4. Whispers

Thomas went to bed early. Where, she wasn't sure. Not Lucille's room, because Edith checked there later and found it empty. Not in the master bedroom either, because he left it to her. There was a guestroom, too. It was dusty and small and generally unpleasant, but it was the only other room with a proper bed that wasn't completely broken. If Thomas had asked if they could sleep in the same bed, she would have refused. And yet, the lack of any such request hurt her. Edith shook herself. That wasn't fair. She would do this as Pilgrim had said, soberly and detached. Thomas acted like a perfect gentleman, giving her and himself space. She couldn't demand closeness when it fit her and push him away when it did not.

The truth was, she missed him. A part of her wanted to find him and snuggle into him and forgive him already. Another part of her, however, thought of the ghosts, of that first time where he had been the one to bring that horrible tea to her. And yet, he had also been the one who'd one day plucked it out of her hand and told her never to drink it.

Angry at herself, Edith rose and compromised by walking up to Thomas's workshop. It was the closest she could be to him without … well, being with him. She sat on his chair and looked at the toys, at the carefully crafted heads and the small machines that did the most wondrous things. She heard the footsteps far too late to retreat, so she just remained where she was and waited. The door creaked open, and Thomas stopped in the frame, eyes tired and swollen. 'I … oh. My apologies.'

It took all the willpower she had not to rush to him and embrace him and she started to wonder whom she was kidding. 'No. This is your place.' She stood and invited him to take the seat at the desk. He walked to it, absently, and produced a piece of paper and a short, gnawed on pencil from a drawer. 'Thomas, you should sleep. You look so …'

'Broken?' He ran a hand over his face. 'I tried but couldn't. I may have a solution to my problem.' He started drawing on the paper, lines and some numbers and slowly but surely an object came to life on it. 'The vats with the clay. They are deep and the clay is viscous. If you wanted to extract something from the bottom without draining the vats, you'd need a bit more than a stick. You'd need a pulley with a hook. You need it to be firm, because you want to control the hook in the gunk. A mere chain … you could wiggle the chain but that wouldn't translate to the hook through the clay. So you'd need something like …' He faltered, took a new paper and drew a large version of an odd chain. 'A chain that you can brace somehow, even when it's in the clay, so you can move the hook properly and notice when it grabs on to something.' He looked up at her. 'Then there is the fact that I haven't the slightest idea what is where. If they're all in the same vat or all in separate ones or … well.'

'Thomas … do you miss her?'

He took a while to answer. 'Yes. I miss her. Edith, I loved her.' He frowned. 'That doesn't mean I wouldn't kill her all over again if she were here now, nor that I am not also very relieved that she is gone. I was too weak to do it and it nearly cost your life. I would not be too weak now.'

'Why not?'

He shook his head slowly. 'I don't even know. It's like … those years all passed in a haze that only stopped suffocating me when I opened my eyes in the hospital. It was easier to be silent and close my eyes to all of it. The murders, the … God, Edith, all of it, all that happened.' And now she saw that his gaze was going right through her, his face devoid of any expression. 'I … Edith, I am so tired, I cannot focus properly.' His left hand had closed around a knife and was approaching his right wrist slowly, cautiously.

With a yell, she knocked the knife out of his hand and spun. She saw nothing. Thomas sat still as if he had become a statue, his hand still curled as if he held the blade. 'I wasn't … I didn't plan to …'

'I know you weren't going to use that on me.' Despite his earlier request, Edith took his hand into both of hers. 'I think this was something very different.'

'I d… I don't even remember … Edith, what is going on?'

'I told you the house is haunted.' She swallowed and continued quietly. 'She wants you. She wants to kill you so you are together forever.'

Thomas's hand held on to hers firmly. 'No. There is no way she'll have me.'

'You may not have a choice.'

'Do you know any way to protect ourselves from a ghost?'

She laughed. It sounded desperate even to herself. 'The ones I've met so far wanted to help, not to murder.'

Thomas looked at his drawing. 'This chain is tricky. The rest is very simple. I can get the construct done in a few hours, the chain, though … Here's an idea.' He stood and grabbed a wooden box into which he threw a few tools. 'I cannot make this from scratch. I know how it can be made, but I still need a long chain to start with, and I happen to know where I can buy one that is bad enough for the links to lock easily. What do you say we grab what we need and go to the village? There's a place that's open all night. We can wait for the morning there.'

'What place is that? A brothel?'

Thomas laughed. It was brief but definitely there. 'No. A café, in fact, but I suspect that the upper floor is … well. What you said.'

'Thomas.'

'Well, you can also choose to light a fire on the street and sleep there, but I wouldn't recommend it.' He stuffed his hasty drawings and more paper into his box and carried it out. 'Did you sleep here before I came back?'

'Yes. But nothing like this happened to me.'

'At least she's no longer after you then, it seems. Still. I don't know if it's safe for you to stay here, now she's made her intentions clear. I'd prefer if you came with me. We'll come back when we have the braceable chain.'

Edith followed her suddenly energised husband down the stairs and into the master bedroom where he started throwing clothes into a suitcase. 'Braceable isn't even a word.'

'It is now.' He slammed the case shut and hoisted it up.

'Thomas Sharpe! Put that down at once.' He did, stunned. 'Are you allowed to carry that much after being stabbed? Give me that box.'

'You have a broken ankle. You carry yourself. That will be quite enough.' He picked his suitcase up again and took a few steps before he stopped. 'Ah … there's one small snag, though.'

'Finally.'

'I'm afraid I won't be able to pay for the chain. Or our stay.'

She rolled her eyes. 'Thomas. It's the middle of the night. If we walk out right now we may very well break our necks on the way. Or freeze to death, for that matter.'

He faltered. 'You're right.' When he faced her, his eyes were painfully helpless. 'Very well. I'll … have to keep myself awake.'

'We have to stick together, too. To stop her from getting you to hurt yourself.'

'It's so good to realise that I'm not just pointless. Apparently, I'm a liability, as well.'

Edith's heart ached at his words. 'You're not. You're just … vulnerable to her. You have been in her clutches all your life, and apparently she doesn't want to let you go. Come on.'

Meekly, he walked into the master bedroom with her again. He sat awkwardly on his side of the bed. 'I still think we should try and stay awake.'

Edith sat with her back against the wall. 'We will. And tomorrow we'll go and buy a chain.'

'So, what can a ghost do, exactly? Can they … I don't know, move things?'

Edith remembered a few of her encounters with them. 'Yes. But I don't know to what extent. This though, this is new. They never tried and made me do things.'

'Did you see her?'

'Tonight? No.'

'Implying that on another occasion you did.'

Edith nodded slowly. 'Yes. Twice. At her piano. Playing without moving the keys, lost in herself. She seemed harmless.'

Thomas shivered. 'Lucille was never harmless. That won't be changing.' He looked at her. 'We have to get rid of her.'

Without thinking, Edith reached out and ran a hand down Thomas's arm. 'I have a feeling we should discuss this another time. And away from here.'