This chapter's song is Survivor, a haunting rendition by Wide Eyed Boy.

Chapter 7 - Survivor

December 14th, 1901

It was remarkable how different Edith felt this time as the carriage rounded the bend in the road that allowed her the first glimpse of Allerdale Hall in the distance. The first time she'd seen Allerdale's imposing spires, she'd been young, in love, and full of naïve excitement at her future as Thomas's wife and mistress of the great house. Now, although she was still in love and still had a future as Thomas's wife, she felt as if she'd aged years in the span of mere months; she now knew her husband to be a troubled man with a sinister past instead of the flawless storybook prince he'd appeared to be.

Beside her Thomas's face was drawn and pale, his jaw clenched tightly together. He didn't speak a word, and Edith didn't attempt to pry speech from him; instead, she offered as much comfort as she could by taking one of his hands tightly between hers and rubbing it gently. Her fingers brushed over the Sharpe family ring he still wore, marking his rank and naming him lord of this estate - though he would be neither for much longer, at his own insistence.

Thomas was adamant that he wanted to sell Allerdale Hall and the adjoining clay mine as soon as he could, and never set eyes on the place again after this trip; his wife heartily agreed. Thus, being a practical woman, over the past week Edith had drawn up a list of items she and Thomas wanted to retrieve from Allerdale in addition to the documents they needed. At first Thomas had insisted that he wanted nothing from the house at all; after Edith pressed him on the point, eventually he agreed to take the blueprints and machinery from his workshop that he'd worked so hard on over the years, and a few books he'd loved as a boy. All Edith wanted to recover was her reading glasses and the clothes, books, and other miscellaneous sentimental items she'd brought with her from America.

As the carriage drove through the gate and up the long path to the house, Edith couldn't help but look over at the clay harvester, now eerily still in the half-melted snow. She almost expected to see Lucille's crumpled body there where she'd left it, but of course that was absurd; Lucille had been buried without fanfare two weeks ago in the cemetery at St. Mary's, her burial unattended by any except the minister and the men Edith had hired to carry the casket.

When the carriage came to a halt, Thomas carefully climbed down first and, with the driver's help, assisted Edith as she awkwardly stepped down and maneuvered the crutches under her arms. The splint on her ankle had finally been removed a few days ago, but the doctor wanted her to keep weight off that leg for a couple more weeks - so she was still using the infuriating crutches. Edith winced at the noise as the wooden ends squelched down into the wet clay as she walked.

Edith had hired two men from Keswick to help carry and transport back the belongings they wished to keep, and as their cart pulled up in the drive behind them the brawny fellows hopped out. "Lead the way, Lady Sharpe, Sir Thomas," one of them called. "We'll have everything you need loaded in a jiffy!"

Thomas and Edith shared a long look. "No use in delaying, I suppose," Edith announced, and pushed the heavy, unlocked doors open.

The great doors swung open with a creak, and the hatefully familiar scent of must and clay hit Edith full force. She hadn't realized before how strongly smells were tied to memories, and she blanched as images of her time here flashed rapidly before her eyes; risking a glance at Thomas, Edith could tell he was similarly affected. She put a hand on his left shoulder, and he startled at the contact.

"It's fine, Thomas. It's just memories," Edith reassured him, as she gathered her own courage and stepped into the front hall. Thomas followed, and though his expression was pinched he seemed to be holding it together.

Not a soul had stepped foot in Allerdale Hall since that fateful day, and Edith shuddered as she spotted droplets of Alan's blood dried on the floor. Looking up from the ground she glanced back at the hired men, who were looking around uneasily.

Visibly mustering up his courage, Thomas stated, "Well, let's get this over with. You -" he gestured at the burlier of the two men - "and I will take the stairs to the attic and gather what I need. Edith, you and this other man can take the elevator to the second level and gather your things from the bedroom. Once we're finished in the attic, we can retrieve the papers we need from the library, then be on our way."

As Edith nodded her assent, Thomas drew her close and spoke in an undertone. "Edith, please promise me you won't go off by yourself. I don't want you alone in this house for one minute. Keep the workman with you at all times."

Edith didn't object; despite all her reassurances to Thomas that there was nothing here to fear, the house still gave her the creeps.

As Thomas and his helper disappeared up the stairs, Edith turned to the man looking expectantly at her. "What's your name?"

"Martin, ma'am."

"Well, Martin, come with me please. Before we go upstairs, there's something else I need to collect."

Edith moved past the elevator and into the library at the back of the house. She hoped Thomas would forgive her this small deception; although they'd agreed to look for the papers in the library together after they retrieved the rest of their things, there was one piece of unfinished business in the library that Edith wanted to take care of, preferably without his knowledge.

Martin accompanied Edith into the room, and she tried to appear casual as she approached the staircase to the room's second level. At the top, Edith spotted what she was hoping would be where she left them: the phonograph, the box of wax cylinders, and the folders containing the incriminating documents about Thomas's first three wives.

