Ashes of Thornwood

Chapter 5

Thanksgiving arrived at Thornewood with little fanfare. The grand house, usually a hive of activity, felt eerily quiet. The absence of Sebastian, who had been increasingly called away to manage affairs related to the war, left a palpable void in the air. The estate, once vibrant with life, now seemed suspended in a state of uneasy silence, as if holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.

I stood by the window in the drawing room, staring out at the bleak November landscape. The barren fields, now gray and lifeless, stretched out beneath a sky perpetually overcast. The wind whipped through the trees, sending leaves skittering across the ground like lost souls. Thornewood, with its towering columns and sprawling estate, had never felt more like a prison.

Sebastian's absences had become more frequent, and with each departure, the loneliness within me grew heavier. The house, which had once held such promise, now felt vast and empty, the silence pressing in on me from all sides. I found myself wandering the halls aimlessly, the echo of my footsteps a constant reminder of how alone I was.

When Sebastian did return, he was different—distant, preoccupied. He spoke little of what kept him away, offering only vague reassurances that everything would be fine. But I could see the worry etched into the lines of his face, the shadows beneath his eyes. Each time he left, he would press a kiss to my forehead, his touch lingering as if afraid to let go. And then he would be gone, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the growing dread that something terrible was coming.

The household staff, once bustling with activity, had grown quieter as well. The servants moved through the house like ghosts, their eyes downcast, their conversations hushed. I noticed the way they glanced at each other when they thought I wasn't looking, how their whispers ceased the moment I entered a room. An undercurrent of secrecy ran through Thornewood, making my skin prickle with unease.

One evening, as I descended the staircase, I caught sight of Sarah speaking in low tones with one of the footmen in the dimly lit hallway. Their conversation halted abruptly when they noticed me, and Sarah's eyes widened with something that looked like fear. She quickly curtsied and hurried away, leaving me standing at the base of the stairs, my heart pounding. It wasn't the first time I had caught the servants in such a state, but this time, the look in Sarah's eyes unsettled me deeply.

Mrs. Thorne, too, seemed more secretive than usual. She spent long hours in her study with the door closed, her face growing more pinched and pale with each passing day. When I inquired about Sebastian's whereabouts or asked about the estate, she brushed off my questions with curt, dismissive answers, as if she couldn't be bothered with my concerns.

But it wasn't just her cold demeanor that disturbed me. There were whispers—murmurs I could never quite catch but that left a lingering chill in the air. I overheard snippets of conversation between Mrs. Thorne and Mr. Blackwood, who had become an even more frequent presence at Thornewood in Sebastian's absence. Their voices would drop to a low murmur whenever I approached, and I couldn't shake the feeling they were hiding something from me.

It wasn't just talk of the war, either. Darker rumors flitted through the house—stories of Confederate raiders passing through the area, with Thornewood offering them shelter. At first, it seemed ludicrous, a wild tale spun by fearful minds, but the more I thought about it, the more the pieces began to fit together. The strange comings and goings at odd hours, the tense, whispered conversations, the way the servants seemed to scurry away at the sight of me—all pointed to something hidden beneath the surface, something sinister.

And then there were the other rumors—the ones that spoke of Thornewood itself, of the land it was built on, and the things that happened here long before I arrived. The house had a history, one not as noble as Mrs. Thorne would have me believe. Whispers of strange occurrences, of unexplained noises in the night, of shadows moving where they shouldn't—these stories grew louder in Sebastian's absence.