The Shock Box: A Gothic Romance (Templesea Tales) Read online

  "That can wait," he said curtly, rubbing the bridge of his nose. The headache was like knives digging into his eyeballs. He needed to get back to his dark study, draw the curtains, lie on the floor. Above all, he needed to get a hold of himself.

  "But you will break your fast?"

  She gave him that innocent yet knowing smile again, and he found himself mesmerised by her lips, distracted by thoughts of how he'd like to take them with his mouth. God knew, she was definitely trying to enchant him with her feminine trickery. He pulled himself from the brink of agreeing with her, anxious to maintain his position against eating any breakfast despite the fact that his stomach rumbled as if it was taking her side.

  Gripping his cane, he glowered at her from the doorway. "I am not hungry." Turning to Hoxley. "Coffee. And make it strong. Bring it to the study."

  Hoxley cocked his head towards Adeline. "Shall I make another pot of oats?"

  "Did I ask you to?" Branwell shouted over his shoulder as he limped painfully out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

  "As you wish, sir," Hoxley said, turning on his heels and sprinting away before Adeline had a chance to stop him.

  Adeline was left to ponder the fact that when a man shows an unexpected interest in a woman he often considered it a weakness afterwards. And men, as all women knew, hated to think of themselves as human enough to have weaknesses.

  This had to be the reason behind the Captain's bizarre reaction to the minor issue of eating food in the morning.

  She stared thoughtfully at the door, then sat down with her plate and buttered her toast. There was a silver dish of dark marmalade by a warm pot of tea, which brightened her mood considerably. She poured a cup of tea, added milk and sipped the brew whilst staring out of the window at the churning fog. After his performance this morning she was left without any doubt that Captain Branwell Hughes had been very interested in her, and was somewhat disturbed by having played with her ribbons and leaving her in a state of deshabille last night.

  All of which would have tortured him once he saw her again, since it pointed towards the kind of romantic softness often seen by men as somehow unmanly.

  Whether that meant he liked her as a person was quite another thing. But then, she decided, it didn't matter since she didn't particularly like him much.

  She helped herself to another slice of toast, spreading it thickly with butter, and marmalade. Sitting alone at the table, her hand touched her throat as she recalled the feel of his lips brushing the top of her head.

  They had almost kissed, she reminded herself once more.

  She raised a porcelain cup decorated with roses to her lips. They would have gone further if she had not withdrawn her favour.

  Therefore, it made sense to assume that Captain Hughes felt embarrassed in her company. He was rude because he liked her, not because he didn't. Aunt Theodora was very particular on this mysterious aspect of male behaviour, and Adeline was grateful for the knowledge.

  As a nurse, she had infinite patience. She would wait until he was ready to show her his wound.

  However, as a woman, she was, sadly, immensely impatient. She wanted him as much if not more than he appeared to want her. Yet a man like him was unlikely to stoop to marrying a woman like her, so she must resist him at every turn, ignoring the passion he'd stirred in her. Adeline could never be a mistress again, could never risk living a life shoved into the shadows, the shameful secret of a man too arrogant to confess his love for her publicly. It was imperative to resist him if she was to avoid the workhouse and all the misery that entailed.

  Adeline chewed her bread thoughtfully.

  Chapter 33

  After her meal, Adeline went to her room to gather her medical equipment. However, as soon as she opened the door to her chamber, she knew someone had been in there. All the windows were flung wide, and clouds of fog swirled into the room before dissolving into a cold, clammy atmosphere which had settled over everything.

  Her jug had been upended on the vanity unit, spilling water over the red rug which covered the floor. The stain spread outwards in a crimson puddle, like blood stains on a winding sheet.

  The bed was dirty and rumpled. It looked as though a muddy dog had lain upon it, then scuffed at it with its paws until it was left covered with marks the colour of the local red soil.