"Martin," she called, forcing her voice to remain nonchalant, "would you be able to go up the stairs and retrieve those cylinders and folders for me? You can leave the phonograph."

"Right away, Lady Sharpe," he replied as he bounded up the stairs.

Actually, I might as well retrieve the documentation we need while I'm in here, Edith thought, and made her way over to the ornate writing desk that sat imposingly along one wall. Although Thomas had told her which desk the papers were in, there were several drawers in the piece and she didn't know which might contain the relevant documents; deciding to start from the bottom compartment, Edith withdrew Lucille's infamous key ring from her handbag. The keys had been given to her at the coroner's office when she'd gone to identify Lucille's body; that and the awful engagement ring were all the personal effects Lucille had on her when she died. Edith had promptly stashed the items away in a drawer and tried to forget about them, until she'd reluctantly retrieved the keys this morning.

Edith tried several of the keys in the locks before she found the one that fit. As luck would have it, the documents she was looking for were in the second drawer Edith opened. A thick folder with "Psychiatrische Universitätsklinik Zürich" emblazoned on the front stared up at her; Edith quickly withdrew the papers from it and flipped through them, confirming only that these were the correct documents before stuffing them back inside the folder and locking the drawer again.

Martin stood behind her as she turned, the box of discs and envelopes in hand. Thankfully, Edith had placed all the contents back into the folders that fateful day she'd found them, so there was no way for the man to know what the folders contained. "Thank you, Martin. Please bring those with you while we go upstairs."

As the pair rode up the elevator, Martin remarked, "Here's something you don't see everyday, ma'am! This contraption certainly is newfangled!" Edith just nodded, the memories of her last time in the elevator threatening to overwhelm her. There were bloodstains on the floor and grate from her and Lucille's altercation, and Edith put a hand to the scar on her cheek in remembrance.

Once they reached the master bedroom, Edith turned to Martin with a smile. "My trunk is just here," she indicated, "and I'd like all my clothes and books from the wardrobe, please. But first, it's awfully cold in here, would you mind starting the fire?"

"Certainly, ma'am," Martin replied easily, sitting the stack of cylinders and folders on a side table; within a few minutes he had a blaze going in the fireplace. As Martin started pulling books and clothes from the closet and placing them in her trunk, Edith made her way to the innocent looking pile on the table. Drawing a fortifying breath, she opened Enola's file and rifled through the contents, rapidly shuffling through the papers and photographs until she found what she was looking for. Maybe someday Thomas will be glad I took this, she thought, as she clutched the daguerreotype of poor little Edward and shoved it into her pocket.

Then, with some difficulty, she hobbled over to the fireplace with the box of wax discs and envelopes in hand and thrust them into the flames.

As she watched the only remaining evidence of Thomas and Lucille's misdeeds being consumed, Edith's skin suddenly started to prickle and she felt the hair raise on her arms. Whirling around, she caught the barest glimpse of black, shadowy skirts passing in front of the open bedroom door, and for just a moment she experienced the familiar icy sensation of a spirit's presence before the warmth of the fire returned.

I thought for sure all the ghosts would have left by now, Edith thought uneasily. Maybe I don't understand spirits as well as I thought I did.

Discomfited, Edith turned back and moved as quickly as she could throughout the room, gathering up miscellaneous items she wanted and adding them to the growing pile in her trunk. The sooner they could leave this place and never return, the better.

Thomas knew he was being foolish, but what else is new, he thought dryly. Although he'd warned Edith not to be alone in the house - advice he was certain he should also be following - once he'd given his helper instructions to gather what he wanted from the workshop, he'd made his way back down the stairs and headed to Lucille's room.

He had to see it one last time.

He wasn't even sure what he was searching for - closure, perhaps? Something that reminded him of the sister he'd loved instead of the murderous, deceitful maniac he knew she'd been? Yet she'd also loved him, in some strange perverted way - Thomas knew she had. And even though she'd been a madwoman without a conscience, and though she'd attempted to kill him in the end, she'd also been the only friend, lover, and confidant he'd ever known - until Edith.

Thomas slunk silently down the stairs and past the master bedroom, where he could hear Edith and the workman talking as they packed. Creeping steadily, he made his way down the hall to the last room and paused in the doorway. Memories assaulted him as he peered in - passionate nights, schemes discussed, arguments that inevitably ended with Thomas capitulating to Lucille's will, and most of all, that last confrontation when he'd finally defied his sister and ended up dying on the ground.

He moved slowly into the room, swallowing convulsively at the large bloodstain on the floor. Thomas gingerly maneuvered around the area and made his way to the writing desk, which was strewn with letters and trinkets. He recognized Lucille's precise handwriting on the papers as he shuffled through the collection, unsure what he was looking for.

