Edward sat at his desk, drowning in papers, notes, and sums. Lingering at the back of the room, Catherine delayed in interrupting his important work with what was in essence a silly request. A frown marred his usual smiling face and he ran his hands through his hair. He glanced up at her and the disgruntled look melted away as he beamed instead.
"Catherine! Now this is a pleasant surprise." He jumped up and rushed over to her.
Wringing her hands, she studied the floor. "I'm sorry to interrupt. I can come back later." As she turned to leave, he grabbed her by the wrist to stop her. On impulse she yanked her hand away, as more a defense than any repulsion from her husband. His hand dropped to his side as he struggled to disguise the hurt. They had done so well the night before. They had acted like a pair of young lovers, as a young married couple should act. But the previous night had been like a fairy tale and her old insecurities wrapped her up and kept Edward at arms distance.
"I welcome a distraction. How can I be of service, my lady?" He gave her a crooked grin and she blushed.
"I am going into town to pick stationary for the invitation to the ball. I thought you might want to join me."
"How could I miss a chance to spend time with you? These numbers are not going anywhere." He motioned backwards to his desk. "Let me just ring for my coat and we can head out."
It felt so daring to ask Edward to abandon his work for something so foolish as a walk. But ever since the dinner party, she had been thinking that she would like to get to know her husband better. That night had proved that a great intimacy could tame her fears and help her open up to him. Isobel was right; Edward's past was behind him, as was her own. She need not concern herself with memories that brought her shame, and any reemergence of them was just coincidence. She had won Edward's heart, and she must look forward to their future. She could overcome her fears with Edward by her side, just as he had guided her through that awkward social situation the night before.
For his sake, she attempted small talk as they waited for Mr. Griffin to answer the summons: asking about his work. He radiated pride as he explained the lands and tenants, and the problems with wild dogs that killed half of the pigs he had recently invested in.
"The beasts have cost me a pretty penny," he finished with a sigh and rubbed his hand across his face. The beds of his nails were caked and stained with dirt, which was unusual for a gentleman of his station. He must have been out with the farmers early that morning, and seeing how passionate he was about his estate, she knew he would not be afraid of getting his hands dirty. It was an endearing side of Edward that she had not glimpsed before.
The door to the study opened and instead of Mr. Griffin as expected, Edward's Steward Mr. Wolfe burst into the rooms looking disturbed. His eyes were wide and terrified.
"Mr. Wolfe, what is it? You look as if you've seen a ghost."
He rushed over to Edward, overlooking Catherine as if she was not there at all. His was face pale.
"What's left of the pigs are dead, and Mr. Shoat is missing. I went to his cottage to see—" his eyes fell on Catherine and he halted his speech as if he feared giving offense.
Edward sighed. "I am sorry, Catherine. I must see to this."
"I understand. We can walk together another time."
Edward gave her a tired smile and leaned in to give her a kiss on the forehead but at the last moment, hesitated and bowed to her instead. Fearing she would make the awkward display worse by lingering, Catherine hurried out of the room. Alone in the hall, she berated herself. I should have let him kiss me, even in front of Mr. Wolfe. That's what husband and wife do. She swore to herself to do better next time.
She hurried out the door, and once she had her coat and made her way towards the village. She pondered ways to draw Edward and herself closer together. She wanted passion, love, but she also feared his touch. Whenever she was emotional, she started seeing things. Perhaps once she got a response to her letter she would feel more assured and know that she could be intimate with Edward, that she could open herself up to him without reservation. She should have sent the letter sooner, but she had thought herself cured. It had been so long since she'd had an episode.
The fog was thick again; she had not seen a sunny day since she arrived in Thornwood. As it had the first time she walked to the village, her footsteps echoed in the mist. Perhaps I should have asked for the carriage. Because her mother and father could never afford such a luxury, it never occurred to her ask to use it. And now that she had left, it would look silly to turn back and have it made ready. Ignoring the steps that seemed to dog her, she quickened her pace, hoping to get this over with. Dark shadows played trick on the eyes: at times it seemed she saw figures moving about, hopping along the road and watching her. Once she thought she saw a hand reach out of to grab her but when she got closer, the hand turned into an overgrown branch. Up ahead she saw a lump, a pile of something tossed along the side of the road.
As she drew closer, Catherine thought she saw a naked foot. Her eyes must be playing tricks on her. She peered at the mass lying on the ground and realized with dawning horror that the mass was a woman. Golden hair fanned out across the gravel. Catherine crouched to shake her shoulder but pulled back as she saw the crimson staining her chest. She screamed and recoiled. Catherine stumbled backwards falling hard on the ground and scraping her hands on the gravel.
