An All Hallows’ Eve Mystery - Chapter 2

Three Days Earlier—October 31st—All Hallows’ Eve

Jane detested Aconite House. Anyone else in her position would’ve been glad of work in a respectable—if slightly infamous—house, where one was well-paid, and treated exceptionally well. Which she was—her father had been Aconite’s gamekeeper for thirty years before his death, and was still well remembered by Mr Willcombe. And Jane was glad of the work; she just detested the house.

Even without the dreadful secret it and her heart held together, Aconite House would be a mournful place. Magnificent once; only its bones now suggesting lost splendour. A ghost itself, high on its heathland mound, surrounded by terrible rivers, and dark forests. Everything outside warning to stay away; everything inside frozen in time.

It unsettled her, particularly this time of year. She didn’t believe in the seasonal thinning of veils between worlds—except at Aconite House. Then she felt it, tangible as rain.

Secrets. Grief. The hold of…something beyond…

It wasn’t only how she felt being here, but also…the nightmares. The things she saw…

Tragedy does that to a house, and there’s nothing for it.

Word had come that the Spencers wouldn’t be returning to Clairborne House this year—even before, but especially since the Marquess’ wedding, and now his sister’s, the family’s visits had been increasingly rare until Jane began to doubt she’d ever have regular work there again—so work must be found elsewhere. And this time, only Aconite House required a maid.

So here she was.

Fendrick cleared his throat. The group of them gathered in the hall stood at attention.

With a gust of frigid, rain-soaked wind, the door opened, a lone bedraggled form stepping in whilst one of the footmen closed it again, heaving against the weight. The other women relaxed as Fendrick greeted the arrival, drips from the man’s coat tapping the marble floor rhythmically.

Jane didn’t relax. For no matter the enveloping layers, or dark gloom of the hall, Mr John Pierce was easily recognisable, and her heart beat faster.

Silly girl.

Likely. Jane knew the dangers of becoming…besotted with those one served, only she couldn’t help it. Mr Pierce was…

Successful. A highly reputed investigator—who had solved many a tricky fraud, or deceitful murder.

And handsome, undeniably. Tall, lithe, with short, dark, untameable hair that curled at the edges. Features like sharp slashes across his heart-shaped face, a crooked smile, and clever grey eyes that shifted like clouds. Eyes which shone with playfulness, but also an attractive dangerousness which should’ve been a warning.

The most endearing, however, was his…kindness. To everyone, high or low. He listened and looked at those others pretended didn’t exist. He didn’t give himself airs despite his association with the higher, wealthier echelons, like the Willcombes—though young Mr Willcombe wasn’t exactly wealthy, and had suffered his father’s infamy.

Mr Pierce was…himself. And…

The way he looked at her, spoke to her… He made her feel giddy, appreciated, and…made her dream of something more than a maid’s life. When he looked at her as he did now, grey eyes raking appreciatively—making her blush though typically she didn’t—well, he made her feel good.

As if they were alone—

‘John, you daft fellow!’ the young Mr Willcombe cried, descending the stairs. Breaking the moment, and Jane’s daydreams. ‘You didn’t ride! You madman!’

‘I did,’ Mr Pierce answered, moving to greet his friend.

The two spoke and laughed, and Jane did not pay attention.

A task helped by another of Fendrick’s throat-clearings, and the reopening of the door, this time for the Jennings family. Jane and the others rushed forth, a swarm of industrious ants, and Jane steadfastly ignored the warm prickling at her neck.

For a moment.

Then, she glanced over her shoulder, and meeting Mr Pierce’s eyes, grinned widely.

Perhaps this time Aconite House won’t be so bad…