  There was a bad smell hanging in the air despite the gusts of wind blowing in. Pungent and dense, the nasty aroma reminded her of one of Aunt Theodor's acquaintances, a handsome, rather winsome chemist by the name of Sir Reginald Taylor who had been a member of a secret Rosicrucian society. Of all the men she'd ever known, Adeline found him hard work, due to the way he often wandered around the upper floors when her Aunt and the servants were out, stark naked except for a fez, and smoking a large cigar. She caught him in this state of undress one morning when she was looking for the maid to help her with her hair, and although he bowed low and immediately disappeared into his room, she was nevertheless somewhat discombobulated by the sight of his oversized manhood dangling in the afternoon sunshine.

  Sir Reginald would often conduct experiments in the basement of Adeline's Aunt's house. When he finished he'd arrive at the dinner table surrounded by the aroma of sulphur. After he left London to start up a community of enlightened occultists down on the coast near Eastbourne, no amount of scrubbing would get the smell out.

  Adeline had to admit to herself that she missed her Aunt terribly. Theodora was a woman of considerable fortune with no care whatsoever for her reputation, and made no secret of the fact that over the years she'd been attracted to highly strung, difficult men. She was of the opinion they were often the most creative lovers, and certainly the most interesting company. According to her, managing them was an art form. It was Sir Reginald who had instructed Adeline in the theories of alchemy and mysticism before she set out to help Captain Hughes.

  Adeline wondered whether the Captain, in a mental fugue of exhaustion, lack of sleep and physical pain had turned her room upside down. Her skin prickled with the cold wind.

  Beneath her dressing table she noticed what appeared to be a yellow serving platter. When she knelt to inspect it, instead of a plate she found a small pile of sand which had been smoothed flat into a circular shape. Someone had traced letters in the sand and left a small hand print. Frowning, Adeline pressed her own hand over the shape, noticing how much smaller the original shape was than hers.

  Adeline sat back on her heels and wiped her brow.

  Was there a child at Raven's Nest?

  Chapter 34

  Adeline sat on the rug beside the wash-stand, greatly perplexed by the state of her room. She could not fathom how a thick circle of sand had come come to be on the floor, or why it had the imprint of a child's hand upon it.

  She was certain she would have remembered seeing a child in the house. Perhaps there was one, a feral thing running wild through the labyrinthine corridors and gables of Raven's Nest, a little creature who could not be tamed and which the Hoxleys kept hidden away somewhere.

  Adeline stared more closely at the hand print and noticed the letters scratched into the soft sand. She fetched her notebook and wrote down the letters down in the order in which they appeared:

  B-e-f-a-n-a!

  Adeline felt her brow knot in concentration. Befana. It wasn't a word she recognised. Perhaps it wasn't a word at all. Maybe it was a name, or the initials of a motto.

  Adeline bit the end of her quill. She loved puzzles, but there wasn't time to dwell upon this one. She tucked the notebook into the pocked of her carpet bag.

  A quick, final inspection of the room revealed that nothing had been taken.

  Adeline tidied up as best she could, stripped the ripped and dirty sheets off the bed, shut the windows, and put a cloth on the floor to soak up the mess of water. She left the sand where it was, hoping to show it to the Captain later. Whoever or whatever had scratched out the message, she was certain he would have some knowledge of it.

 
Adeline opened her trunk. To her relief, nothing in there had been disturbed. She put her carpet bag on the bed and took out the things she needed.

  Today, she would inspect the Captain's injuries, make a full assessment of his needs, and begin healing him before it was too late.

  Beneath the shock box in the trunk was a bag of dressings, clean linen strips, scissors, and a bottle of witch-hazel. Adeline washed her hands in the small amount of water left in the bowl, and tied a white apron over her dark grey dress. She packed up the tools of her profession neatly into the carpet bag, and made her way downstairs.

  In the main hall, she paused as the sound of the Captain shouting could be heard thundering through the walls. Someone must have arrived earlier, been shown into the library and was now receiving the full weight of the Captain's rage over something or other.