Thomas's eyes rose a fraction and spotted Lucille's jewelry box. She'd been fiercely protective of it and had never allowed him to look inside, though he never knew why; feeling absurdly like a mischievous schoolboy, he slid the first drawer open.

In the top compartments, Thomas found nothing more than the paste jewelry Lucille had worn when they'd mingled in society. Mother had sold off the family heirlooms and valuable pieces to pay off his father's debts after he'd died, so everything that was left were cheap imitations. The third drawer contained a variety of yellowing letters; Thomas recognized both his mother and father's scripts on the notes, as well as several handwritings that were unknown to him. Not wanting to read anything his detestable parents had written, he shut that drawer and moved onto the next.

Five braids of various shades lay neatly coiled at the bottom.

Thomas stared in shock, unable at first to process what he was seeing. Horror flooded through him as he realized what the locks were, who they'd come from. She really was insane, Thomas thought, to have kept these sick mementos from her...her victims! He reeled in the face of this incontrovertible evidence of Lucille's perverted delight in murder; he shut the compartment with an audible thud and braced himself against the desk with his left arm, breathing heavily.

As he stood panting, a spine-chilling sensation suddenly crawled up his back. Thomas had an overwhelming urge to just turn around, and a simultaneously intense impulse to shut his eye and hide from whatever lurked behind him.

You're not a coward anymore, Thomas Sharpe, he told himself, though the voice in his head sounded like Edith's instead of his own.

Slowly, Thomas turned and beheld his sister's phantom hovering there. Her face had been pale in life and was absolutely pallid in death, but just as beautiful; the dark mist of her ethereal dress brushed the ground over the pool of his dried blood as the specter glided toward him with eerie grace. If Thomas hadn't known that spirits were real - he trusted Edith's word on that, although he'd never seen a ghost himself - he might have thought he was following his sister into madness.

"Lucille," he breathed, unable to move a muscle as the apparition closed the distance between them. Lucille's shade reached toward Thomas's face in a parody of a caress, and he could feel the bone-chilling aura from the spectral hand.

"Thomas," Lucille's voice emanated from the wraith's smiling lips, distorted and unearthly, but still unmistakably hers. "You came back to me."

"No, Lucille," Thomas managed to speak around the terror clawing through his chest. "You - you're gone. I'm not staying."

"But Thomas," Lucille's shade cajoled, "I love you. I love you more than that girl ever could!"

"You tried to kill me!"

"That doesn't matter now, Thomas. Stay with me. The girl doesn't know you, doesn't know your desires, your deepest thoughts, your sins. She'll only leave once you show her your true self. But I'll never forsake you! Stay, and we'll be together forever!"

"She does know!" Thomas retorted, heart pounding with the thrill of defying his sister. "She knows everything, and loves me despite it all! Edith makes me a better person, Lucille. Here, with you, I was wasting away for years…but now I'm free! Free from you at last!"

The ghost's face contorted in a rictus of anger as it hissed out, "You promised you'd be true to me, Thomas! You'll never be free of me, never!"

The illusory hand that had been stroking Thomas's cheek suddenly turned claw-like as the vengeful spirit of Lucille Sharpe plunged her insubstantial fingers into her brother's skull.

Thomas screamed.

Edith and Martin were just packing the last of her belongings into the trunk when an ear-shattering shriek echoed through the vast halls.

"Thomas!" Edith cried and shot out of the bedroom, abandoning the crutches behind her. Her unused ankle shot a stab of pain through her with every step, but the adrenaline running in her veins dulled the sting. She had to find him!

The screaming continued, and Edith quickly realized it was coming from Lucille's room. She experienced an uncanny sense of déjà vu as she ran through Allerdale Hall's gloomy passages to save her husband's life once more.

As Edith burst into her sister-in-law's room, a terrifying sight met her eyes: Thomas was crowded against the writing desk, his left hand clutched to his face as blood leaked out around it. The specter of Lucille Sharpe stood over him like an angel of death, letting out a sinister noise that Edith realized was cruel laughter.

"Get away from him!" Edith cried, and the shade turned toward her with rage in its otherworldly eyes.

"You took him from me!" Lucille's spirit screeched, and rushed toward her with unearthly speed.

Edith had no time to brace herself as the ghost rushed through her, and she stumbled onto a knee as an icy sensation spread throughout her body and she started shivering uncontrollably. She managed to turn her head, expecting to see the phantom returning for another attack, but all she saw was Martin hurrying down the corridor toward her.

"Lady Sharpe! Are you all right?" the man asked anxiously.

"I'm fine," Edith stammered distractedly, trying unsuccessfully to tame the tremors running through her body. "Help me up, Sir Thomas is hurt!"

Martin helped Edith limp over to Thomas. He seemingly hadn't moved, although he had stopped screaming at some point and was now letting out only a low keening moan.

