Charlotte felt as though she was on fire and drowning in ice simultaneously. She could hardly breathe in the midst of it all. She also felt exhausted. Every time she tried to wake up, she felt herself being pulled under to sleep again.

"I told her the day I do that is the day Lady Sharpe allows her son to marry the barmaid's daughter." There was a chorus of laughs to that comment. "That rain is down for the night I'd say. Good thing the horses are...what the...Dick, get a horse rug, we need to get her to the house, go!" Charlotte could not tell what was real and what was not. She had no idea if the shaking feeling she felt was truly occurring as her muscles ached from the energy they had used from shivering. "Miss, are you alright?" The man asked as he shook her slightly in an attempt to rouse her.

"That's no mere Miss, that's Lady Sharpe." Another stated.

"You serious?"

"That's her, I see her every day as she goes for her walk, I say hello to her as she passes. That is Lady Sharpe."

"Dick, better saddle a horse, she needs a doctor, she's like ice."

"It's too cold." Came the call from across the stables.

"For God's sake man, she's our boss and she is bloody dying, get over yourself and tack the horse, I'll do it. Emlyn, have Mrs Matthews told I am gone and I will need one hell of a cawl when I get back."

"Go, Dylan, and for the love of God man, be fast." Emlyn, the first man to talk pleaded. "Dick, get that horse rug, we'll get her back to the house."

The doctor rushed up the steps of Foxgrove, he did not even remove his cape as he rushed in the door, Mrs Matthews pulled it from him as he passed her. "Where is she?"

"Up the stairs, to the right, far end of the corridor." Mrs Matthews instructed as they rushed.

"How long was she in it?"

"She left here at two as she always does, the rain started at half past, the men found her at half three."

"It's awful bitter out, what in Heaven's Name is a woman doing out in that weather, much less alone?"

"She tends to do her own thing and none can dissuade her. She's not the sharpest girl." Mrs Matthews dismissed.

"That would be apparent." The doctor mumbled as he made his way to the bedroom. When he entered, he looked at the maids trying to make the room warmer, Charlotte's sodden clothing by the fire. "Let me see her." He walked forward and shook his head at the pale palour of her skin and the bluish tinge to her lips. "How many blankets?"

"Three," One maid answered.

"Give another two and for the love of everything, make that fire bigger. If she is to have any chance of beating this, she needs to warm up."

"The fire does not rise any higher in here, Doctor." Mrs Matthews answered.

"Why is the Lady of Foxgrove in a small bedroom? Why not the Master bedroom, that one has a fine fire." The doctor recalled when he tended to the family over the years in the largest room, which indeed had a fine fireplace.

"She never uses it, she says she feels it is not her place to do so."

"Lord, but she is daft, she is the lady of the house, where else does she think she should be? Get Mr Matthews and two of the burlier boys working here, we'll move her in now. Get the fire in there stoked and readied." He ordered the maids, who immediately rushed about doing as they were told. "Let's see if we can save her."

When Charlotte woke, she felt as though she had been struck in the head by a large blunt instrument at force as well as forced to swallow an old torture instrument known as a pear of anguish she had once read of, before it was yanked harshly from her throat. Breathing felt as though she had cat's scratches in her chest and she felt as though the blanket over her was too heavy.

"Lady Sharpe?" She turned slightly to see a maid nearby rising to her feet. "I will call Mrs Matthews." With that, the maid left.

A few minutes later, which felt like an eternity to Charlotte, Mrs Matthews rushed into the room. "Lady Charlotte."

"What…?" Her voice was raspy and broken and even attempting to speak was agony for her.

"You got caught in the rain, Ma'am. Some of the yard workers found you in stables, sodden and like ice. We called the doctor, he has tended to you since."

"Thomas?"

"Master Thomas is resting in the nursery."

