Heart of Thorns - Nicolette Andrews

Chapter Five

Her condition was getting worse. Mr. Thorn had seen the apparition; he had fought it. But that was not possible. If it was all in her head, then no one else should have been able to see the woman in white. How could Mr. Thorn have seen her? Unless she had imagined the entire thing? It had to be the stress of being in a new place. She was anxious from navigating these new situations and it had manifested in hallucinations.

That was why she must send this letter. He would know how to best address this problem. She had been doing better, much better. Years had passed since her last attack. She leaned against a tree that shielded her from the lane and took large gulping breaths. The village was not far, and she would hate to arrive flushed and disheveled. Equally so, she did not want Mr. Thorn to see her this way. Servants loved to gossip. With her sudden outbursts and erratic behavior, they had reason to talk. If the truth came out, she would be ruined. Her mother and father were counting on this marriage. She had to make it work.

Once she was certain Mr. Thorn was not coming and she caught her breath, Catherine stepped back onto the path. Perhaps he had returned to Thornwood Abbey, or maybe she had made him up too. Whatever the reason, she dared not linger any longer. After their first meeting, she had almost asked Edward about him. Their meeting had been too strange. The way he appeared and disappeared reminded her of the things she saw as a girl. They were not real. Which meant Mr. Thorn was likely wasn't either. She hurried along the road, the fog pressing down on her from all sides. The damp and wet grasped the nape of her neck and sent a shiver down her spine. No matter where she went around the grounds of her new home or along this road, she always felt a tingling unease as if she was being watched.

The fog limited her vision to a few feet in front of her. The shadows of trees pushed through the gloom along with the occasional cottage scattered along the road. This fog was too thick, she might get lost. It would be better if she turned back, but she had to send the letter: today. Footsteps fell on the gravel behind her and she hurried her pace, as did the trailing footsteps. At first she thought, perhaps it was Mr. Thorn come to tease her some more. If he was real. By fearing these things, the apparitions, the visions, whatever she wanted to call them, it gave them power. Even if it was only in her mind. The stronger they became, the harder they were to dismiss. The more she believed, the more frequent they became. That's what he always said. Catherine had to be strong. As she tugged her shawl tighter around her, she wished she had taken the carriage. She had been so intent on secrecy, she had not even bothered to ask for it. No one knew she had stepped out.

She picked up her pace, changing to a jog instead. Her fears chased after her. The footsteps started running as well. Stop this. There is nothing there.

She came to a stop, turned around and faced the empty lane. As she had expected, there was nothing there: just the echo of her footsteps that had come to a halt. She was being hysterical. Deep breath. One, two... The fog cleared away and she could see the village up ahead, where villagers milled about. When she walked up, many of them stopped what they were doing to watch her pass, their gazes hooded. She smiled and gave a hello to an old woman with a basket slung over her arm. The old woman walked past Catherine as if she had not heard her. A group of old men lingered outside a haberdashery and she ducked her head as she passed them by, afraid she'd be snubbed again. They watched her go, their eyes burning on the back of her head. Edward had warned her that the villagers were slow to accept outsiders. But he assured her they would come to love her in time. She passed a few shops, the grocer, the baker, the butcher, a store that sold lady's accessories and other miscellany, and then around the corner she spotted the postmaster's store.

She hurried through the open door into the light and airy interior a bell rang signaling her entry a single desk at the back of the room was occupied by a middle-aged man with thick sideburns that crept down to his chin. As she approached, he wrote in his ledger without looking up.