Lying on the ground with her head turned at an odd angle and blood staining the front of her gown was Miss Ashton, Edward's one time lover. The blood spread out from a gash in her chest, where her heart had been cut out. Strands of her golden hair had been seeped in the blood staining them red.
Catherine crawled away, her limbs shaking, unable to climb to her feet. She had to do something: alert a constable. But her body would not obey her. She backed into a nearby garden wall and shaking all over, covered her mouth to prevent another scream from being ripped from her mouth. Footsteps thundered from within the mist and Catherine jumped to her feet prepared to flee from who she was sure was the killer.
A young woman in an apron and cap burst through the mist, saw first Catherine standing by in mute shock, and then her gaze flickered over to the remains of Miss Ashton. Her hand went to her mouth to cover her scream.
"What happened?"
Catherine shook her head. She had no words; her throat was closed tight.
"Come with me, we should tell the colonel," the maid said, holding out her hand for Catherine to take.
Catherine followed the woman around the garden wall and up a short garden path into the cottage she had not seen hidden in the mist. The colonel was waiting in the entryway when they burst in through the door.
"What was that scream?" he asked the maid.
The maid shook her head as if she dare not speak of such a horror. The colonel's gaze fell on Catherine and like a true gentleman he put aside his own curiosity and showed her into the parlor. With a barked command, he ordered tea for Catherine. She sat trembling in the chair, and though it was warm in the room, a large fire built up to nearly stifle; a cold chill ran down her spine. Who would have killed Miss Ashton? It did not escape her that the killer had done the same thing the Thorn Dwellers were said to do. This must be a nightmare. She closed her eyes, praying that she would wake in her own bed any moment.
The maid returned with tea things, which she set down, before leaving without another word. Catherine watched her go, half hoping that the maid would explain to the colonel what she was terrified to speak aloud.
"You saw something," the colonel said in his usual direct manner.
"A woman. Dead." She gulped and her lip trembled from trying to hold back the tears. This woman's body had been mutilated in the same way that horrid hallucination had been. Could this be a new manifestation of her illness?
"Where?" he pressed.
"Lying on the ground." She sobbed, and clamped her hand over her mouth. Miss Ashton's remains had been tossed on the ground like refuse.
He nodded as if he had expected as much. With trembling hands, she picked up her cup to pretend at being unafraid. The burning liquid sloshed over the edges of her cup and she tipped it over spilling onto the floor.
"I'm sorry," she said.
The colonel waved away her apology and then rang the bell for the maid to come and clean it up. The maid returned with a smile on her face.
"Yes, sir?"
"Lady Thornton has spilled her tea, clean it up," he said pointing his cane towards the spill.
The maid shook her head at his command, as if he were an ornery grandfather. Catherine watched the maid who cleaned up the spill, unaffected as if she had not just seen the mutilated body of a young woman, a neighbor of her employer.
When she finished cleaning up, she carried away her rag and went about her business.
"You still remember, don't you?" he asked.
Catherine looked at him, with wide eyes. "She does not?"
He shook his head slowly. "They never do."
Her stomach sank. It could not be. She was so certain she was getting better. No it's happening again.
She swallowed hard. There were no words to explain. How could he possibly understand? He must think her mad.
"I know what you saw, though there is no evidence to support it. By now there will not even be a body."
"I must have been mistaken," she ventured in an attempt to hide her insanity. "Sometimes my eyes play tricks on me."
"You can keep your secrets, Lady Thornton. But I know the truth."
"How can this be real?"
"I do not know why the others forget or why I am cursed to remember." He looked very old in that moment, even for a man his age, a hundred years seemed to settle onto his frame as if he could no longer take the burden. "You must be careful. Do not deny yourself the truth. It is the only thing that will protect you."
Catherine's hands shook as she asked, "Don't you think this is madness?"
He grunted as he readjusted in his chair. "My daughter saw things no one else could. I turned a blind eye, refused to believe, and she died. I didn't protect her, I didn't believe until it was too late. I hope to save you from her fate."
She wanted to believe, but that would unravel everything. Catherine had spent a lifetime convincing herself that these things she saw were not real. To admit it aloud that she had seen Miss Ashton's body, when no one else remembered but a man known for his mad ravings would be the same as admitting herself insane. It could not be real; this was just another symptom of her condition. She could not believe Miss Ashton was dead.