"Let me see, love," Edith soothed, as she gently pried Thomas's hand away from his face. The scar on his cheek had opened again, and a single trickle of blood leaked from the corner of his sightless eye.

"It hurts," Thomas moaned, "it's like she's stabbed me all over again!"

"Shhh, it'll be fine, she's gone now," Edith reassured him, with a confidence she didn't feel. Withdrawing a handkerchief from her pocket and pressing it to the wound, she continued, "It may be painful, but the cut is shallow this time. It'll close up again in a couple days."

"She tried to kill me again, I'm sure of it," Thomas murmured wretchedly.

"I'm sure she did!" Edith exclaimed angrily. "However, in my experience - such as it is - spirits can't actually affect the physical world much. I think this may have been the worst she could do."

"Let's leave, please, Edith, I just want to go!" Thomas cried vehemently. "I never want to see her again!"

"I wholeheartedly agree," Edith replied. "Martin," she turned to the bewildered looking man, "can you fetch my crutches, then finish putting those books in my trunk and bring it down? Sir Thomas and I will take the elevator downstairs and wait for you outside."

Martin departed, and returned a moment later with the crutches. When he left again to finish packing, Edith asked Thomas softly, "Are you well enough to come downstairs with me now?"

Groaning, Thomas pushed himself up off the desk, Edith's handkerchief still pressed tightly to the left side of his face. "I suppose I'll have to be," he muttered. "Let's go."

The pair rode the elevator in solemn stillness, until Edith broke the silence and blurted, "Thomas, I'm so sorry!"

He gave her an incredulous glance. "Whatever for? This was all Lucille's fault - you were the one who saved me, again."

"I should have suspected she'd be here," Edith replied, ashamed. "All the ghosts I've seen before were trying to be helpful, in their own way…I foolishly thought that was the only reason spirits must have to linger. I'd dismissed the possibility of malevolent ghosts, simply because I'd never seen one myself! That was stupid of me. I should have known she would continue to haunt this place - she was so tied to it in life, why would that change in death?"

"Yes," Thomas replied bitterly, "Lucille always loved Allerdale. I never quite understood why, as I would have been happy to never return after our miserable childhood here...but Lucille couldn't bear to leave, so I stayed too." He paused for a moment, lost in thought. Then the words burst forth, "But no more! She has no hold on me now, she cannot force me to stay! I am yours now Edith, always and forever. Wherever you want to go is fine, as long as it's away from here!"

"We'll figure it out together." Edith smiled at her husband as the elevator came to a stop at ground level. "Now, let's get to the carriage!"

Thomas nodded, then a panicked look crossed his face. "Wait! We still need the papers for the inquest!"

"I already have them here," Edith reassured him, patting her handbag. "Let's go!"

They exited out the front into the sunlight. The carriage driver looked startled at their sudden egress, and hopped down from his perch to meet them halfway.

"You alright, sir, ma'am?" he queried, glancing curiously at the bloody handkerchief Thomas still held to his face..

"We'll be fine," Thomas answered shortly. "Help the lady up, if you please, then go inside and help the other men carry our belongings out. We need to leave as soon as possible."

The look on the man's face told Edith he wasn't happy at being asked to help with a task he hadn't been hired for, but at Thomas's stern countenance he only grunted in assent and disappeared inside Allerdale Hall.

After what seemed an interminable length of time, but was actually only a half hour or so, the three men had brought all of their luggage outside. As they loaded the crates onto the cart, Thomas's leg bounced anxiously, and the tension was thick enough to cut with a knife. I wish they would hurry! Edith worried.

Just as the men heaved the last box up, Allerdale Hall's great double doors - which Martin had closed behind them - abruptly flew open with a great bang!

Thomas and Edith jumped at the sound, and turned horrified looks to the entrance; from the depths of the mansion itself, an unearthly shriek could be heard, faint at first but growing swiftly louder.

"We need to leave, now!" Thomas cried. "Hurry, man!"

The driver bounded up and took up the reins, trying to calm the horses who were stamping and snorting in agitation. As the carriage finally started to pull away from the cursed dwelling, Edith risked a look back over her shoulder.

In the open doorway Lucille's dark specter stood menacingly, mouth open in a snarl of rage as that supernatural wail of fury and anguish emitted from her insubstantial throat. Edith continued to stare at the spirit as its form grew smaller and smaller, eventually fading to an inky blemish as the carriage exited the gate and rolled down the road back to Thornthwaite.

You've lost, Lucille, Edith thought suddenly, a sense of smugness and surprisingly a hint of pity washing over her. Thomas is mine now - you can't hurt him anymore.

Putting her arm around Thomas's pale, trembling form, Edith lay her head on his shoulder. "It's over now, my love. She can never harm us again."

"Never," Thomas echoed, his voice deadly calm with certainty.