Craven Manor(11)

The sensation of being suffocated faded, and he realised he’d been hyperventilating. He placed the lamp on the carpeted floor and leaned his back against a dusty bannister. Get a hold of yourself, Daniel. There’s nothing to be afraid of.

If Bran didn’t want him in the tower, well, that was fine by him. He’d watched enough horror movies to know what happened to people who opened doors they weren’t supposed to, and his curiosity was no match for his desire to stay alive and keep all of his body parts where they were supposed to be.

As the panic abated, Daniel became more aware of his surroundings. The second-floor landing was similar to the first, with hallways to his left and right, their doors all closed, and their walls swathed in golds and dark, dusty blues. The painting on the wall ahead of him was larger than the others he’d glimpsed—taller than Daniel, even—and it dominated the space. Daniel tilted his head back to absorb the image.

It was a portrait of a girl. She couldn’t have been older than eleven or twelve. Blonde hair, so light it was almost white, cascaded down her back and curled around her face in delicate wisps. Large blue eyes looked down at Daniel. He frowned as he tried to read the expression; there was curiosity in the eyes, and the cherub-bow lips were quirked up at the corners. But together, the features held an air of vulnerability, even fear perhaps.

Daniel lifted the lamp to bring the details into relief. The girl’s pastel-blue dress dated her to the Regency era, possibly slightly before. Her cheeks had a hint of pink, but every other part of her skin was so pale, it was almost ghostly white. Lilies clustered behind her. A brooch had been clasped onto her dress. The motif on the jewellery seemed familiar, but Daniel couldn’t place where he’d seen it before.

A gold plaque set into the portrait’s frame held a name. Daniel shook his jacket’s sleeve over his hand and used it to brush off the dust. Annalise Myricks.

“Who were you, Annalise?”

The dress looked expensive. Her hairstyle was simple but well done. Blue eyes, so full of expression and yet so inscrutable, seemed to follow him when he moved.

She must have been important; the painting was massive and done with a lot of skill. Its frame was gilded and elaborate, and its location seemed intended to give it attention. It would be visible to anyone traversing the stairs, and Daniel also suspected it could be seen from the foyer if he had enough light and stood in the right place.

It was a little strange, though, that she was so young in the painting. Most historical family portraits Daniel had seen featured adults or a whole family clustered together.

Daniel was struck by a sudden need to know more about the family who owned Craven Manor. He put the plate of Spam on the carpet beside the stairs. The note had forbidden him from going into the tower, but it said nothing about the rest of the house. It would be all right to look in a couple of the rooms, wouldn’t it?

Daniel looked down both sides of the hallway. They seemed to stretch on forever, until his lamplight became too weak to cut through the shadows. He rubbed at the back of his neck, where nervous prickles had grown, then took a hesitant step to the left.

The doors were all tall, made of dark wood, and firmly closed. Daniel turned the handle to the closest room. The metal screeched and fought against him before clicking open. The wooden slab drew outwards, and Daniel, feeling deeply uncomfortable, stepped in.





Chapter Six





Opulent, rich colours assaulted Daniel’s eyes. Even with the smothering layer of dust, the bright golds and reds were too much for his senses. He’d found a guest room, where a large four-poster bed took up the left-hand side of the space. A bureau with a washbasin sat against the right-hand wall.

Daniel crept through the room. He was careful not to touch any of the antiques as he examined them. Everything seemed to date the building to the same time as the portrait—a little more than two hundred years old. Tightly closed windows had kept moisture from destroying the room, but it still showed its age. The basin was stained, and a long crack ran through it. The bed’s mattress had a depression in its centre where it had decayed. The long curtains on either side of the large paned window had been attacked by moths until they were little more than rags.

Daniel was drawn towards the view. The glass was smudgy from generations of built-up grease and dirt, but he could see farther than from the ground. Daniel leaned close and held his breath to stop it from fogging up the panes.

The garden was larger than he’d expected. The tip of what looked like his gardener’s cottage stood out to the far left. The plants were tangled and heavy in that section but grew lighter to the right. When he stood on his toes and turned his head, he caught a glimpse of a large stone shape in a copse of pine trees.

Daniel had seen similar peaked stone roofs in cemeteries. There had been one on top of the hill near the place he’d buried his grandmother. Her grave wasn’t fancy. Her generosity and hospital bills had taken everything she’d earned in her life, and she’d died poor. Daniel remembered sobbing after the funeral, furious with himself for not having been able to afford anything better than the cheapest coffin.

He left the window, his throat tight and itchy, and returned to the hallway. The thrill of exploring the house was gone. The tall, dark halls had lost their air of mystery and seemed depressive and lonely.

He stopped under Annalise’s portrait. On the second viewing, her expression seemed to hold a sheen of terror carefully concealed under a genial mask. He didn’t know why her expression bothered him so much, but it wouldn’t be something he could quickly forget.