Chapter Two

Nicholas Brown

Westhill was no more than a small town. A hand-painted wooden sign welcomed Graham and me as we rode in the wagon. The wagon had just passed a mill where a tall chimney bleached out dark toxic smoke. Westhill was a land of poverty, I could tell from the few glimpses I had taken during the ride of the people who were walking along the pavement and the children who seemed to be more like ghosts as they stared at the wagon. Graham hid from the sunlight and kept to himself as much as possible while I sat near the open window, an open book in my hand.

"Be Careful" Graham shouted from the wagon leaning out of the window as they were driven along the dirty and extremely bumpy road that lead into the heart of Westhill.

"Sorry, Sir!" The driver apologetically called back to him, "I'll do my best to avoid them, sir!"

"You'll do your best..." Graham mumbled, leaning back into the wagon and closing his eyes, irritated "As if that should make me feel better. The road seems to be no more than a series of connected calderas." At that moment, the wagon hit a particularly deep bump. I let out an involuntary gasp gripping my book tightly. "Are you trying to kill us, man?" Graham yelled, leaning outside the window again.

"Sorry about that, sir!" The driver apologised once again "Nearly there, sir..."

Graham leaned back into the wagon "Fuck doing your best."

"Don't be so dramatic, Graham." I chuckled softly "This isn't the city. It's a little town and needs a little maintenance that's all but look at the scenery. It's going to help you relax, I'm sure of that."

"Don't be dramatic?" He rolled his eyes "I almost bit my tongue out, thanks to the road here."

I closed the book in my hand "I heard that the town offers enough lush and greenery for you to finally focus on that book you've been meaning to write."

"I only came because you said veronica was in danger." Graham seemed to relax slightly "Finishing that book is the least of my concern right now, Nick."

"We will find her." I reassure him, looking outside, wanting to believe the words that I had said, "We will find her."

A short while later, the driver opened the door on the side of the wagon and stepped aside to let us out "The Brighton Manor, as you requested, gentlemen." I looked at the big mansion in front of me. It reminded me of the very home I ran away from. "This is one of the biggest houses here in Westhill, sir." The driver said, reaching in to unload the baggage, "Good man he is, Old Mr Brighton."

"So I've heard." Graham stepped down "Be careful with that, please, it has my typewriter."

"Of course, Sir." The driver carefully placed the baggage on the ground.

"This is Westhill?" Graham asked, unable to hide his displeasure as he stepped away from the wagon "What a reprehensible place." He brushed his pants.

"We're only on the outskirts, sir." The driver said, fetching the last of their bags, "The main part of the town is a mile that way." He pointed, "But a word of caution, sir, it's not rare to hear of men being knifed. Women being taken advantage of and children missing in that part of town at night."

"We came here for some peace and quiet." Graham said, lifting his typewriter bag "I imagine there is not one person in the entire town who has heard about Mr Brown here. Might give him some healing time, and I might get enough time to work on the book."

"I'll be sure to keep his arrival a secret, sir," The driver said, offering to pick up my bag.

"I can handle myself." He said, paying the man.

"I don't doubt that, sir" the driver pocketed the money and climbed back on the wagon, taking the horses' reins "But take my advice and steer clear of the town at night. Most importantly, the bars and the public houses, don't take well in terms of newcomers and people like ye kind. May God watch over you, sir!"

Once the wagon was gone, We walked forward, bags in hand and worry in our hearts. Graham said as I pocketed my watch as we reached the front door. Knocking on the door, I took a few steps back. It took a couple of seconds before the door opened, and the butler greeted them.

"Welcome, Gentlemen," He said in his deep voice "Follow me, the master will be with you shortly"

The house was welcoming from the open door to the wide hallway. Upon the walls were the photographs of children, so obviously so loved. Graham looked at them with admiration. The floor was an old-fashioned parquet with a blend of deep homely browns, and the walls were the greens of summer gardens meeting a bold white baseboard. The bannister was a twirl of a branch, tamed by the carpenter's hand, its grain flowing like water would in waves of comforting woodland hues. Under the lamp-shine, it was nature's art, something that soothed right to the soul.

The stairs rose in well-measured form, smooth and reflective of the light.

"It's a beautiful house." Graham complimented

He responded, "I guess."

The butler headed to the left of the corridor and stopped right in front of a room with a grand door. Opening the door, he let us enter the room and closed it. The room was basically a wall-to-wall of books, enough to get Graham, excited by the mere collection. I recalled Veronica's love for books such as these. She would have camped here for months and devoured these beautiful pockets of fantasies in a matter of days.

"Sorry I am late, Gentlemen," He said, extending his hand, which I shook.

