This is your home now [Crimson Peak]

Sir Thomas Sharpe

"Let me help you," his smooth, deep voice said, more gently than she expected.

Petrified, Alice was stuck and unable to process his words, and her voice refused to be heard. Grabbing her shoulders, he lifted her carefully out of the jagged wooden trap.

She sat down on the stairs and surveyed her bloody leg, a nasty gash right up her shin bone and her ankle filling with fluid.

"Here," he kneeled in front of her to examine the damage. Alice pulled away, every instinct screaming at her to just get out. Her heart pounded in her chest, her breath came in shallow gasps. Cold and damp, the sweat quickly cooled on her freezing skin and turned her lips blue.

"I'm ok. I just need to get back to my car."

"Let me at least get you bandaged up and make you some warm tea. You're frozen."

"No. Thank you, but no. I've invaded your home, and I apologise. I really need to go, I'll be missed shortly."

"Can you stand?"

He held both hands out, and for the first time she took in more than his face. He wore a billowing white shirt, which hung partly unfastened, showing his broad chest. His black dress pants were at odds with the rest of his disheveled appearance: scuffed, worn boots, his shirt, his hair giving the impression it was wet, clinging to his forehead and flopping in front of his eyes when he looked down. He looked... worn. Weathered. Much like the house.

Alice took his hands, and immediately flinched away. They were ice cold.

"I apologise," he said. "It's impossible to keep warm in here."

She reached out again and he pulled her upright, with all of her weight on her good leg. When she tried to put the other down on the floor, the pain made her see stars.

Before she could protest he lifted her into his arms and took her to the kitchen, putting her gently in a chair. "What's your name, darling?"

"A-Alice. Alice S-Simmons. Again let me apol- apologise, I was under the impression this house was v-vacant." Her words were stuttered, her body now shaking uncontrollably.

"It is, really." His expression was unreadable, but his eyes looked sad as he bent in front of the chair.

"I'm afraid I don't understand, Mister..."

"Gosh how rude of me. Thomas. Thomas Sharpe."

"Well, Thomas. Thank you for taking care of me, I'll just call someone to pick me up."

"I think you'll find that quite impossible."

The tone in his voice made her snap her head up and look him in the eye. Cold fear rushed down her spine, causing fresh shivers to overtake her body. His expression remained unmoved.

"Why don't I get you some tea and perhaps a hot bath?"

"Just tea will be fine. And if you could point me to the bathroom?"

"I'm afraid it's back up the stairs. You won't make it by yourself."

"I'll give it a try."

He said nothing, but gestured toward the doorway and shook his head.

Alice limped painfully out into the foyer, every step grinding the bones of her ankle together and confirming her suspicions of at least one broken bone. Keeping her head turned toward the red curtains, she moved with agonising sluggishness toward the door. The three steps down to the entrance were excruciating, and she had to bite her lip to keep from crying out. As she approached she remembered there was no way to open the door quietly, and braced herself to move as quickly as she could once she was outside. She turned to the door and laid a hand on the handle.