Outside, the field sparkled. Thousands of hailstones had been preserved where they’d fallen, creating a glass-like blanket in the morning sun. To her surprise, the hail had beaten the snow down. Instead of being waist-deep, barely a foot of it remained.
The house rose out of the frozen ground like a jagged cliff wall to her right. Opposite it, the forest stretched away, its black line gradually fading into the mist. Clare caught sight of motion around the tree trunks. It looked like some kind of animal scurrying along the frozen ground. She moved closer to the glass, trying to see through the icy fragments clinging to it, but the animal was already gone.
Dorran sat up, rubbed his face, then rolled to his feet. He was moving stiffly, but his expression was passive as he joined Clare at the window. “There must have been sleet accompanying the hail last night. It was enough to melt some of the snow. That will make our return easier.”
Clare was still watching the forest, and Dorran noticed. His expression tightened. “I don’t think it would be wise.”
“Right. Of course not.” He was hurt. They were both tired and hungry, not to mention cold. “We should go back to the house.”
“I know how important it is to you.” Dorran rested his hand on her shoulder then turned towards the door. “We can try again another day. With luck, the hailstorm will be the worst of the weather.”
She could guess what he was thinking, though. The storm had come out of nowhere. If they had spent even a few minutes longer in it, they would be facing injuries worse than bruises. It was hard to justify a two-hour walk to the car and back when a wrong move could mean death. But it smarted to be so close to the car and to leave it.
“I would like to move quickly, while the sky is clear,” Dorran said. “Do you feel well enough to go now?”
“Yes. Definitely.” She grabbed her snowshoes and tied them on while Dorran fit his own. His face twitched when he bent over, but he didn’t make a noise. When he straightened, he looked pale but still smiled at her.
Despite her scarf and hat, the wind bit at Clare’s skin as she stepped outside. Walking on ice was more of a challenge than crossing the snow had been. They moved side by side, holding each other for stability.
Progress was agonisingly slow, but the forest began to recede, and the mansion grew nearer. It was Clare’s first time seeing the outside of it clearly. It surprised her. She’d imagined the building would be symmetrical and stately, but in reality, it was a Frankensteinesque creation.
“It has a special kind of look, doesn’t it?” Clare asked.
“During our prime, my ancestors added to the house every few years, depending on how the family and the profits grew.” Dorran spoke loudly to be heard over the crunch of their shoes and the wind. “Each new wing, new extension, and new addition can be traced to a marriage or a birth. It became a point of pride. The construction only stopped when profits dried up.”
Clare recognised an effort to keep the style consistent. The trim and the windows all matched. The stone colours and sizes varied with each new addition, however, and some seemed to have been added with wild abandon. The manor had a presence about it. The same kind of presence she’d felt inside its rooms—quietly judgemental.
“The hail wasn’t kind to the roof,” Clare said. Black holes pocked the dark tiles. Some were small, while others were large enough for her to sit in them.
Dorran sighed. “That will mean leaks and a harder time heating the place.” He must have seen Clare’s expression because he added, “Don’t worry. We will manage.”
“What happens if the weather never improves?” Clare cleared her throat. “Sorry. I know that sounds paranoid—”
“Paranoia is not always foolish. And these are extraordinary circumstances.” He tilted his head back to stare up at the building. “But try not to worry, if that is possible. I will be taking precautions to keep you safe.”
Clare’s shoe slid on a slippery patch of ground, and she felt colour rising in her face as Dorran caught her and righted her. She managed an awkward laugh. “I feel a bit useless. You’ve done nothing except look after me since I arrived.”
“You are helpful.”
“No. I’m pretty sure I’m not.”
The corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled under the scarf. “I likely would have gone insane by now if I was alone in this house.”
“Really? I thought you wanted to spend the winter away from your family. Isn’t that why you left the group?”
“Hm.” They had neared the steps leading to the front door, and Dorran slowed as they tried to navigate the slope. “I softened the details of that story. I did not leave. I was expelled. I spoke out of turn, and my mother thought a winter in what amounts to solitary confinement would be a suitable punishment. And it would have been, except for the unexpected surprise of your company.”
Clare tilted her head. “Couldn’t you have gone to town instead and stayed in a hotel?”
“I have no money of my own.”
“You could have sold some of the things in the house. Some of the trinkets look like they might be gold. I know it’s borderline stealing, but under the circumstances…”
“Ah, Clare. You see the world so cleanly.” He was laughing again, but the chuckles held a strained undercurrent. The sadness was back. “Come. Let’s get you somewhere warm.”
They were at the front door. Dorran opened it and helped Clare through the gap. Once the door was closed again, they removed their snowshoes and stripped off their scarves and hats. Dorran motioned for them to leave the equipment in the room’s corner.
“We may need it again. We’ll keep it close. Do you remember the way to your room?”
She nodded.
“Go there. Make yourself comfortable. I will heat some food and bring it up.”
“Can I help?”
“Thank you, but I’ll take care of it.” He shucked off his jacket and hung it on a hook beside the door. “I need some time to collect my thoughts.”
They split up. Dorran headed towards the kitchen, and Clare climbed the stairs. As she approached the second floor, she couldn’t help but wonder what the house felt like when it was full of people. There would be lights shining out of every room, as well as chatter and laughter coming from every corner of the house. The kitchen would be full of energy and noise. She might have trouble climbing the stairs without bumping into someone coming the other way.
She let her chin drop as tired legs carried her up. The house might have felt alive with enough people in it, but with just her and Dorran, it felt unnaturally, horribly hollow. Noise travelled too far—the creak of a tired floorboard, the snap of a closing door. Sounds bounced around her, making it hard to guess their origin and playing with her mind.
With no one to tend to it, the fire in her bedroom had gone out. Clare turned on the lights and stood on the threshold for a moment. Daylight came through the windows but didn’t reach far enough to touch the back wall. She’d been gone less than a day, and already the space had started to feel neglected.
She went to the bathroom first and cleaned up. The water coming out of the tap felt like pure ice. She’d tasted enough cold for a lifetime, but weariness outweighed a need for warmth, and she scrubbed her face and body with the cold water as quickly as she could.
Her cheeks looked pale in the mirror, but she decided to blame it on the poor lighting. She changed back into one of the dresses Dorran had given her and topped it with one of the thick coats. Her hair was tangled from the hat and the wind. There wasn’t much she could do for it, but she tried to make herself look as respectable as she was able to.