if something bad took place here, I'm sorry if some people suffered back in the long and distant past, but there's nothing I can do about that now.”

  I continue to eat for a moment, before realizing that I'm being watched.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Nothing. I just...” He sighs. “Who are you, and what have you done with the real Owen Stone?”

  “Charlie, I'm fine!”

  “I can't believe you're okay with living here, when you don't know the history of the house! There's a reason you got Ashbyrn House at a knock-down price, Owen. There's a reason the place wasn't exactly attracting a gaggle of prospective purchasers.” He leans toward me. “There's bad ju-ju here, Owen. Bad, bad ju-ju. Something awful happened here a long time ago, and there's some trace of it still in the air. Come on, man... Seriously, are you telling me that you haven't noticed even one odd things since you moved in?”

  I pause for a moment, thinking back to the strange noises and the face in the pond.

  “Nothing,” I say finally.

  He stares at me. “Liar.”

  “There's been nothing, Charlie.”

  “No bumps in the night?”

  I shake my head. The last thing I want is to set him off with more of his crazy theories.

  “No shadows moving in the corners of the room?”

  “I'm sorry to disappoint.”

  “No weirdness in the pond?”

  I pause. Does he know something?

  “Of course not,” I mutter, looking back down at my plate. “Why do you ask?”
/>
  I wait for him to continue. When he says nothing, I focus on my food for a moment before glancing up and seeing that he's watching me.

  “So it doesn't take Sherlock Holmes to figure out that you think you know something creepy about the history of the house,” I say cautiously. “I want to make it plainly clear that I have no interest in hearing about it. Do you understand?”

  “Because you're scared?”

  “Because -”

  Before I can finish, there's a faint bumping sound out in the corridor. Next to me, Bob lifts his head and lets out a slow, warning growl.

  “That was nothing,” I tell Charlie.

  He smiles. “Your dog doesn't seem to agree.”

  “My dog's paranoid.”

  “Dogs have other senses, Owen. They can pick up things that we can't.”

  “I wrote damn near sixty thousand words yesterday,” I reply. “Sixty thousand . That's more than a week's worth. In one day.”

  “Impressive.”

  “And they're good words, too,” I continue. “I read some of it back earlier, and it's the best stuff I've written in years. I came here to get away from the madness of London and to focus on my writing, and guess what? It's working. I was right, I just needed to be on my own. So if you can't appreciate that, and if you came here with some misguided idea about rescuing me, then please... You might as well leave right now, because that's not going to happen.”

  Bob lets out another low growl.

  “And you can shut it,” I tell him. “There's no -”

  Suddenly Bob gets to his feet and steps forward, clearly interested in something on the floor. I look down, assuming that he's just being crazy, but after a moment I spot a spider scurrying past. The house isn't exactly short of the damn things, but this particular spider seems to have really caught Bob's attention.

  “There we go,” I mutter, as Bob follows the spider across the room without quite daring to attack. “That's all that's upsetting him. A spider.”

  Finishing my breakfast, I get to my feet and take my plate over to the sink. Deep down, I hope Charlie does take the hint and leave. I want another day like yesterday. Work and more work.