A Night of Secrets (2 page)

“You don’t understand. They’re coming, you don’t have time. Leave me.”

Snow crunched from her left. Meg jerked her head toward the direction of the sound. No one was there. Her heart made a mad dash for her throat. Was there someone out there in the shadows, or had fear finally made her insane?

The woman reached up, her fingernails digging into Meg’s sensitive wrists. Meg cried out, releasing her hold. The woman slumped to the ground.

“He will not allow me into the church.” Her voice came out in a low hiss that sent a chill over Meg’s spine.

It made no sense. But then nothing made sense. Frustrated, Meg stomped her foot. “But…why?”

“Meg!” Papa’s voice was a welcome relief.

Meg spun around. Thank God! Her father would know what to do, know how to reckon with this stubborn woman. “Papa! I need your help. She won’t let me…”

Papa froze at the bottom of the steps, his long black cloak swirling around his booted feet. His wide gaze was pinned to the woman. His face went pale, his lower lip trembling with some sort of emotion she couldn’t possibly understand. What the hell was wrong with everyone?

“Papa?” Meg stepped closer.

Her father latched onto Meg’s arm, his strong grip belying his old age. “Leave her, Meg.”

“But Papa!”

His weathered face grew fierce, those faded blue eyes flashing under his fluffy white eyebrows. “Leave her!”

Shocked, Meg glanced down at the woman. How could her father be so cruel? This wasn’t the Papa she knew. Like a helpless doe, the woman was curled into a ball, a pile of velvet and blood. Her skin so pale, her face practically melted into the flurries, but for her eyes… her eerie, green, glowing eyes.

“You promised to take care of my daughter,” she whispered, her lips lifting into a snarl as her gaze focused on Papa.

“We will.” Papa pushed Meg toward the steps. His eyes were fierce, but his body was trembling…with fear or anger, Meg wasn’t sure. “We must go. Into the church now!”

Stunned by the harshness of his tone, Meg stumbled back. But even in her confused state, she was aware of the shadows morphing from the darkness, men stepping into the lane, shifting into the light. Men, wearing long, black overcoats that swirled around their booted feet. Their eyes shadowed by the brims of their top hats, were as unreadable as their faces. Who were they?

“Meg, now!” Papa grappled with the cross hanging around his neck and lifted the wooden piece high. “The Lord is my shepherd…”

Without breaking his verse, he shoved Meg toward the church. She slipped and stumbled her way up the icy steps, her heart hammering so loudly she could barely hear her father behind her. Vaguely, she was aware of Collette standing still in the doorway, her gaze pinned to the scene beyond Meg’s shoulder. Reaching her side, Meg spun around. Papa was slowly making his way up the steps, his back to them.

“I shall not want…” he mumbled, holding that cross high as if the necklace could help them, as if the necklace could waylay the men slowly making their way toward the woman like they were vultures after a sure kill.

And all the while, the woman lay still upon the ground; a beautiful, fallen angel accepting her fate. Yet, no angel would have eyes that glowed green and skin as pale as snow.

The three men moved slowly around her, forming a circle. Their faces as pale as the woman’s. And their eyes…Lord, their eyes glowed, lips that curled as an unnatural hiss slipped from their throats like serpents in the Garden of Eden.

“He maketh me to lie down…” Papa stepped into the church, grabbed the brass handles and slammed the door shut with a thud that vibrated through the hallowed building. His breathing was harsh and despite the cold, sweat beaded on his wrinkled forehead.

Meg dropped her gaze to the child, as if to find answers within her innocent features. Collette merely stared at those closed doors. What the hell was happening? With a cry, Meg pushed passed her father and raced to the small window alongside the door. The woman was gone, the men gone. The only thing that remained was the bright spot of blood that marred the pristine snow.

The room spun, the sconces along the walls swirling lights that twirled and danced before her eyes. Meg pressed her hand to her belly. Fear and sorrow churned acid in her stomach until she thought she’d be sick.