"I...feed…"

Mrs Matthews pursed her lips. "He is fed and tended to." Charlotte tried to speak again. "Lady Sharpe, I was forced to call a wet nurse." Her face showed her anguish at that revelation. "I am not sure if you are aware of this, Lady Sharpe, but you have been sleeping for three days." Her nostrils flared as she processed what was said to her. "You nearly died, there have been times that we genuinely did not think you would make it, Your Ladyship. A telegram has been sent to Cumbria to inform Sir Sharpe of your condition." Charlotte wanted to tell them to send another and not have him concern himself, but she could not speak and trying to fill her lungs with enough air to even attempt to do so was agony, so she could only lament silently.

Joanne was not meant to go to the Post Office at that time, she merely went in as she was assisting Mrs Delaney with her messages when the postmaster looked ashen-faced at a telegram that had just come through.

"You look somewhat upset, Joseph." Mrs Delaney commented.

"A message, from Wales, for Sir Sharpe." He stated. "Lady Sharpe is after taken badly ill."

"What happened?" Joanne forgot propriety, all she cared about as what had occurred to her beloved Edward's loving sister.

"She was caught in a terrible cold downpour, the poor woman, apparently she has caught pneumonia."

Joanne felt herself begin to shake with terror. "Mrs Delaney, forgive me." With that, she rushed from the Post Office to Edward's home. As soon as she made it there, a startled Mrs Davies looked at her. "Edward?" She panted.

Mrs Davies, seeing the anxious look on Joanne's features let her in immediately. "He is just back from seeing to Mr Summers."

"I need to speak with him."

"Whatever is the matter?"

"Are we alone?"

"We are."

"It's Lady Charlotte, she is gravely ill."

Mrs Davies' eyes filled with fear. "He is in his office."

Joanne rushed through the house and to Edward's office, not even knocking before she entered causing Edward to stare at her startled. "Joanne?"

"Charlotte is sick."

"What?"

"I...post office, telegram, Charlotte."

"Joanne, please, I cannot make sense of what you are saying."

"I was just helping Mrs Delaney at the post office when a telegram came through, Charlotte has pneumonia, she is gravely ill."

Edward swallowed and thought of the letter he had received only a few days ago from his sister. He could tell she was lonely from her writing and worried for her then, now, he worried all the more. "Does Sir Sharpe know?"

"No, they were going to ready the telegram for him when I was there."

"I best offer to bring it to him."

"But your sister…"

"Joanne, if I go and demand everything from Joseph, how does that look?" She bit her lips together. "At best they will think there is some sort of affair between Charlotte and I and I do not want people speaking of you as a fool or my sister as a harlot, and a doctor without reputation cannot call himself a doctor in that community for long. I need to have him make the demands for more information, he is her husband."

"You're right, I just...if she…the baby..."

"Shhh, do not fret. Charlotte is the strongest woman I have ever met. Some cold will not take her. She will not allow herself be taken from her son, I know it." Inside, Edward was terrified, he repeated his words to himself time and again, solely because he had to, if not, he would panic. "I will go and see what I can do." There was a faint knock on the door, one Edward knew well. "Mrs Davies?"

Mrs Davies entered. "I am sorry to disturb you, Doctor, but the Postmaster is here, he has something he requires of you."

Edward nodded. "Stay here until I leave." He whispered to Joanne. "I will talk to you of it later." She kissed his knuckles and nodded. Edward left the room. "How may I be of assistance Joseph?"

"It's Lady Sharpe, Doctor. She is on death's door in Wales. I received a telegraph for Sir Sharpe regards it. I do not think it the sort of news to bring without someone of your training. I would bring the reverend, but I do not think Sir Sharpe to be a religious man."

"I think you right there. Come on, this news will get no better with us standing here." He urged, noting the slight reluctance in the Postmaster's movements. "I can go alone if needs be? I know you are busy at the best of times."

"I would usually decline and go, Doctor, but I am a man down today and Crimson Peak is no short trip."

"Of course."