  She gripped the bag until her knuckles were white, and pulled her shoulders back. Looking after a challenging patient was much like going into battle in that a person needed a plan and a strategy - and this plan might change at any moment. It was obvious she couldn't enter the library whilst the Captain was screaming.

  Adeline rang for Hoxley.

  The manservant arrived at his usual speed, and she asked him if he would ensure that her room was cleaned properly by one of the maids. She'd decided to keep quiet about the letters in the sand, no need to bother the Captain - a man who was clearly having a terrible day by all accounts. The shouting continued unabated, with the Captain's low, angry rumble permeating the entire front hallway. Let all trace of the childish handprint be brushed away. Adeline had other things to consider.

  "Is it necessary to go clean your room again? Elsie gave it good tidy, swept the grate and dusted over the surfaces while you was eating," he said.

  "Of course she did. But she must have left the windows open." Adeline didn't mention the rest of it, feeling that Hoxley might launch into one of his warnings about ghosts and demons.

  "I'll see to it at once." Hoxley's expression darkened and he nodded towards the library. "He's in one of his moods today."

  "So it appears."

  "When he summoned me just now he gave me a message to purvey to you."

  Adeline sighed. Perhaps he'd decided to dismiss her over the breakfast incident. "Go on."

  "He says to tell you to go away and leave him be. It's your day off."

  "I see." Adeline wasn't quite sure, but she decided that a day off meant she was still in the Captain's employ.

  "And we was wondering if you'd like to come to church with me and Elsie later? We'll be taking the carriage down to Templesea town the moment the fog clears."

  "The most Christian thing I can do today is to help my fellow man," Adeline said. "I shall attend next week, once the Captain has begun to feel the benefits of my cure."

  The corners of Hoxley's mouth pulled down into a miserable sneer. "There ent no cure for him."

  "Is that what you believe?"

  "I try not to. But I can't help it, Miss Winslow. These moods of his are getting worse and worse. Leave him be. That's all he wants and even when it comes to you, he says to steer clear. Those are his orders."

  At this news, Adeline became even more resolved to enter the lion's cave and take the bull by the horns. Or some other mixture of animal-related metaphors related to the taming of wild animals for it seemed to her that's exactly what the Captain was. A wild animal. Judging by the muffled, angry sounds coming from his room.

  "Which particular mood would that be? How would you describe it?" she said.

  "Like I told you. He ent quite right in the head. Probably something to do with last night, and the storm, and the demon coming to your room for a visit. He's discussing things with one of his spirits. She lives in the library, and often plagues him."

  "I see," Adeline said. Although she didn't. During her metaphysical training with Sir Reginald she had remained skeptical to the end. As far as she was concerned, Rosicrucianism and the occult were simply social pastimes in which people enjoyed dressing up and gathering together for a bit of excitement. Sir Reginald claimed it was a science, but he was as mad as a March hare.

  "There's no need to worry," Adeline held up the carpet bag where the shock box nestled comfortably. "The Captain's treatment begins today. I have something new and innovative to try out on him."

  Hoxley shook his head. "Nothing's never worked on him before, Miss, so I don't want you to go getting your hopes up."

  "I promise you. This will work, and I am under an obligation as a nurse to regain a sense of peace and quiet for my patient whilst he is unwell. In order to do this, I must go in there and get rid of whoever is causing the Captain so much consternation. After that, I shall begin helping him heal from his wounds."

  Hoxley nodded but his face remained dour and in all fairness, Adeline didn't expect him to believe her. Words meant nothing. Action was the measure of a thing. When Hoxley and Mrs Hoxely saw the results of her work they would be pleased that their master had regained his health, and that would be that.

  "You be careful in there," Hoxley said, cocking his head towards the library door. "He threw a book at one of the young nurses what disturbed him when he said not to."

  She put her hand on his arm. "I'm not like the others. Remember?" Then she thanked him for his concerns, spun on her heels and tiptoed over to the library where she could better hear the Captain's still heated discussion.

