Craven Manor(75)

Daniel grinned. “I told you she’d like you.”

Bran’s long fingers scratched behind the cat’s ears. Its whiskers puffed out, but it didn’t stir. “The poor creature is too foolish to know she ought to be afraid of me. Much like you.” Bran’s expression was deadpan, but laughter sparkled in his eyes. Daniel snorted.

With Eliza dead, the plague was slowly receding from both of them. Daniel’s arm had regained sensation and most of its dexterity, through the lingering discolouration meant he either wore long-sleeve shirts and gloves or wrapped it in bandages when he visited town. Bran’s features were becoming less nightmarish, as well. Daniel thought that, in a few months, the other man might be able to visit town as a human without getting more than a couple of wary glances.

“We’ve got the historical society meeting here tomorrow.” Daniel stretched his feet towards the flames. “Do you want to join us this time? I’m sure you’d be welcome.”

“Perhaps another day.” Bran continued to scratch behind the cat’s ears. Baby steps, Daniel reminded himself. He couldn’t rehabilitate a recluse overnight. Simply agreeing to let Mrs. Kirshner and her friends spend the evening in his parlour once a week was a large concession.

Daniel and Bran generally only used a few rooms in the mansion: the foyer, the parlour, the library, and the dining room. They had closed up nearly all of the second-and third-floor bedrooms, including the tar-painted tower door. It was easier than trying to keep them maintained, though Daniel hoped Bran might eventually open up a few of the rooms to guests. He suspected Mrs. Kirshner and Bran would get along well, once they both got over their wariness, and it would be good to know his neighbour was looked after and comfortable in her retirement.

Daniel had asked Bran to reduce his pay to something reasonable, but an envelope with two gold coins still appeared outside his door each week. It was far more than he needed. Some of the money had gone into a car. Some was invested. And he spent the rest on antique books about spirits and the supernatural, which were gradually filling out the decimated library’s shelves. He still didn’t know if it was possible to release Annalise’s spirit from the manor. But if there was a way, he wanted to find it and at least give Annalise the choice.

Daniel couldn’t hide a smile as he watched Bran lavish affection on the sleeping cat. Wind whistled through gaps in the stonework, but it seemed distant and comforting as he bent forward to add more wood to the fire.

Bran had said something shortly after Eliza’s attack: “We will take each day as it comes.”

That was the motto Daniel was living by. He didn’t know if his arm would ever fully heal, and it was still possible that Kyle’s death could be connected to him. Life might eventually carry him away from Craven Manor and its unusual owner.

But none of those eventualities felt threatening, not when compared to what he’d gained. His home was comfortable. His work was rewarding. And for the first time in years, he had a genuine friend. The job was unorthodox, but he felt as though he’d found his purpose as Craven Manor’s custodian. And so he would take each day as it came.



The End