Craven Manor(53)

Daniel spent the night in Mrs. Kirshner’s living room, arranged on a bed of cushions and spare blankets. He tossed and turned, alternately staring at the streetlight’s glow where it arced across the ceiling and watching Alonzo dozing in his cat tree. As he lay awake, a plan began to form. It was crude and rife with ways it could go wrong, but if he could stay calm and act natural, he thought he might be able to pull it off.

It all relied on maintaining Bran’s trust. The manor’s owner would be suspicious that Daniel hadn’t returned that day, so he would need a plausible excuse for having stayed in town. He would also need to keep his mouth shut about everything he’d learned.

Daniel rose as soon as the sun came up. Mrs. Kirshner tended to sleep in, so Daniel moved as silently as a wraith as he made two plates of breakfast in the kitchen. He ate his by the window and watched the people on the street outside. The apartment block wasn’t in a nice part of town. A child played barefoot in the gutter for several minutes before his mother found him, smacked him, and dragged him inside one of the buildings. Most of the faces that passed by looked haggard and weary, infused with the kind of tiredness that comes from a lifetime of stress.

Daniel wondered if his own face would grow that haggard if he stayed in the city. For the few brief days he’d worked at Craven Manor, he’d felt as if he’d escaped into a better life. His work had mattered… even if it was just to a ghost and a man made of shadows.

He exhaled as he turned away from the window. He left Mrs. Kirshner’s plate on the table and washed his own. Finally, he took the pocketful of cash—the proceeds from the coin he’d sold the previous day—and hid it in her cupboard, behind a tin of peaches. It might take her a few days or even weeks to find it, but the cash would support her and Alonzo for a while once she did. His conscience wouldn’t let him spend the money on himself, but he had no compunctions in leaving it to a woman who’d deserved a better lot in life.

He picked up the talisman off the windowsill. The leather strap went around his neck, and he tucked the vial under his shirt then checked how it looked in the bathroom mirror. As long as he kept his jacket zipped, the talisman was invisible. Daniel silently let himself out of the apartment.

City sounds engulfed him as he stepped onto the street. Two men yelled at each other from inside a store, and cars blared their horns. Daniel ducked his head and thrust his hands into his pockets as he half walked, half jogged away from the noise. He stopped at a general store two blocks away and spent the last of his money on a small bag of supplies.

This is the right thing to do. He felt queasy and sweaty. Paranoia about touching the rot in the abandoned town resurfaced, but he comforted himself by recalling that Mrs. Kirshner had said the disease killed its host within a day. If he’d contracted anything, he would have felt it already. The clamminess was derived purely from stress.

City became countryside, and Daniel followed the familiar trail down Tilbrook Street. The massive gnarled oak at the end shifted in the wind, and its branches seemed to beckon him forward. Daniel turned and followed the flagstone trail into the overgrown forest.

The woods seemed noisy that day. Birds and insects clamoured to be heard, and Daniel tried to clear his mind as he focussed on the sounds. Looking nervous when he arrived back at Craven Manor might sink the whole plan.

The gates came into view sooner than he would have liked. He stood outside them for a moment to take in their rusted, deteriorated visage. The bronze plaque that announced Craven Manor glinted in the light.

“A manor to strike fear into people who saw it. A manor inhabited by cowards.” He licked his lips and stepped through the gate’s narrow gap. The manoeuvre became easier every time he performed it, but he hoped he would only have to practice it once more… when he left Craven Manor for the final time.

Daniel left the plastic bag not far from the gates, hidden behind thick bushes. Then he turned and followed the familiar track through the garden towards the manor.

The anxiety-prompted sickness returned as the building came into view. Its dark stone walls, high windows, and insane mix of buttresses and extensions were overwhelming. He looked towards the tower and thought he saw a ghostly pale face pressed against the glass. As he stared at Eliza, she retreated into the shadows.

“A shy woman. A woman riddled with phobias.”

The crows had gathered in the tree and the stone supports around the front doors. Daniel searched for the huge, age-tattered bird, but Bran wasn’t amongst them. He climbed the steps to the open front door and stepped inside.

He’d forgotten how forlorn the foyer was. The void magnified the sound of every breath and movement. The chandelier barely refracted the light that struggled through the windows. Every object—the empty photo frames and candles on the mantelpiece, the fireside chairs, the high curtains framing the windows—were all suffocated under the blanket of dust. It was too dim to see the spiderwebs, but Daniel knew they were lurking, waiting for him to walk into them.

Moment of truth. Will Bran believe me?





Chapter Twenty-Four





Daniel waited in the doorway for several pounding heartbeats, but the manor’s master didn’t swoop down from the higher floors. He tried to calm the shaking in his hands and stepped forward. “Bran?”

Two amber eyes glinted by the cold fireplace hearth. Daniel felt a pang of relief and let a natural smile grow. He liked cats. Talking to Bran in his animal form would be easier than trying to lie to the man’s face.