The trap ride to Allerdale Hall was unpleasant in the weather and the journey seemed even longer than it had before. Edward thought of his sister, she had been healthy leaving Cumbria, guilt filled him, the point of her going was to keep her from getting ill. He had wanted her to go, he thought it a good idea, yet now it could be what...he shook the idea from his head, but the thoughts of his nephew losing his mother, him losing his sister. As the trap trotted along, he found himself weeping at the idea of losing his second sister. She was the youngest, strongest and the healthiest, she was supposed to outlive him, he was not supposed to deal with this again.

The cold cast iron gates that declared his arrival at Allerdale looked even more grim, in the distance, he could see the house and the associated buildings, but the one that caused him to swallow was in the far left of the land in front of him, the Sharpe family crypt. He prayed and prayed that his sister's remains would not be gracing that building, much less in the next few weeks, or worse, her staying in Wales, where he would never get to lay a lily on her, or daffodils, her favourite flower each Spring. He did not want to know what the inside of that crypt looked like, not now, or ever and most definitely not for his sister.

He pulled the reins of the pony as he got to the building, looking at the men working at the machines he noted his brother-in-law was not amongst them so he walked over to the foreman. "Where is Sir Sharpe?"

"He were 'ere yesterday looking like he'd seen a ghost, not seen him since. We 'ave our instructions and we're doing them." Carson, the foreman and Joanne's uncle declared.

"Thank you." Edward walked to the door and knocked before entering. He was into the foyer when he saw Mrs Phillips. "Mrs Phillips, is Sir Sharpe here?"

The housekeeper looked at him with uncertainty. "He is, but I fear he is not in the greatest of forms, Doctor."

"Is something the matter." Mrs Phillips looked at him with uncertainty. "Please, speak freely."

"I am not sure Doctor, he is like one that is being haunted by dark things."

"How so?"

"He has not slept a wink at night from what I gather since Duckie and the little one left, he dozes off in random moments but wakes more agitated than he fell asleep and he is ill often."

"Where is he now?"

"In his workshop."

"And where might I find that?"

Thomas felt the cold more than usual with the lack of sleep. The nightmares were worsening. He had not had them in some time, not since Charlotte had entered his life. He had them after Lucille killed Edith and her doctor friend, but no sooner had he met Charlotte, the light of her character banished the shadows of his ghosts. The cries of the mutilated child he and Lucille had created had now become resident in his mind and in corners, as he focused on other things, he was certain his saw movements for which there was no logical explanation. He felt himself going mad. Another image that terrified him was that of Charlotte. He thought his mind playing tricks, but for the past few days, Blake was constantly whining and curling up on some manner of clothing or blanket she used. At first, he thought the dog to be pining for her, she was, after all, his mistress, Thomas had purchased him specifically for her, to give her the dog she always yearned for and she treated Blake with such love that the dog could not but be loyal to her. But it had started so sudden, over a fortnight since her leaving and only since her art room had become so cold, he knew it was something more than merely missing her.

When there was a knock on his workshop door, he swung round in his chair with fright. He looked at it for a moment before hearing the floor outside creak. "Mrs Phillips?"

"No."

Thomas's brow knitted together at that voice. He rushed over and opened the door. "Dr Thompson?"

"You need...what on Earth happened you?" Edward had thought, going by the word of the foreman and Mrs Phillips, that Thomas was just a little under the weather. The truth was far more concerning. His skin was all but waxy, his hair was unkempt and his eyes surrounded by dark circles.

"Why are you here?"

"What happened to you?" Edward repeated, not allowing himself to be sidetracked.

"I have not been able to sleep," Thomas responded. "Why are you here?"

"A telegraph from Wales, Charlotte has gotten ill, very ill. Pneumonia."

"W...What? No, I sent her there to stop her getting ill, no."

"She got caught out in an icy shower from what it says, she as found freezing in the stables."

"Why are you…?"

