“Anatomy is destiny,” Sigmund Freud once wrote – wrongly, it turns out, but so much that Freud got wrong is fodder for horror fiction all the same, and the anatomy of a place is so often destiny for the character in horror fiction. TED Klein knew he was working with an editor who didn’t get him when she said the phrase “the dark woods” elicited no particular feeling for her. But as readers and writers of horror fiction we know “the dark woods” is everything, and those dark woods are as easily found on a sunny suburban street, in a subway tunnel or along a deserted seashore as near a gothic castle – and are just are frightening and wondrous in equal measure.

  lyndaerucker.wordpress.com

  INHERITANCE or THE RUBY TEAR

  PRIYA SHARMA

  illustrated by Tara Bush

  Chapter 1:

  In Which Lord Mansell Writes a Letter

  Lord Mansell, barely fifty, still handsome and eligible, was broken. Grief had made silver of his hair and etched lines across his forehead. He had long quit his seat in the House of Lords and townhouse in Berkeley Square and returned to Asterfields, his family home in the north.

  It was his habit to spend an hour or two each morning dealing with correspondence and reading newspapers before he went out searching, as he’d done every day for the last fourteen years.

  He liked the sunny study, where he could imagine that at any moment his wife, Anna, might burst in, exclaiming about a letter she’d received. Or else, screams and giggles from Christina and Edward as they ran along the corridor, followed by the admonishing voice of their nanny, Seymour.

  Such happy days.

  Lord William Mansell chided himself. This task couldn’t wait any longer. Each year he’d meant to take Edward aside to talk with him, but failed. He must do it now, commit the words to paper, before his resolve faltered.

  Dear Edward, he wrote. The glistening ink waited for him to proceed, drying to dullness. As my ward you have always been dutiful towards me – he paused, the words still painful to write after all these years – and to the memory of my wife and daughter.

  You and Christina were the best of playmates and it is testament to your character that you have mourned her and her mother for so long. Your visits to Asterfields lift my spirits and sustain me when I am given over to brooding. I have remained silent due to selfishness.

  So now I must be frank. I do not wish you to visit again, or at least not for a while. You are always in my heart but you are of an age when you should be out in convivial company, not sitting with an old man late into the night. I only mean kindness by this.

  I neglected you in those first years after they were gone and left you alone to think on them, in a library full of romances and adventure novels. I am sorry. As I result, I fear you live too much in the past. I worry that you’re in love with the shadow of the woman that Christina would’ve become. Or an idealised version of her. You are mourning a ghost.

  Bring a flesh and blood bride to Asterfields and I will admit you with open arms as if she were my own daughter.

  As if you were my own son.

  The law has changed, as you will have seen by now. The Married Women’s Property Law Act means that, if I had not had a son, Christina would have inherited Asterfields, and when she married it would have stayed in her possession rather than passing to her husband’s estate.

  I am not inclined to take another wife now and you have been my family all these long and lonely years.

  If you have no objection, I wish to adopt you. I have instructed my solicitor to make you the sole beneficiary of my estate.

  I am sure Anna and Christina would approve and be proud of the man you have become.

  Yours, with affection,

  William Mansell

  He leant back in his chair, wrung out by the effort.

  When Lord Mansell saw one of his gamekeepers let fly the goshawk on his fist or the farm hands following some ancient paths through the trees, the history of Asterfields weighed heavy on his soul. He had ignored lectures about responsibility and urgings to remarry, all because of his love for Anna, and now his bloodline was at an end. What right did he have to berate Edward for sentimentality?

  How a single day had blighted all their lives.

  Fourteen years ago he’d stood on the great steps of Asterfields, his hands on Edward’s shoulders. He let go of the boy and went forwards to kiss Anna. If only he’d known. He would’ve kissed her for longer. He would’ve drawn her back inside and insist that she never leave his side, ever again.

