The mud gave a viscous slurp as Mistletoe launched herself free, taking Jane off her feet and nearly trampling her in her escape. The mare continued to kick and shake as she stamped back toward the Drowning House.
“You all right, Miss Sterling?” Ruben gripped Jane’s arm and hoisted her back onto her feet.
Jane shivered and sputtered mud from her lips but she managed a meek nod. She’d properly mourn her stained clothes once she was warm and dry.
Ruben sighed and ran a hand through his own dirtied hair.
“The marshes are flooded,” he remarked, chewing on his lip as he glanced back at the sinking carriage; with another shiver, Jane hurried to retrieve her bag from the wreckage, holding it close to her chest.
Water crept toward the outermost fringes of the lawn. Lightning clawed across the sky in a blinding strike, and what Jane saw was no longer a marsh but rather a raging sea. She saw no road, no land. There were only distant reeds and those damned crosses bowed beneath another harsh gust of wind.
Once more, Ruben’s hand found its way through his hair. “Mr. Hayes won’t like this,” he groaned.
“Well,Icertainly wouldn’t like seeing my front lawn flooded like this,” Jane said, a shiver running through her as rain further soaked through her dress.
Ruben didn’t laugh, or even smirk. He stared into the tempest of frothing mud and water with the silence of a man sentenced to death.
CHAPTER
Four
The dispirited warmth of the Drowning House failed to soothe Jane’s shivering as she stepped into the foyer.
Rain and mud dripped off her in fat tears to paint the floor with earthy stains. She winced at her mess and decided that she would offer to clean it for Mrs. Foster. After removing her hat (and taking a moment to mourn how sadly the tinseled feathers drooped), she shook any remaining dampness from her hair.
From deeper within the house was the resounding opening and closing of a door, followed by a chorus of exasperated gasps and frightened murmuring. Jane hurried down the hall to join them.
When she entered the kitchen, Mrs. Foster, the cook Ms. Hudson, and Terence were huddled around Ruben, faces paleand worry etched into their brows. The two women looked as though they were prepared to leave, draped in cloaks and gripping umbrellas. If the seething hisses sharpening their whispers meant anything, they weren’t enthused that they couldn’t leave sooner—or rather at all.
Jane tapped a knuckle against the wooden chopping block in the kitchen’s center, and all whipped their attention to her so fiercely she swore she heard bones snap. Whatever color remained in their faces leached away in an instant. Silence echoed against the kitchen’s tiles, broken only by a rumbling chuckle of thunder outside.
She showed them her palms and flashed her teeth in a smile. “Easy, now, I’m no ghost,” she then made a rueful gesture to the mud trailing behind her. “If you’ll allow me a couple minutes I’ll clean this for you—”
Terence had crossed the room and took hold of her arm, not hard enough to bruise, but she knew she couldn’t break away even if she wanted to. “You must leave,” he said in a voice that creaked behind his teeth.
Jane popped her lips open to speak, but Ruben interjected with an exacerbated groan.
“And where to, Mr. Hayes? I already told you: the road was flooded,” he raised a hand toward a window blotted by the storm’s darkness before slapping it down against trousers thick with mud. “We were barely able to get Mistletoe freed and it’d be a miracle if the cab isn’t wholly drowned by now.”
“We nearly drowned ourselves,” Jane added pointedly. Clumps of mud started to crust in her hair, beneath her nails. “Do you expect me to trek all the way back to Wolf’s Run while your swamp of a yard is trying to eat me whole?”
“We will all need to stay the night,” Ruben muttered; Mrs.Foster and Ms. Hudson lost their pallor before exchanging more choked whimpers. “Roads are washed out, and we’ve no transport.”
Terence at last let go of Jane and raked a hand through his hair, inhaling deeply. His lips were white as if he were on the verge of throwing up. He looked to his staff with another shuddering sigh. “You three know what to do, and I expect you to show Jane to a guest room, please,” he dismissed them with a curt nod. “Rest safely, all of you.”
Jane’s throat suddenly went dry and she squeezed her hands atop her chest.Know how to do what?
He waited for them all to clear out, and it was Mrs. Foster, still in a dark riding cloak, who replaced his grip on Jane’s arm, ushering her from the kitchen as he watched them go.
“What was that all about?” Jane whispered.
When Mrs. Foster failed to offer an immediate answer, instead choosing to fidget with the lace of her sleeves, Jane frowned. The woman gnawed on her thin lip for a moment before finally speaking, “Mr. Hayes is just anxious about the storm. He cares for us deeply, as you can see, and would rather us not travel in the night and the rain. We’re the only family we have for one another, and he wants to do what’s best for our safety, Miss Sterling. I know little of what superstitions you Americans hold but here in Wolf’s Run we fear the night—and all the things birthed in its darkness.”
“Rightfully so.” Ms. Hudson sniffed as they made their way upstairs. Her auburn brow was settled in a glowering line.
“Georgianna!” Mrs. Foster seethed in warning.
“We got ourselves three rules around here for at night,” Ms. Hudson continued, looking at Jane. “If you think you have heard something outside your window, draw the curtains and return to bed; do not look too deep into the darkness, for itwillstare right back at you; and, most importantly, never,everleave yourroom until you are certain that is daylight that spills across your bedspread.” She held up a thick finger as she listed each rule. “I do not know what darkness you Americans know of, but here you must be afraid of the dark, respect whatever lives in the dark because the dark wants to hunt you, it wants to gut you—”