"The Postmaster is a man down and it was me or the Reverend and I think it is safe to say, if there is a God, he has not graved this house in many a year and none to reside here fear Him." Edward walked into the room, for a moment, he was not the least bit interested in the contents of it, but when a torn and dirty old mural came to his attention, he frowned. "No wonder you cannot sleep. I would have nightmares if this is what I spent my day in. I think I will from just being here now." He looked around more. "Why are you even up here?"

"What is it to you?" Thomas retorted sharply, looking at the telegram relaying his wife's illness to him. "I need to go to town."

"Town? You need to go to Wales, not town. You need to be with her." Edward snarled.

"I can't."

"Can't...my sister, your wife is on death's door and you 'can't' go to her?" Edward rushed forward into Thomas's face. "I knew it. I knew you were just dumping her there and that be that. You have a son, you are even rid of your cruel and overbearing sister, it is all well and good for Sir Thomas now."

"If you think I want to be in this cesspit of a house by myself, then you are as blind of sight as you are of hatred for me."

Edward stepped back slightly, startled at the manner Thomas had referred to the house with. "Then why?"

"Mr Brown is a terribly influential man. He can be bought, but money will only get so far. If I do not have this readied for the police station in the Spring, he will have us sued and I am not the one with the money, Charlotte signed her name to the deeds for it also, it will all be taken from her and Thomas, I cannot risk that. She made me promise that I would not fail at this, she made me, she stated 'no matter what'. If I go now, she will know I broke that promise."

"I think her dying overrides that if I am honest."

"I do not think it does. Charlotte gave me her orders and I will obey. This telegram is a day old, clearly whoever took it did not think to tell the postmaster. I will go and see if it is still as grim." Thomas pulled off the blanket he had been using to keep warm and shuddered.

"You're losing weight." It was an odd statement to make, but one that as a medical professional, Edward could not help but notice. "Your housekeeper states you are ill."

"I am fine."

"I think you are lying."

Thomas was about to retort when the crying in his mind started again. He shook his head to try and dislodge it but it simply remained. When he looked up again, Edward was looking at him as though he was mad. "I...It will not stop."

"What?"

"Can you not hear it?"

"The wind?" Edward looked around, trying to understand what Thomas was hearing that he could not.

"The crying."

"There is no crying here." Edward was not sure of much at that moment, but he was certain there was no crying. "I think you to be losing your mind, you are like one that is."

"I am not. This house, it is not like others."

"Well, it is practically Death Hall." Edward could not help the comment, it had been said before he could help himself.

"You don't understand."

"What I do understand is you are acting like a madman and I think, professionally, that you should be analysed by people who understand such things in the correct setting," Edward stated factually. "You are like one in need of entering an asylum."

Thomas's eyes darkened at Edwards words and without saying anything in retort, he grabbed Edward by the arm and pulled him along with purpose, out of the attic workshop and through the house. Scared that Thomas was about to do something harmful to him, Edward was wary and remained to the inside of the stairwell, away from the bannister as they descended it to the floor that housed the bedrooms. Thomas did not even look at him as he walked through the hallway and opened a door, all but throwing Edward into the room. "This is Lottie's art room, I chose this room for her because it is one of the warmest and easy to keep warm rooms." He stated clearly.

Edward shivered, his breath turning to condensation in front of his face. He was about to retort when he recalled it was a warm room last winter when his sister and he had conversed in there regarding Thomas and Lucille. He also noticed the fire, that was clearly burning for a considerable time, yet seemed to be emitting no heat.

"Ask Mrs Phillips, nothing has warmed this room in three days, three."

Edward swallowed and looked at Thomas worriedly. He watched as Blake rose from some blankets, having not realised the dog was there before that and looked at him sorrowfully.

"He will not leave this room but to relieve himself, he stays in here, specifically choosing to bring Charlotte's warmest shawl and blanket in here, they were in our room, he dragged them here and lies in her favourite spot, shivering and whining and has done, for three days."

Edward felt a chill go up his spine that was nothing to do with the cold temperature of the room. He looked around it almost fearfully.

"I told you already," Thomas looked him in the eye as he spoke. "This house is like no other."