  Instead, he’d said, “Will you be warm enough? When you reach the coastal rode there will be a cold wind.”

  “Yes, my darling.”

  Both her and Christina were dressed in dark grey travelling gowns and cloaks. Their blonde hair was like a beacon.

  “Your aunt’s mood will be much improved by your visit.”

  His wife smiled, understanding him completely. “She’ll complain about the weather, the price of tea and her chilblains.”

  “And she’ll love you all the more for your patience.”

  “It’s Christina who cheers her the most.”

  “Ah, yes, Christina.” Lord Aster dropped to one knee. “Edward and I were so anxious that you’ll forget us over the coming weeks that we bought you something to remind you.”

  His daughter giggled.

  “Is it time?” Edward asked.

  “It is.” Lord Mansell nodded solemnly.

  Edward fastened a silver necklace around Christina’s neck, from which hung a pearl, the size and shape as a teardrop.

  “Oh, William, you spoil her!”

  Lord Mansell looked at his daughter. “This isn’t a toy. You must promise me that you’ll take care of this. If you lose it your mother will be very cross at both of us.”

  “Yes, Father.”

  “Promise?”

  “I promise.”

  He tucked the necklace into her collar.

  “And what about me?” Anna asked.

  He kissed her. A kiss to make a rose blush and sway.

  ***

  A fisherman spotted the remains of the carriage while he was out at sea; it had been driven off the cliff edge and broken up on the rocks below. The horses had died in the fall, save one who screamed piteously. It was still in harness, its legs smashed up. The fisherman couldn’t reach it to end its misery because the waters were too treacherous to navigate. Its cries continued until it died of shock and exhaustion.

  The stretch of coast was near inaccessible because of the height of the cliffs, but men were lowered on ropes, a feat in itself. The trunks were gone and of the coachmen, the maid, Christina and Anna, there was no sign.

  Then high tide came, taking the remnants out to sea.

  Chapter 2:

  A Young Man Rides By

  The stable boy at The Tall Ships inn admired the stallion. It was the finest thing he’d ever seen. He stroked the animal’s neck, engrossed, so he didn’t hear the young man approach.

  “Sorry, Sir.” He made to step away but the man’s smile reassured him.

  “That’s quite all right. He’s from Arabian stock.”

  “What’s he called?”

  “Ithaca.”

  “Ithaca,” the boy repeated, awed. Edward knew it meant nothing to him but beauty, wealth and speed, distilled into this lithe creature.

  “Stop bothering this gentleman, Sam.” It was the stable master. “That’s a fine horse, Sir. Where are you headed, if I may be so bold?”

  “Asterfields.”

  “Very good, Lord Mansell.”

  Edward Summers didn’t disabuse the man. He’d taken in Edward’s manner, his mount and the cut of his cloth and taken him for quality. His blond hair marked him as a Mansell. The incident warmed him as he rode away from the inn to join the coastal path that stretched the thirty miles to Abbeyvale, where he took the road towards Asterfields. He loved this part of the journey. The smell of the sea was the harbinger of home.

  He carried Lord Mansell’s letter in his coat, having rehearsed a passionate speech as to why he’d ignored his request.

  He couldn’t bear to think of the man, alone from one month to the next. He couldn’t bear to be away from Asterfields for so long.

  What caused the greatest pang was Christina’s name, there on the page in black ink. Even when the pair of them went out searching together, they rarely said Anna or Christina.

  The rolling ocean and cries of gulls accompanied him. It would be another five miles before he’d take the road to the sheltered valley with its cool, quiet streams and then to where the valley mouth opened to fields of pale corn and copses, with Asterfields above them all.

  It was then that Edward saw the figure wandering on the shore. It was a young woman; her footprints marked the wet sand, leading directly from the surf. A sudden impulse overcame him. He turned Ithaca towards the incline that led onto the beach. The stallion’s hooves churned up the sand as he galloped towards her.

