Winterly (Dark Creatures Book 1), стр. 59
The temperature outside, no matter how hot, seemed unable to penetrate these thick stone walls and Emma herself never left her room without a shawl either. She, therefore, determined that she would spend today out of doors.
Later, when they had joined Victoria in her parlor, Milli’s pallor did not go unnoticed by their hostess either, though how she could see anything in the dismal glow of the drawing room candles was a mystery to Emma, for the drapes were drawn closed against the light. “My dear,” said Victoria, “are you quite sure you would not rather stay abed until you have recovered your strength?”
“No, indeed!” replied Milli with a weak laugh, scratching absently at the sleeve on the underside of her wrist. “I did not give myself the trouble of such a long journey to Winterthurse only to cloister myself in my room.” Then, under her breath, “Unlike some.”
“Then shall we go into town?” Emma asked, ignoring the snide part of her sister’s comment. “I have a great desire to see Whitby Abbey, and the fresh air might do Milli some good.” The castle was such a cold and drafty place after all and Milli might benefit from some sun against her cheeks. In fact, this room wanted some light to cheer it up, so Emma betook herself towards the window, her fingers already poised to draw the curtains back.
But Victoria, guessing her intent, let out a sharp cry. “Don’t! For pity’s sake, don’t let in the light.” She seemed to relax when Emma, shocked by the lady’s vehemence, dropped her hands and moved back to the sofa to seat herself. “I have a devil of a megrim this morning and I can’t bear the light. Exacerbates it, you know.”
“Yes, of course,” said Emma, thoughtful. She tried to recall if she’d ever seen Victoria enjoying the sunlight. No, she never had. On the few occasions she had met the woman in the daytime, it had always been beneath a blackened sky. She could think of only one creature that eschewed daylight. Vampyre.
Victoria was still aiming a hostile glare at the drapes when she said to Milli, “Surely you do not feel well enough for such an energetic undertaking?” There was a slight hopefulness in her tone.
Milli helped herself to a pastry and nibbled delicately. “Truly, there is nothing the matter with me. I want to go to Whitby and see the ships.”
“What, and walk all that way in this heat?”
“I assumed we’d take the carriage.”
Victoria gave a sniff. “That is impossible, I’m afraid. Mr. Grimm commandeered it early this morning and has not yet returned.”
“Oh, then perhaps I’ll wait until tomorrow,” said Milli, her face pinched. It was unlike her to forgo a walk in favor of staying indoors, especially on such a beautiful day.
It appeared that Emma would be walking to Whitby alone, which suited her, for she had much to think about. But first she intended to write a very important letter, and for that she needed to return to the privacy of her room. Once there, she took a sheaf of paper from the writing desk, and sat down to pen a letter to Ana, begging further intelligence and explaining that she was now ready to believe whatever Ana was ready to disclose. No matter how impossible it might sound. After she sealed it, she slipped the note into her reticule and set off for Whitby to have it posted herself.
Outside, she stood gazing up at the castle, swathed in its mighty shadow. Domus Hadao. House of Hades. She knew not where that thought had come from but it suited its master quite perfectly. One particular gargoyle caught her eye, its forked tongue hanging obscenely from its face, its stony eyes cruel, daring her to discover the secrets within.
“Oh, I intend to,” she said quietly, suddenly struck with the impulse to return its rude gesture. She flattered herself she did not look half as ridiculous as Milli, poking her tongue out like a child. With the insult duly requited, she turned and left the shadow of Winterthurse, sighing with pleasure as the sun crept over her upturned face.
It was midday by the time she reached the nearest inn, whereat her letter might be posted. She delivered it into the proprietor’s hands for safekeeping. With a congenial smile, he took payment and promised to have it posted for her when the post came through the next day.
That done, she was at her leisure to enjoy the view and partake of the brisk, salty air. A large whaling ship was sailing slowly into port, the gulls heralding the whalers’ arrival with their excited shrieks. It had doubtless just returned from Greenland, she surmised, and was presumably already filled with whale oil; the large jaw bone fastened to the mast was an attestation of that. And that same oil would soon be lighting the very street lamps she passed beneath.
By following the innkeeper’s directions, Emma found the steep, stone steps that eventually took her all the way up to St. Mary’s Church. One hundred and ninety-nine steps in all. The hilltop was little more than a grassy plateau on which the church, like a castellated sentry, looked out over the vast, dark sea and the River Esk, as if watching over the seamen, whalers, and lifeboatmen that came and went below the cliffs each day.
Emma wandered through the churchyard a short while, her fingers running across the lichen that clung to each weatherworn tombstones as she read the names of the men and women that lay beneath her feet. Struck by some momentary, morbid whimsy, Emma tried to imagine what she’d find if one of the bodies should be exhumed for her inspection. Would the corpse look lifelike? Would its skin be stretched tightly over its bones like Mrs. Skinner’s? Would there be blood gushing from its ears