“No,” she whispered, leaning against the stone wall. “No.” Tears blurred her vision, her dry throat aching with the need to cry out for help. But there was no one to help, not now. It was too late. They’d left her outside to die, to be taken by those…monsters.

Snowflakes beat against the windows like death come to steal the woman’s soul. She was dead. Meg knew that.

Trepidation fought with the need for answers. Slowly, she turned to face her father. “Who were they?
What
were they?”

Her father threw the bolt over the door, his body visibly relaxing. The candlelight lining the perimeter of the church flickered and hissed, highlighting his face and deepening the wrinkles making him look older than his fifty-eight years. “Sometimes it’s best not to know the truth.”

He spun around, his dark robe flaring wide, and started down the aisle, his boots tapping over the stone floor.

“Papa! I demand to know what they are!”

He paused, his back to her. She was as shocked as he, for she’d never raised her voice to her father. For one long moment she thought he’d refuse to reply. Then he spoke, a soft whisper of words she barely understood. “They sacrificed their sons and their daughters to demons.”

Confused, Meg wasn’t sure how to respond. Why was he quoting Bible verses? Surely he couldn’t mean…

No. Impossible.

“You mean to say…they were demonic?”

He didn’t respond. He didn’t need to.

Her body started trembling…shaking as if she were chilled with fever. “But if…if that’s true…” Her gaze dropped to Collette who still stood as still as a statue, as quiet, as pale, as a porcelain doll. “If that’s true, then what is she?”

Chapter 1

Cumberland, 1857

There was something deliciously wicked about being improper. But only, Meg decided, if no one was there to watch.

“Meg, do hurry.”

Her carefree mood was quickly destroyed by the impatience of the child in front of her. The surface of the water kissed Hanna’s knees, but the soothing motion did little to calm the child. Hands on hips and lower lip pushed into a familiar pout, she was obviously frustrated with Meg’s lack of speed.

Resisting the urge to laugh at Hanna’s disgruntled frown, Meg settled onto the bank and set her knitting aside. With deft fingers, she slid off her slippers. The grass underneath was damp with last night’s rain and made quick work of soaking through her skirts and petticoats. Meg shifted, resisting the urge to curse.

“Patience is a virtue, Poppet.”

Hanna sighed the way only a child who’d had to wait much too long could. “Not one of Grandpapa’s sermons now.”

Meg tucked her chin to her chest to hide her grin. The moment they’d stepped near the stream, Hanna had dropped her clothes like a heathen and now stood in her shift waiting for Meg to do the same. As if it were that easy for an adult to be so free. No, adults had propriety and rules to abide by. Still, as Julia had once said, one must test those rules upon occasion, if only to stir the tepidness that is life.

Meg kicked off her shoes and stockings. “For Julia,” she whispered.

She wiggled her toes, appreciating the cool, crisp grass that tickled her sensitive feet. With a contented sigh, she stretched her legs and dipped her toes into the stream. Just as quickly, she jerked her feet out again, goosebumps marring her flesh.

“’Tis bitterly cold. Perhaps another day?” she teased Hanna.

“’Twill warm soon enough, you’ll see.” Apparently, unable to wait a moment longer, Hanna cried out and splashed like a person having an apoplexy.

“I’m a bit old to be playing in the creek,” Meg yelled over the noise, knowing Hanna wouldn’t give a fig, yet feeling the need to argue her case all the same.

Hanna turned, her black hair plastered like tar to her head. With fingers still pudgy from youth she shoved the wet locks back. “Well, then I wish to always be young. Old people lead rather boring lives.”

Meg couldn’t argue with that. Since Papa’s forced retirement and Julia’s death, she was too tired to do much more than the necessities dictated by life before collapsing onto her bed at night. Even with two sisters and a niece to share the responsibilities, there was still too much to do and too few hands and even fewer coins.

“Do hurry,” Hanna pleaded, waving her over.

Meg sighed and stood. “Really, you should be playing with Sally.”