  At the door she stopped to listen, placing an ear against the panelling.

  "I don't care what you say," he shouted.

  There was a pause as if he was listening.

  "So that's your game is it?" the Captain"s voice rose even louder. "I knew it. You're in league with the devil."

  Another pause.

  "I should have known," he said. "You're as bad as him. You're trying to destroy me. Well, I won't let you, even if I have to die fighting you."

  Silence. A longer one this time.

  Then. "I curse you too." His voice was lower this time. "I curse your spirit, and by all the hounds of hell, I send you back to the pit of fire and filth where you belong. May all your ancestors be cursed with eternal torment. May all your descendants wither in the womb, or shrivel with the pox..."

  Adeline opened the door without knocking. "It is time," she said, marching into the gloom. "For your recovery to begin."

  Chapter 35

  At the sound of Miss Winslow"s voice, Branwell spun on his heels, which hurt both his throbbing head and his leg considerably.

  He'd cornered She-Who-Dwells over by the poetry section at the far end of the main bookcase. He was hoping to somehow force her to dissolve through the wall and let him get on with his day. The headache had built up, stabbing at his temples, his eyeballs.

  Miss Winslow stood at the door in an apron, framed by the light streaming through from the hall. Her dark hair tied back and set in a low braid on the nape of her neck. Her eyes blazed. An indigo circle of determination hovered over her and she held a large carpet bag in front of her.

  Branwell had a strong awareness of a mild pain in his chest, accompanied by a heated craving to toy with Miss Winslow's ribbons and smell her hair once again.

  She-Who-Dwells seemed more perturbed than he was by the sudden uninvited appearance of his nurse. She begged him to force Miss Winslow to leave, scratching her bony fingers down his face. Her breath stank of the grave and he lashed out at her furiously, but his hand went right through her, ripping the curtains down from their moorings in a great crash.

  "We'll break more things," She-Who-Dwells screamed in his head. "We'll go in her room again and rip her bed to shreds this time - with her in it. There'll be nothing left of her but rags and bones, that'll wipe the smile off her face and no mistake."

  Branwell turned his back on the spirit but the sound of her voice pierced through his head until it felt as though his skull might split in two. He wanted to try and banish the perishing spirit from his life once and for all, but for now he had to deal wit
h the human intrusion in his sanctuary.

  He stomped over to Adeline, wincing every time his false leg hit the ground.

  "What the hell are you doing here?"

  "What you pay me for." She met his gaze defiantly.

  "I ordered Hoxley to tell you not to come to me today. Did he forget?"

  "No he did not. He gave me the order and I ignored it."

  Branwell could feel his breath coming short and fast. "I pay you to follow my orders."

  "Sick people don't always do what is best for them. What is that on your face?" She reached out and put her hand on his cheek and her fingers came away bloody. "It looks like you've been attacked by a bird of some kind."

  He pushed her hand away. "It's nothing."

  "There is much to do. Sit down and we'll begin."

  He thumped the desk with his fist, knocking several volumes of Milton's Paradise Lost onto the floor. His head pounded. The wound on his thigh burned like a hot poker was inside it and the damned stump of a leg tormented him. He could even feel the lower limb, the part of him that was't there, twisted into a cramp, exactly as it had the day the military doctor cut it off with a hacksaw.

  What a state he was in. She must think he was the worst kind of man. He could almost see himself through her eyes. A man tormented by unseen entities. Unkempt, raging, incoherent. Oh! how he despised himself.

  Branwell wanted to take her in his arms, bury his face in her hair, and tell her he would protect her. But he didn't know if he could. The forces within the house were building to a point where he thought perhaps the whole house might collapse in ruins.

  She looked so small and calm.

  And he was not. He was a great monster of a man at war with himself and everything around him. By all that was holy, he hated her to see him like this. Dragging a hand through his hair, he felt the floor shaking beneath him.

  "Is that an earthquake?" he shouted.