6. Once Almost a Treasure

At first, Thomas was very certain that he wouldn't close his eyes for a minute that night. He was upset – mostly with himself. He'd snapped at Edith, even though he knew that she wasn't making him do this just to torture him. Her entire attitude towards him made it clear that she wanted him to be all right. If that meant she'd stay he wasn't sure and he refused to consider it. If she had any reason, she'd leave him, and Thomas mentally prepared himself for just that. That way, any surprise could only be a pleasant one. He'd certainly take it.

There was also the fact that all of a sudden he realised how horrid this all was. He didn't feel particularly bad about their mother. He'd had nothing to do with that, having been a mere witness, and he had no pity for her. But the other three women hadn't done any harm ever in their lives. They'd had nothing to lose, maybe, but that didn't make any of this right. Not by a long shot. If he was a man at all, he'd turn himself in. That last thought came in the voice of his father.

He shook himself as he lay stiffly on his back. Edith was next to him, judging by the rhythm of her breathing awake as well and lost in her own thoughts. He longed to turn to his side and pull her against him, let her warmth seep into him and just relish in the fact they were both alive and there. But of course, he couldn't.

He also wondered if falling asleep was wise. Out of the house, it had seemed sensible enough to want to stand up to Lucille's ghost. In here, he felt as if he were still little and getting a beating for something he couldn't even remember doing.

It was the time of night where he'd always slipped out of bed to go to Lucille's bedroom, to have her hands, her mouth, her entire body claim him as her own. When they were young, almost children, he had been so eager for her closeness. Even later. At some point, though, he'd ceased seeking her touch. It had never occurred to him to deny her, to look for love elsewhere, but that hadn't stopped his heart from making space for someone else, someone gentle and warm and strong. And now he doubted if what Lucille had felt had been love at all. At one time, it had been. But that was long ago, an emotion destroyed in the asylum and twisted into something horrible and predatory.

And next to him, Edith. Now sleeping lightly, peaceful. Cautiously, he turned to his side to watch her. He felt his own weariness take over. She was beautiful and pure. And yet, she didn't shy from the darkness lurking behind him, but made him face it, holding his hand all the while. It was hard not to have hope.

Thomas woke up what felt like minutes later. His entire front including his face was pressed into something warm, his body curled in on itself. He was also holding on to … Edith. Suddenly alert, he started to make plans to extricate himself from his position without alerting her when he noticed something else. She was caressing his hand. She was awake.

Resigned, Thomas shifted, but since he had apparently found it was a good idea to fold himself around her completely, Edith was resting on one of his arms so he couldn't sit up. 'I'm sorry,' he said.

'Why?'

He snorted. 'Because … well. It's inappropriate?'

Slowly, Edith turned in his embrace. 'Is it?'

He flushed under her serious scrutiny and pulled himself free. 'Yes. At this moment in time, it is. I just … I can't.'

'I'm making everything difficult for you,' she said softly.

Thomas shook his head. She had tolerated his touch earlier, so apparently she wasn't completely repulsed by the thought of him. Therefore, he dared to reach out and take her face into both hands. 'You are making everything bearable for me, Edith.' Feeling incredibly bold, he pressed his lips to her crown. 'I love you,' he breathed against her skin.

'Thomas, I …' He shifted his hands, placed a finger over her lips.

'Shh. Not this. Not until you know. Please.' He felt her nod and released her.

Edith swallowed. 'How about I make us breakfast?'

'I'd like that,' he said. And at the same time, he wished she wouldn't. This was so close to what he craved with all his heart that he feared what it would do to him if he lost it.

Ϡ

Edith sat bent over her ledger when she heard Thomas call her from the mines below. He hadn't said that he was going down, and she wondered why he had gone alone. She thought of how she had woken up with him spooning her. If he had wanted to make love to her then, she wouldn't have objected. With every day she spent with him, the thought to walk away when all was done became more absurd. Thomas loved her, there was no doubt about that. He wasn't going to hurt her. Sternly, Edith reminded herself that he had brought her the poisoned tea and betrayed her, but that thought no longer bred resentment or jealousy. Only grief at the memory of him shutting his eyes to it all and tolerating it.

She reached the mines and found Thomas standing by the vat. 'The body,' he said. 'This isn't where we left it.'

A chill crept down her spine as she stood next to her husband. Pamela's bones had lain under the pulley. Now they were directly next to the vat they had locked again. Her hand found his and squeezed. 'Well, it explains why she left us alone last night,' she said softly.

'Quite.' He licked his lips. 'Can ghosts fight? Each other, I mean. This is not normal.'

'None of this is normal.'

Above them, the door slammed shut with enough vehemence for the sound to carry down to them. She felt Thomas hold on to her more strongly. How different he was, compared to his dismissal when she had first spoken of their mother's ghost. She took a deep breath. 'I'll go up and see.'

'Be careful.'

'Always.' She hurried back to the elevator and up. In the entrance hall, she found Finlay on his way back out.

As he heard her, the old man smiled. 'Ah. Just wanted to see if you're well. The young master?'

'Is back home. But he's busy.' When she'd gone up, she'd seen him move the pulley to the next vat.

'Ah, good to hear.'

'Finlay, we have a request,' she said then. 'We need a cart and a horse to pull it down to the village. Soon, as long as the weather is holding like this. Also … please tell the Reverend in the village that we'll meet him one of these days. I don't know when we'll be ready, but it will be soon.'

If Finlay found these instructions at all odd, he didn't show it. 'Count on it, Lady Edith.' She watched him go with a wistful expression. Briefly, she contemplated going back down, but Thomas had gone alone to start with, so she decided to give him space. Instead, she'd clear out some of the stuff they would get rid of. Thomas had agreed that all the things on the right half of the ledger could go. The poison, he had thrown down the impassable side of the top of their rise the night he'd arrived. She had to start somewhere, so she decided to begin with some of the broken dishes. One day, they'd buy new things.

Edith smiled to herself at the thought. The part of her that thought ahead didn't even entertain the idea that she might leave.

Picking up a plate that was broken almost in half, she suddenly felt as if she was being watched. Edith put it down carefully and looked around herself, but she saw nothing. 'Finlay?' she asked tentatively. There was no answer. 'What is it? What do you want to tell me?' She closed her eyes, but of course no-one spoke to her.

But something else happened. She felt an intense need to go down to the mines. Frightened, Edith raced to the elevator. It carried her down at a glacial speed, taking even longer to finally spew her out into the corridor.

Thomas was sitting on the ground next to another body. His hands and clothes were stained red, forming a stark contrast to his sheet white face. Clay, please, God, let it be clay. One of his hands was clutching the hook of the pulley, and he was curled around something in his lap. 'Thomas!' His head jerked up and he released the hook. Edith skidded to a halt and let herself fall to her knees. His cheeks were wet. 'Thomas are you injured?'

He lifted his hand, trembling and bleeding. The hook had been buried in it. Edith couldn't quite contain her gasp. Thomas stared at her with puffy eyes. 'Regardless,' he choked out. 'I will not follow. I will not.'

'Lucille? Did she try to …' He gave a single nod. 'Did you see her?' A jerky shake of his head. 'Thomas, what else happened? You look like death.'

Slowly he straightened. His entire front was red. And cradled to his body were the scarlet bones of an infant.