Crimson Peak: The Official Movie Novelization (23 page)

No, dear God
, Edith thought, as the room began to spin.
All evidence erased… they would not do such a thing.

But they would.

And they had.

They
had.

The very last picture was of the baby, alone.

And clearly dead.

Its little eyes closed, mouth slack, cheeks pale.

Edith choked, coughed. A drop of blood escaped her lips and a stain bloomed on the image of the baby. For a moment her terror was too great to do anything. She couldn’t think, move. Her mind simply refused to put together what her soul knew. What they had
done
…

She tried to feel some hope; reminded herself they had failed to kill a little dog, but—

These were, in their way, spirit recordings, spirit pictures. Images from beyond the grave telling her their stories.

Warning her to beware of Crimson Peak.

“I cannot stay here any longer,” she said aloud, to force herself back into the world of thoughts. “I can’t.”

Galvanized, she stashed the envelopes in the phonograph case and hid everything in a cupboard. Then she grabbed her coat from the rack and threw it over her nightgown. Sobbing back hysteria, fighting through an overwhelming panic, she lurched for the front door and threw it open.

Snowdrifts were piled up high in front of the door, two feet tall at least. She staggered outside, choking back fear, so numb she did not feel the cold. But as she ventured out, the moonlight shone on the snow and she stumbled in shock.

The snow was bright red, extending out to the gate; the madhouse was surrounded by a scarlet ring like a moat of fresh blood.

There was too much of it, and she was too sick—too
poisoned—
to venture out into it. She was trapped. It was as Lucille had said: She had nowhere else to go. Nowhere, and they were going to kill her just like the others.

Thomas
, she thought,
help me.
Her field of vision filled with his deep blue eyes, so often sad, haunted. Had he never loved her?

I don’t believe that. I don’t
, she thought. That night at the depot, when they had talked of a new life…

When we made love. It was love. It was. It was. He loved me. He still loves me.

But what did it matter? He was a killer. And he was going to kill her.

She remembered the night they had danced. He had come to America for Eunice, not her. Why had he changed his mind?

Alan
, she thought.
Alan, help me.
He had told her to proceed with caution. He would have had stronger words for a sister, and the possibility of his interference had no doubt spared Eunice from this hellish fate.

Beware of Crimson Peak.
Her mother had come back from the grave to warn her. She knew it now. And she had not listened.

Because she had not
known.

Edith backed away from the doorway, doubling over in a fit of coughing. Blood gushed from her mouth, as red as the snow. As if Allerdale Hall itself had been poisoned and was hemorrhaging its lifeblood beneath a cold, uncaring moon.

“Oh, no, no…” she begged. She had to get out. She had to escape. She had to leave.

But instead, she fainted dead away.

“All that we see or seem, is but a dream within a dream.”

—
EDGAR ALLAN POE

Y
ELLOW LIGHT SPILLED
across her face, and Edith opened her eyes to defeat. She was back in the bedroom she shared with Thomas, tucked in beneath blankets that were wrapped tight around her legs. Lucille was there, waiting, holding a breakfast tray. When she saw that Edith was awake, she smiled, all sweet concern.

“Edith?” she said cheerily. “Edith? Darling! We found you next to the door. Do you feel better?”

Sick, so much sicker. And in mortal danger. Edith tried to get up. The room tilted crazily. Even in her semi-delirium, she knew she must reveal nothing. Her life depended on their ignorance. She had not signed away her fortune yet, and she must make them believe that she fully intended to. They would need to keep her well enough to hold a pen and scrawl her signature. To write Ferguson and tell him to give Thomas every penny she had to her name.

And
then
they would kill her.

Still, the extreme nausea and cramping were beyond her capacity to endure in silence.

“I need to go to town… see a doctor,” she slurred.

“Of course, of course,” Lucille soothed. “But I’m afraid we’re snowed in. Perhaps in a day or two.”

Lucille sat down and held up a spoonful of porridge, tempting Edith in the way one would an infant.

That baby, that poor baby
, Edith thought, and gave her head a shake. There had been pictures of a baby last night, yes? She was muzzy-headed. Confused. So exhausted. She had to get out of here.

Away from Crimson Peak.

I have to pull myself together. I need to think clearly.
Her heart stuttered, skipping beats, and she feared she would have a heart attack.

“Now you must eat, my dear. You must get stronger.” Lucille tried again to feed Edith some porridge. “I tended Mother in this bed. I can care for you too, my pet.”

Edith listened but made no move to eat. Undeterred, Lucille set down the bowl and poured Edith a cup of tea. “You see? Father hated Mother. He was a brute. Broke her leg. Snapped it in two under the heel of his boot.”

Edith’s lips parted in shock. She had never heard anything about this. Was Lucille making it up? To what end?

“She never quite healed. She was bedridden for a long time. I cared for her. Fed her. Bathed her. Combed her hair. I made her better. I’ll do the same with you. I’ll make you better.”

Remain calm
, Edith reminded herself. But she was even more afraid. The Sharpe legacy contained depths of violence and madness she had not dreamed of. If what Lucille had just told her was true, it was no wonder that the dead prowled the halls and the ground bled.