Hanna frowned. “Ever since she turned thirteen, she thinks she’s too old for play.”

“Since when is thirteen too old to enjoy life?” She needed to have a talk with her youngest sister. There was no reason to grow up so soon. No, Meg knew first-hand how precious childhood was and how quickly it could be taken away. She loved her family, truly she did, but at times they were bloody exhausting.

“Meg!” Hanna said once more, sticking out that full, bottom lip.

The child was too sweet for her own good. Meg never could resist Hanna when she turned those pleading green eyes on her. With a quick glance around, Meg made sure the golden fields lay empty. The trees lining the creek would provide shelter from prying eyes, should anyone venture along. Since Papa had retired from preaching, they rarely had visitors. And the spot was shaded enough not to affect Hanna’s sensitive skin. Even so, she shouldn’t...

“Meg?”

Although it was dreary and overcast, it most likely
was
the last warm day of autumn. With a grin, Meg pulled her arms from the sleeves of her gown and let the dress pool at her feet as she’d done so many times as a child. Wearing only her shift and bloomers, she slid down the embankment. Black mud squished between her pale toes.

“Ewww, Hanna.” The murky goo made disgusting slurping noises not fit for a gently bred woman to hear.

Hanna giggled, her face flushed with heat and amusement. Meg frowned and tucked the skirt of her shift into the waistband of her bloomers.

“Come out further.” Hanna waved her nearer. “The bottom has smooth pebbles and the water is clear.”

“Best be,” Meg muttered.

Hanna giggled again, pressing her hands to her mouth, her eyes alight. Meg fought her grin. It was worth it, the freedom, the joy on Hanna’s face, all worth Meg indecently undressing to her shift.

Meg waded into the middle of the creek where the water rose to her knees. Small, gray fish fought the current, darting around her legs in their haste to do whatever it was fish did. She looked up and noticed the mischievous glint in Hanna’s eyes right before she cupped a handful of water and threw it toward Meg. The frigid droplets hit her face and chest, soaking her shift until the pinkness of skin shone through. If she hadn’t been indecent enough before, surely she was now.

Meg swiped her face dry, flinging the water droplets from her fingertips. Then, she gave the child her best glare, but she’d never been good at punishing the younger girls, and they often used the weakness against her.

Hanna pressed her lips together, her dancing eyes showing absolutely no apology. “Sorry.”

“Hmm, I’m sure you are, little hellion.” She lifted the edge of her shift and dabbed her face dry. “Vicar Young advised his congregation to use wooden spoons on naughty children. Perhaps I should have listened.” Meg waded to a fallen log and settled atop, dangling her feet in the water.

But Hanna merely grinned. “I heard the new owner has moved into Pease Manor.” She lay on her back, floating and splashing her scrawny legs. The child was obviously trying to change the subject, and Meg was curious enough to take the bait.

“Really? So soon?” She peered through the trees. In the distance, the large manor sprawled across the rolling hills. Dark in stone, unlike the rest of the surrounding county, it stood out like a foreign demon come to infect the countryside.

Hanna waved aside a green dragonfly as it danced around her head. “I heard there are ghosts that roam the halls.”

“Hmm.” Meg tugged the ribbon from her hair and tied her damp locks further atop her head. She should just cut her hair. Not having to upsweep the locks every morning would give her precious moments to do other things.

Hanna stopped splashing and stood, her solemn gaze on Meg. “Tis true, it is. My friend Annabel sneaked up to the windows and saw something white inside.”

She looked so serious, Meg had to resist the urge to laugh. “Well, hopefully the new owner won’t mind sharing his place with the dead. Did anyone happen to learn his name?”

Hanna shrugged.

Meg frowned, wondering when she’d become so far removed from society she had to procure town gossip from a nine year old. She pushed aside thoughts of the new owner and focused on her current task, finishing her book. A sale would mean coins to buy new dresses for her sisters, books for Papa, someone to repair the roof.