Crimson Lace: A Crimson Peak love story (Thomas Sharpe)

Part-6 AGRESSION

I could feel his presence with every step I took.
My view of this old house began to change.
Every withered and dry rotted object became a sentimental treasure, just because I'd picture him and how he might've interacted with it long ago.

I became very attached to August's copy of his grandmothers book, and would read it whenever I wanted to feel close to Thomas.
It's pathetic, I know, to be so enamored with the dead when your own husband is within reach of you at all times.

This time we've spent here in Allerdale Hall seems to've affected August as well.
He's been distant, and has been keeping busy with menial tasks about the house.
Lately, he's been obsessed with restoring that old piano in the sitting room, sometimes working into the early hours of the morning.
The lack of sleep, isolation, and all around discomfort that comes with this place seems to have made him corse, and a little irritable at times.

As I sit here on the couch by the fireplace, watching him tinker with the keys on the piano, I can't help but notice his movements. The shadows cast by the flickering candlelight make him look so aggressive, his movements are sharp, frustrated, almost angry. He's beginning to worry me.

"Why don't you take a break, darling? Won't you come sit by me and warm yourself?" I asked, patting the vacant space beside me.

"I can't. I've almost got it working." He said, gruffly, not looking away from his project. A heavy sudden knock came from the front door.

"Go answer it! I can't be seen!" He hissed, before bolting toward the kitchen. I draped the blanket I was sitting with around my shoulders, and began walking toward the door.
The knocking became louder and more insistent.

"Hold on, hold on. I'm coming!" I called out, finally reaching the foyer.
"Hello?" I asked, opening the door ajar.

"Yes, are you Mrs. Mildred Flint?" He asked.
Before me stood an older gentleman, seeming to be in his mid 50's.
"I-er- Yes. I am Mrs. Flint." I smiled, opening the door a little wider. I almost forgot that August used false names for us.

"I don't remember having a delivery scheduled for today." I said.

"Oh! No miss. My name is Walter Finlay. My family used to be the caretakers of Allerdale Hall." He smiled proudly.

"Oh? Is that right?" I replied.
"I couldn't believe it when they told me that someone was actually living in this old house.
Do you have a caretaker to help you restore the place?" He asked, hopefully.

"Oh. No. I'm afraid that it's just me, here." I lied.
His eyes widened with concern.

"No, miss. You can't be serious. This is no place for a young lady to be staying all alone in the cold. The worst of winter isn't even upon us yet."

"I assure you, Mr. Finlay, that I am perfectly capable of handling myself. Thank you for your concern, now if you'll excuse me." I began to shut the door, hoping that he would just leave, but of course I couldn't hope to be so lucky.

"Wait!" He exclaimed, holding the door with his hand.
"May I come in? Just for a moment? My father used to tell me so many stories about this house from when he worked for the Sharpe's all those years ago... I've always wanted to see it."

I paused for a minute, wondering if I should grant his request. He seems genuine, and it's so cold outside. I don't see why I can't let him come warm himself by the fire and take a quick look inside. Surely, August can manage to avoid him for little while.

"Sure, Mr. Finlay. Please, come in." I smiled. Letting him step into the foyer. The look on his face when he saw the massive estate was similar to August's expression when we first arrived, awe-struck.