  The young woman’s blonde hair was wet, darkening it. Her skin like milk. The sea breeze made her cheeks pink and her tiny feet were bare. She wore a white cotton shift that clung to her.

  She’s a mermaid, he thought, who’s found her land legs.

  Edward jumped down from his horse and approached her.

  “Are you lost, my lady?”

  She backed away, fearful, her arms across her body. He knew it was wrong to stare at her in such an immodest state, but he couldn’t help himself. When he saw her face, he seized her roughly, crying out, “What’s your name?”

  “Christina,” she answered with a gasp. “Please help me.”

  Fate rocked and mocked him. He caught her as she fainted. Then he saw, around her neck, a silver necklace, from which hung a pearl the size and shape of a tear.

  Chapter 3:

  Christina Comes to Asterfields

  Asterfields rose from the trees on the hill. Its turrets were grandiose, its fierce symmetry emphasised by the sun glinting on the windows. A weather vane marked the hall’s highest point, atop the lantern tower.

  “What’s that?”

  The girl was wrapped in Edward’s coat and seated before him on Ithaca. When she saw Asterfields, she sat up straighter.

  “Do you know where you are?” he asked gently.

  “No. Yes. I don’t know.” She hid her face in the folds of his shirt. He could feel her breath on his skin, through the fine linen.

  Ithaca’s hooves clattered on the cobbles. Edward dismounted, handed the reigns to a boy who ran to greet him. Then he lifted Christina down, his hands at her waist, acutely aware of how thinly clad she was beneath his overcoat.

  “Do you recognise this place?”

  “It’s like something from a dream. I’m scared.”

  “Christina – ” he took her hand “ – I promise you no harm will ever befall you in this house. I will always protect you from whatever it is you’re afraid of.”

  “You will?”

  “There’s nothing for you to fear at Asterfields.”

  “Asterfields,” she repeated, like it was a prayer.

  She looked so vulnerable, so trusting, with her bare feet and wild hair, that he would’ve promised her the world if he could. Instead, he picked her up and carried her to the great marble steps.

  Marlow, Lord Mansell’s factor, opened the door. The man stood aside, astonished, as Edward pushed passed him, still carrying the girl.

  “Marlow, fetch me some blankets and hot broth. Where is he?”

  “Lord Mansell’s in his study, Master Edward.”

  The girl looked overwhelmed, her mouth gaping in surprise at the ancient grandeur of the entrance hall. The wainscot was dark wood, there were tapestries and a huge fireplace in which an ox could be roasted, although the grate was empty now. The glassy eyed heads of stags hung on the wall. A woman looked down from the minstrels’ gallery above them, a frown on her gaunt face.

  “Christina, wait here.” He put her down on a chair beside the study door.

  “Don’t go,” she hissed, seizing his arm. The strength of her grip surprised him. Her nails marked his skin.

  “It’s only for a moment, I promise.”

  She relinquished him slowly.

  Lord Mansell was at his desk, so engrossed in the document before him that he didn’t notice Edward. He was frowning, as he did when concentrating. It was a habit he’d unknowingly adopted over the years.

  “William.”

  Lord Mansell looked up. He tried to suppress the glimmer of happiness he felt. I must stand firm.

  “Didn’t you get my letter? I told you not to come.” His tone changed. “Are you ill?”

  The young man looked fevered. Drunk, even.

  “I’m better than you could ever imagine. Someone’s been cast ashore, William. Someone we were meant to find.”

  He pulled Christina from the shadows of the hall and into the sun filled doorway. Lord Mansell half crossed the room.

  “Oh my God, Anna! Where have you been all these years?”

  “Seymour, will you take this young lady upstairs and see to her needs?”

  Miss Seymour, the gaunt, frowning woman from the minstrels’ gallery.

  “This way dear.” She took Christina by the elbow to guide her away but the girl lashed out, the blow catching the woman’s cheek.