"Brighton." He smiled "Anthony Brighton. When I received news that you were coming here to take over the investigation, I was more than elated ." He said, turning to greet Graham, who for once had a smile on his face.

"This is a good collection you have, Mr Brighton." I understood what had put on a smile on his face "Could I maybe borrow a few books during my stay?"

"Of course, Mr Martin." The man, his stomach shaking as he laughed, "Be my guest. Now, come with me. I will show you the house where you will be staying." He gestured and continued to lead us out of the room and down the staircase.

A few minutes later, we entered the low-level gate, fancy wrought iron in a grey stone wall, led by Mr Brighton. The house behind it had once been an abandoned home, less desirable for being so far out of town. It stood there as if the surrounding nature had embraced it, that the flora flowed within it as much as around it. The architect had loved the trees so much that there was a mighty oak in the centre, centuries-old, and a great house had been built around it. The front door, made of dark wood planks with black hinges spreading halfway across, had that rustic appeal the rich city folk craved. Something in the air made me feel drawn to the house. Even in the warm spring sunshine, there was a coolness to it. I let my eyes absorb the myriad of hues, all grey but made unique by their variance in minerals.

"The key" Mr Brighton held up a golden key and opened the front door. "The house has just been acquired and painted recently. It's a very old house."

"This is where Miss Veronica stayed?" I ask as Graham follows us closely.

"Indeed" He pushed the front door open "She was a beautiful young woman, but she was haunted by something," Brighton said causally. My heart pricked with guilt. How could it not? Was I not the cause of her sorrow? If it weren't for me, she never would have come to this God-forsaken place. Entering it for the first time felt the same as coming home after a long absence.

"The sitting room is in the central building..." Mr Brighton said, giving them a walkthrough of the house "There are three bedrooms in the house. Two of the rooms are on the ground floor, and the master bedroom is on the first floor, That was where Miss Grimm stayed. Her items of baggage are still just like she left them as you instructed, sir. " He pointed to the bedrooms upstairs connected to the ground floor by a staircase that curled as some sweet cat in a peaceful dream. "The windows in the bedrooms above open out upon the lawn. Right here" He lead them to the dining area that had a beautiful long wooden table set. On the side of the room, arching windows that welcomed the passage of the light were present, which set the dining room alive with the vibrant hues of midday.

"You really don't have to worry about food." He told them, "I have arranged a stay-in maid, Anna, to set things in order."

"Thank you so much, Mr Brighton." I smiled.

"Pleasure is all mine." Anthony Brighton clapped his hands "If you need anything else, just send word through Anna. I'll see that you get it."

"Just the books will do for now," Graham said.

"I'll send them through Victor, Anna's son," Brighton said, "I'll see you in the morning. God bless."

"Mr Brighton." I call after him "About my stay here, I-"

"It'll be our little secret." the old man's eyes crinkled "I hope you rid this town of the demon that's causing all the chaos."

"I hope so too. Thank you!" I smiled back at him as Graham walked him outside the house.

As the doors close behind them, I moved to the window gazing outside at the field of white roses. Those were her favourite kind. There was an unsettling feeling in my heart that was part guilt and part fear. I found myself praying silently for her safety; for all of this to be a misunderstanding, and for her to open the front door any second and be surprised by Graham's and my arrival. I felt my throat go dry at the thought of something happening to her. Working with so many unsettling emotions can greatly disturb my investigation, but no matter how hard I tried not to think about it, I found myself only thinking about it more. Eventually, I shook myself off these thoughts. I had to do something to keep myself from succumbing to my own guilt and self-worry.

One of the things I resolved to do was to explore this house and its grounds. But before that, I needed a shower after the sweltering journey from Sandei to Westhill. As I turned around, a teen entered the house. He seemed too fragile, he could break. But somehow, he managed to carry all three bags by himself.

"Victor, I presume," I said, approaching him.

"Yes, sir." The boy placed the bags on the floor and removed his hat "Me mum works here as the cook, sir."

"Anna." I nod "I've heard. How old are you, Victor?"

"Seventeen, sir." He grinned proudly, his deep blues holding nothing but pride.

"Quite a young man, I see." I say, handing him a coin from my pocket "off you go then. Graham can unpack his own things, and so can I. Go play with your buddies or something." The boy took the coin and ran away, and for once since my arrival here, I felt a warmth in my heart. I pick up my bag and choose the room that was closest to the main door. If there arose a need where I had to sneak out every night to investigate, I wouldn't want to wake up graham. Once inside, I quickly unpack my belongings and open the door to the attached bathroom. There in the middle of brown tiles, was a mastic sucked tub that glistened like a rainbow as a result of the sunlight dancing through the beautiful stained glass window by the tub. This was exactly what I needed at the moment to wind my mind down.