DOMAIN: Chapter 3 - SETTLING IN

Caster had been dead right. Christina Vallencourt proved to be a brilliant cook. The food she laid out could not be described as extravagant, only cold cuts and side salads—and an exquisite apple tart—but all was prepared to absolute perfection. Anne hadn’t realised the extent of her hunger until she took the first bite. Later, as she pushed her empty dessert plate away, and drained her cup of the most delicious coffee she had ever tasted, she also realised how tired she was.

Dead tired.

Raising one of her sculptured eyebrows at Anne’s attempt to suppress yet another yawn, Christina said, “You’re exhausted, my dear. And no wonder, you’ve been travelling all day. I’ve had your room aired and a fire’s been lit. Like many things in the Hall, the heating system is very primitive and the generator is prone to breaking down … which is exactly what it did today.” She smiled. “If you’ve finished, I’ll take you to your room.”

Anne followed the housekeeper through the door as they made a turn into a long, narrow corridor. They were obviously in what was still the servants’ quarters. Fairfax may be young for a landowner of this obvious magnitude, but he clearly hung on to the old ways. Fine by her. She liked to know her place even if she had no intention of keeping it.

They moved deeper into the house, through the great hall. Anne could see why the place had looked so dark—uninhabited even—from outside. What few lamps glimmered were dimmed, the place offering more shadow than light. She couldn’t really see anything that could be remotely described as contemporary. The place felt more like a ossified stately home. “It’s so…”

“Gothic?” Christina finished for her. “Yes, it is. I’ve tried to persuade Edward to brighten the place up, you know, introduce something a bit more this century! But … well, he has other things on his mind.”

Edward? That was interesting. That she called her employer by his Christian name suggested a surprising informality. Maybe even a relationship? The woman was certainly beautiful enough. Though she felt comfortable enough in her presence, she still made her feel like a klutz. Awkward. Immature.

Christina led her to a door, so inset into the hall panelling that it seemed part of it. Once opened, it revealed a staircase. Really? Another means by which Fairfax could avoid contact with his underlings? She couldn’t quite believe how into the dark ages this place and its owner was, harking back to the times when servants were encouraged to be as invisible as possible, forced to scurry along hidden corridors to avoid accidental encounters with their employers. For the first time Anne wondered if she really wanted to stay. Maybe she should take Caster up on his offer and leave in the morning. This wasn’t her kind of scene. Not at all.

She felt the edge of disappointment. What had felt like a chance to break from the agency and its links to her past, was fast becoming nothing but false hope.

Suddenly, halfway up the dim staircase, she heard … what? A roar? Loud, deep—agonised! It rooted her to the spot.

Christina too. She gave a sudden turn, her expression urgent. Horrified. “Anne!” she hissed. “Follow the stairs. You’ll come out on a landing. Your room is the first on the left. Once inside—this may seem … odd, but I’ll explain later—stay inside and lock the door. Go now. I … I must leave you.”

And with that, she pushed her way past her guest to hurry back down the stairs and out of the panelled door.

Anne stood awhile, heart racing, the scream still reverberating in her mind. What the hell was it? What could have made it? It didn’t sound human!

Only when another wail pierced the air—deep, guttural, angry even—did she move. It drove her up the stairs two at a time, a perilous endeavour since she could barely see her way, before reaching the top landing. Finding her room, she flung open the door and rushed inside, turning the heavy key to lock it from the inside. She leant back against it, breast heaving like one of those poor bewildered heroines in a gothic romance. What the hell was going on?

She stood awhile, ears straining. But no more screams assailed them.

Fighting to bring her breathing under control, Anne pushed herself away from the door and turned to face it. Why had she listened to Christina? Someone had obviously been hurt and may need help. She got as far as touching the key when something rested her hand. The urgency—no, the intensity—in the housekeeper’s voice. There was genuine terror there and concern for her safety.

Was it safe here? And if not, why had they wanted her to come? What had she let herself in for? Kezia might have been right after all.

Conflicted—and annoyed at herself for being so—she turned to survey the room. It was large and certainly comfortable enough, with its deep canopied bed, crisp white sheets drawn back to air. But it felt oppressive, perhaps because of the long, heavy drapes that lined the windows, forbidding the entry to either light or draught. The room was illuminated only by a bedside lamp, its oval red shade exquisitely fringed and beaded. For some reason it made her shiver, as if she’d been transported to a place completely out of her time.

Her suitcase had been placed on an ottoman at the foot of the bed. Opening it, Anne was gratified to see an old companion lying on top. A soft toy she brought with her. She’d been determined to leave it behind with the rest of her old life. But the impulse to bring it had been too strong. It had seen her through all her losses, all her struggles. Shorn almost to its base material, having had multiple haircuts during Anne’s scissor period, it offered her a kind of primal comfort.

Taking it to the armchair, she sat with it in her arms, watching the burning embers of the fire, waiting for Christina’s knock.