  Miss Seymour didn’t flinch. “Why you little cat—” She raised her hand.

  Lord Mansell got between them. “Firm but gentle, Miss Seymour. This young woman’s had quite a trial from what we can tell.”

  “As you say, my Lord, but I’d be obliged if you would tell the lady that if she raises a hand to me again I’ll give her a hiding she won’t forget.”

  Lord Mansell tilted his head at Christina, who was coiled to strike.

  “And Miss Seymour would be well within her rights to do so, so no more of that now.”

  Christina looked chastised.

  “Go with her, Christina,” Edward said. “Miss Seymour will look after you. She’ll draw you a hot bath and get you a clean dress and some shoes.”

  “Will it be a pretty dress?” She sounded like a child.

  “Of course, the prettiest dress she can find.” Edward smiled.

  Lord Mansell pursed his lips, watching as they left the room.

  “We must call the Constabulary.”

  “Why?”

  “The girl claims kidnap. So many have been lost along the coast. We must know more. And we need to find out who she is.”

  “It’s Christina. How can you doubt it? You mistook her for her mother right away.”

  “I can’t deny the likeness – ” he thrust his fist against the arm of his chair “ – but there are days, God help me, when I can barely picture Anna’s face.”

  “I see it. So does Marlow. Just stand her beside the portrait on the stairs to be sure.”

  “You’re too eager!” The words exploded from him. “You would have her walking back in wearing one of my wife’s dresses.”

  “You don’t want to believe.”

  “And you want to believe far too much.”

  “Is that wrong?”

  Both men were on their feet.

  “Is this because of the letter I sent you?”

  “Do you think this is some trick or invention? Do you think me capable of such cruelty?”

  “No, Edward.” Lord Mansell hung his head. “Forgive me. Don’t you understand? I’ve dreamt of this, every day, for years.” Indeed, the dream had quite hollowed him out. “I must be cautious. If I throw myself into something that proves false, then it’ll destroy what little is left of me. Come now, let’s not argue. Have I ever given you bad guidance? We must go slowly. Not just for us but for her too.”

  Chapter 4:

  Inspector Jennings Calls

  “He seems rather young,” Edward remarked when he saw the inspector approaching the house.

  “He is, but he’s an unusual young man. He ruffles feathers but I rather like him.” Lord Mansell called to Marlow to let the inspector in. “Be patient with him. He has his own methods.”

  “Lord Mansell.” Inspector Jennings stood in the doorway.

  “Thank you for coming. This is Edward Summers.”

  Inspector Jennings had pale clear eyes that reflected everything. “I understand that you found the girl, Sir.” He pulled a map from his pocket. It was bundled up with a notebook and a pencil. “Would you show me where exactly?”

  He unfolded the map, smoothing out the creases.

  “Here,” Edward said, and the inspector marked the spot with an X. “What are the other symbols?”

  “They represent last sightings, the year and the number of missing persons. I have my own legend for it in here.” Inspector Jennings tapped his own head.

  “There must be at least forty marks here.”

  “The larger ones represent more than one person, Sir. It would help me greatly if you could tell me what happened when you found her.”

  He listened to Edward’s account, making notes in his little book. When Edward had finished, the inspector looked up, fixing him in his cool gaze. “I understand that you’re a regular visitor to Asterfields.”

  “As often as I can.”

  “And you just happened upon this woman on the beach while on your way here?”

  “What the devil do you mean by that?”

  “Don’t look so outraged, Edward. I think the Inspector is trying to work out if you would benefit from producing Christina.” Lord Mansell’s smile was wry. “I plan to make Edward my heir. He’d only lose out on the estate if Christina appeared.”

  “None of it is mine to keep. It belongs to Christina.” Edward flushed. “I’d give it all up in a heartbeat to have her home safely.”

  “I don’t doubt that,” the inspector said evenly, “which is another reason for caution.”

  “Look here—”

  “Edward, calm yourself.”

 

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