Edith had left Alan a note and Wilhelmina a kiss during the cover of night.
Her destination? Allerdale Hall. She knew her visions and nightmares originated from that horrid place, and she knew that is where they would end. If she was wrong, the asylum would be waiting for her with open arms.
After the long journey from New York to London, Edith felt as if she had already escaped many dangers. The men with missing teeth and the coughing children with reaching hands harassed her on the boat. She was kind to them, but still frightened. Edith was a woman of means, but she was still a woman.
And now she was in a carriage with two strangers – a white male named Lawrence and an unnamed African. And why was she in a carriage driven by an unnamed African? He never offered the information, and Edith thought it rude to ask his name outright.
The second, more important question she demanded of herself was how she ended up with these two strangers in the first place. The creatures also journeying across the Atlantic offered distasteful arrangements. Edith did not care for them one bit. (She would also prefer to never again smell the pungent scents some of the men bore.) But these two men, dignified and dapper, offered an inexpensive bed – in the city, nonetheless. The American seemed to like adventure. He had already advocated escorting her to Allerdale Hall. She still had the distance to travel to that wretched place, and they had transportation. How could she refuse?
Edith had no plan once she arrived at Allerdale Hall. She just hoped a solution would occur to her. These men alluded to a vague skill set they possessed. Perhaps they could solve her particular puzzle. Or maybe the house would just eat her up. Either way, Wilhelmina would be safe.
Edith glanced at this mysterious man she had met off the boat. Lawrence, there are no accidents, she thought as she fixed her gloves.
Edith struggled to hide her surprise at the impressive living quarters she would be staying at over the night. For the price, she had predicted a dinner of bread and goat's milk before she fell asleep on a straw bed. Maybe if she were at a fancier inn, she would have gone downstairs to the attached pub for a mediocre dinner with imbecilic drunks.
But this hotel was quite lavish. The foyer opened into a staircase leading up to a row of unmarked rooms. To the right of the foyer, there was a sitting room with plenty of leather couches surrounding a fireplace. A map completely covered the face of one wall, and books were strewn about on maple shelves and two long tables. The hotel appeared more of a home and less of a money making operation.
"Your inn has many books," Edith said, her finger trailing across the spines of the hardcovers.
Edith saw Lawrence glance at the African. "This is no inn, ma'am. We are in our partner's estate."
Edith raised her eyebrows and turned to Lawrence. "Who are you men, then? Does your partner even know you are in his estate?"
Lawrence laughed to himself, shrugging his shoulders. "Yes, ma'am. He knows we are here."
"I do not know if it is proper for me to stay the night anymore," Edith said.
"If you choose," Lawrence said, "you are free to leave." He spread his arms open towards the door. "But we were sent to you."
"By who? Your benefactor?" she asked, eyeing Lawrence. He walked to a leathery, brown chair and sat down.
"Mrs. McMichael," he finally said. "Do you believe in ghosts?"
"Don't dodge the question!"
"Do you believe in monsters?" He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "In hauntings? In demons?" Edith narrowed her eyes. "Because I do. We do, as a matter of fact." Lawrence waved to the African, silent and staring. Edith had forgotten he was in the room. "And we think if you believe in the monsters, the demons … might you believe in angels as well?"