Lucille was about to say something more when Thomas entered the room pushing a wicker wheelchair. Edith’s hair stood on end. That
was
the wheelchair Pamela Upton had sat upon in her picture. With Thomas. Holding the very teacup that Lucille had used to make her numerous cups of firethorn tea. Too numerous to count. Burning away her insides, torturing her, killing her.

“What is that?” Edith asked, her voice shrill.

“Just to help you get around,” he replied, falsely cheerful. But he couldn’t pull it off. His smile didn’t reach his eyes, and he faltered. He turned to his sister. “I’ll take care of Edith,” he said. “Leave it.”

Lucille threw him a defiant look, but he held his ground. Lucille backed down, rising and planting a loving kiss on Edith’s forehead as she placed the deadly teacup between Edith’s hands.

“You’ll be out of this bed soon,” Lucille cooed. “I promise.”

She swept out of the room. As Thomas sat down, he took the tea away from Edith.

“Do not drink that,” he said.

Hope billowed through her like the frosted winds that pushed air through the chimneys and gave breath to Allerdale Hall. He didn’t want to harm her. So he would spare her. He would. But she was so
sick…

And perhaps that was why he took the tea away from her. Not because he had had second thoughts, but to keep her from dying until she gave him her money.

Nevertheless, he fed her the porridge very gently. Kindly. The way a loving husband would minister to his sick young wife. It was very sweet, laced with honey and butter.

“Just eat,” he urged. “You need to get stronger.”

“I need to see a doctor,” she pleaded.

A shadow crossed his face, and then light came into his eyes. He seemed… transformed. As if a terrible weight had just lifted from his shoulders. Everything in her waited. Everything prayed, even her fingernails and eyelashes.

“Finlay is gone for the winter but I’ll clear a path to the main road. Take you to town.”

Oh, thank God, thank you, God
, she thought in a rush.
Thomas, love me still. Keep loving me. Save me.

“Yes, yes,” she said eagerly, almost crazily in her desperation. “I would very much like to go. Just us. Alone.”

He gave her another spoonful of porridge. And then his face altered again, and she was terribly afraid that she had misunderstood him… or that he had changed his mind.

“Thomas?” She fought to keep the terror out of her voice. “What is it?”

“Those apparitions you spoke of,” he began. He paused. “I have felt their presence for some time.”

She stared at him in astonishment. “You have?”

He inclined his head. “Out of the corner of my eye at first. Furtive, almost timid. Then I felt them. Figures, standing still in a dark corner. And now I can sense them, moving and creeping about, watching me. Ready to show themselves.”

“It’s time. They want you to see them,” she declared. “But why? Who are they, Thomas?”

He seemed to look somewhere that she could not. Was he reviewing his life with each of the women he had failed to save? Whom he had murdered? Were those the apparitions? But what of the ghost of his mother? So evil, raging at Edith to leave?

“They are tied to this land. To this house. Just like I am,” he said. “I will tell you everything, in time. Now eat. Get well. You must leave this godforsaken place as soon as you can.”

She did not know why he had decided to save her. She didn’t know what it meant, or how they would manage it. But she would do exactly as he bade her: She would eat, she would get well, and she would leave. Though it cost her dearly, because she was so ill, she made herself eat the sickly sweet porridge.

And she forced herself not to break down in tears as her stomach clenched and her abdomen burned.

* * *

Thomas’s hand shook as he fed Edith, but she didn’t seem to notice. She was in terrible shape. She had nearly frozen to death outside in the snow, and her mouth had been smeared with blood. The poison was taking its course. He prayed it was not too late to reverse the effects. The end was always agonizing. After Pamela, he had made it a practice never to be home when it was happening. He’d gone riding during Margaret, and into town for Enola. Lucille had stayed with them. Lucille had made sure.

After Edith had eaten all her porridge, Thomas carried the tray into the kitchen. Lucille was there, pacing, and he wondered how on earth he would spirit Edith out of here without her knowledge. She would stop him if she could. They would have to plot and plan.

How can I do that to Lucille?
he thought.
Edith will tell the world.

“She knows everything.” Lucille’s dark eyes flashed as she violently washed out the teacup. She was in turmoil. Thomas knew the signs very well.

“She’s sick,” Thomas said urgently. “She may be dying.”

Lucille stared at him as if he had completely lost his mind. She was so stunned that for a moment her lips moved, but no words came out.

“Absolutely, she is dying. I’ve made sure of that,” she announced, peering at him as if she was making sure he could hear her. Then she moved on quickly. “She stole the trunk key.” She showed her ring of keys. “You see? She returned it, but it’s facing the wrong way. She went down into the clay mines, too. And I believe she might have stopped drinking the tea.”

Lucille enumerated the sins she was laying at Edith’s feet, although Thomas had been the one to stop Edith from drinking the tea. He had seen Lucille do all this before, under different circumstances. Back when they had still had servants, Lucille had dismissed her maid for chipping a teacup that she herself had dropped. The girl had defended herself, insisting that the mistress
knew
she had done it herself, and Lucille had taken the cost of the cup
and
a few pennies to cover the wasted tea out of the girl’s wages as punishment for her insolence. She had even accused Finlay of failing to repair the hinges on her bedroom door, claiming that it opened during all hours of the night. She had “fined” him for this breach and warned that if it happened again, Thomas would dismiss him.