Page 44 of Darkest at Dusk
The girl jolted upright, clutching the duster to her chest as though it might ward off some phantom threat.
“Oh! Miss Barrett!” Peg’s cheeks flushed crimson. “You startled me, miss. I thought you were Mrs. Abernathy come to scold me for dawdling.”
“You’re working hard, Peg. No one could accuse you of dawdling.” Isabella hesitated, her eyes drifting around the room, seeing all Peg had accomplished as well as the vast array of chores yet to be done. “May I join you?”
Peg’s green eyes widened. “You mean to help me clean, miss?”
“I do.” Isabella began to roll up her sleeves. “There’s more work here than one person can manage alone.”
Peg hesitated, then a shy, grateful smile tugged at her lips. “Well, if you say so, miss. Mrs. Abernathy sent me in before dawn. Mr. Caradoc said the room wanted cleaning.”
They worked side by side, Isabella taking up a clean rag while Peg wielded her feather duster.
The quiet between them was fragile, threaded through with faint creaks and the distant groans of the old house settling. Occasionally, Isabella would glance up at Peg, only to find her sending a sidelong glance at one of the shadowed corners of the library, her brow furrowed.
“Are you all right, Peg?” Isabella asked gently.
Peg hesitated, her teeth sinking into her lower lip. “I don’t like this room, miss. It’s like…” She paused, her voice dropping lower. “Like it’s holding its breath.”
Isabella studied her a moment. “You’ve been here at Harrowgate for a year, haven’t you, Peg? And you told me nothing bad has ever happened to you. You told me not to be afraid.”
Peg gave a tiny nod. “Aye, miss. Nothing bad has happened. And I’m not afraid, not even when the house cries in the night. But this room…” She glanced around, her eyes darting to the shadows. “Sometimes it feels like these walls are listening. Like they’re leaning in, close enough to hear us whisper.”
Isabella’s rag stilled against the wood. Peg was the first person she had ever met who seemed to experience things as she did, to feel things, sense things. Isabella could not help but wonder if the girl saw things as well. Her words came careful and cautious. “Have you ever seen anything unusual here, Peg?”
Peg froze, her fingers tightening around the feather duster.
“I mean,” Isabella continued softly, her voice level, “a person…or something that looked like one. Someone who… shouldn’t be here.”
Peg’s face paled, her freckles standing out starkly against her skin. She opened her mouth, closed it again, and shook her head.
“Best not to ask such things, miss,” she said, her words hushed and frantic. “Best not to stir them up.” She turned abruptly back to her task, her small shoulders tense and drawn tight as bowstrings.
Isabella’s rag stilled again on the carved wood, her chest tightening with words she very nearly let slip, the truth about the things she saw, the cold brush of hands that should not be felt. The urge to confide pressed hard, desperate to be shared with someone who might understand. Peg’s wide green eyes and the things she had said seemed to invite it.
But caution and Papa’s long shadow clamped her mouth shut. Never say it. Never show it.
Peg glanced at her and their gazes held for a heartbeat, as though she waited for words yet unsaid. Then she set her jaw and bustled toward the hearth. She snatched up the iron poker, carried it to the threshold, and laid it flat across the sill. The metal rang as it slapped wood.
“There,” she said with quiet conviction. “That keeps them out.”
“Them?” Isabella asked.
Peg pressed her lips tight. “Whatever listens. My mam says iron’s good for doors and sills. And windows—” She glanced at the windows framed by brocade curtains. “So the walls can’t breathe on us.”
Soft, almost imperceptible, the silence thickened, and the air shifted…a sigh or the settling of timbers.
The two women stilled. Then, at the same time, they laughed, too quick, too quiet, the sound edged with nerves. Peg clamped a hand to her mouth, freckles dark against her pale cheeks. Isabella shook her head, startled by her own reaction.
When their laughter faded, the oppressive weight had eased. The library was no less shadowed, but the air felt less dense. And Isabella looked at Peg with fresh eyes. She was not merely a skittish servant repeating tales. She was an ally armed with iron and stubborn resolve.
Peg’s gaze flickered toward the north side of the library. “There are parts of this house, miss, where no one goes. Where no one should go.”
“The north wing?” Isabella prompted gently.
Peg nodded, eyes wide.
“What happened there, Peg? Do you know?”
