Craven Manor(35)



The front door was still open. Daniel wished he could take that as a sign of welcome, but he knew it was just the way Craven Manor was. Its door stayed open through storms and sleet, and Daniel’s presence wouldn’t change that.

He climbed the broad stone steps. An eddy of wind swept leaves ahead of him. He stopped just inside the door and scanned the floor and fireplace mantel for a letter. There wasn’t any.

“Bran, I’m so sorry.” He swallowed then spoke a little more loudly. “Kyle never should have come here. And… and I never should have told him about the house. It wasn’t right.”

He’d become so used to his host’s silence that it wasn’t surprising when the echoing words went unanswered. Daniel wished he had some way of knowing Bran had heard him. Maybe the mansion’s owner had hidden himself away in some solitary corner of the house. He might even have left the house entirely. But Daniel prayed Bran had heard and that the silence meant he hadn’t wholly rejected the apology.

The cat held its usual spot in front of the fireplace. It was shivering and refused to meet Daniel’s eyes. The noise and commotion must have terrified it. Daniel made small, comforting noises as he crept towards the cat. “It’s okay, little guy. You’re safe. He won’t be coming back.”

There was enough kindling beside the fireplace that Daniel could start a new fire. He built it quickly—practice had made him more proficient at using the flint—and waited for the flames to catch onto one of the larger logs. The cat refused to turn but stayed with its back to the warmth. It shuffled its paws a little closer together, and a fresh tremor ran through it. Daniel wished he could cuddle it, but he knew that would only upset it more. Giving it a warm environment was the best he could do.

Daniel went back to his cloth bags and opened one. With the last of his wages, he’d bought three pots of white lilies from the town’s garden centre. He’d tried to match the species to the flowers he’d seen in Annalise’s portrait.

One pot went onto the fireplace’s mantel, between the partially melted candles. Daniel arranged it the best he could. The mirror above the mantel was fogged and had a long crack running through the glass, but it still highlighted some of the flowers and helped make the plant look fuller.

Daniel left the other two lilies on the floor and returned outside, where dark, pendulous clouds continued to mask the sky and created an imitation of twilight. Daniel circled the mansion and found the place where Kyle had landed. The plants had been partially crushed in the impact, and broken branches held spots of congealed sap.

He shouldn’t have survived the fall. Daniel couldn’t tear his eyes away from the bushes. Three floors, and only these plants to cushion him. He’s one of the luckiest men I know.

Before carrying Kyle to the pickup truck, Daniel and Joel had unfastened his satchel and backpack and left them on the ground. The bags were only half-filled, but they still felt heavy. Daniel carried them back into the foyer and placed them on the fireplace’s rug. The cat continued to shiver. Unable to give it further comfort, he settled for feeding a fresh log onto the fire then unzipped the backpack.

Kyle had been looking for anything valuable, but he didn’t seem to have found much for all the searching he’d done. Some of the items he’d taken were the empty photo frames from above the fireplace. Daniel lifted them out, examined them for damage, and gave them a quick dust with his sleeve before placing them into the empty gaps between the dead branches, candles, and clock. He couldn’t remember their order but hoped he’d managed okay. Even though they didn’t hold any pictures or paintings, someone must have cared about them enough to keep them on display.

Most of the other stolen items weren’t as easily identifiable. The candelabrum Kyle had taken was one of hundreds scattered through the house, and Daniel didn’t know which room he’d snatched it from. He eventually placed it on the dining room table, near where he’d had dinner the night before. The tabletop was still dusty except for a small patch where Daniel’s plate and napkin had smudged it away.

The rest of Kyle’s stash amounted to three necklaces, a pair of diamond earrings, and two hairbrushes. They must have come from one of the bedrooms. Daniel didn’t feel wholly right about going deeper into the house, and for a second, he considered leaving the jewels in the foyer. But that seemed even more disrespectful. Daniel glanced between the leaf-littered ground and the grand staircase and finally resolved on searching for the room.

The stairs groaned as he climbed them. The house had returned to its usual wash of shadows; either Bran had extinguished the lamps and candles Kyle had lit, or they had burnt themselves out during the night. Annalise’s portrait watched his motions, but the eyes looked no less fearful than they had the night before.

Daniel turned left on the first landing and looked inside the closest guest room. Kyle had pulled bureau drawers open and thrown their contents over the floor. Daniel tightened his lips, then he hoisted the satchel over his shoulder and began righting the drawers.

The room didn’t hold much—just spare linens and a set of dresses that had decayed into rags. The smell of rotting fabric made Daniel sneeze as he tucked the last of the items away and closed the drawers. He went through the other open doors, righting overturned furniture and packing scattered blankets back into their cupboards.

Kyle had torn apart most of rooms on that floor. Daniel was surprised at the thoroughness; his cousin must have been in the house for at least an hour before Annalise woke him.

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