Always looking to the past ~ A journey into the lives of Sir Thomas and Lady Lucille Sharpe.

[MATURE AUDIENCE ONLY: Trigger warnings apply]

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Chapter 1 here

Chapter 2 here

Chapter 3 here

Chapter 4 below: 

CRIMSON PEAK REVISITED

Chapter 4

It was soon apparent that the mines and kiln of Crimson Peak
were beyond repair and would be closed permanently. Sir James was unbearable in
his fury, but for all his demands and threats—and some said even bribes—he
could nothing but watch his industrious empire crumble into dust and vanish.
The kiln, the factories, the warehouse, even the cobble stoned driveway were
dismantled and the very bricks sold. There weren’t any more mining employees
because there wasn’t any employment for them. The stable hands and gardeners
were reduced, groundskeepers gone.  The
house servants were led go in batches: the maids and footmen, Father’s valet
and Mother’s lady’s maid, even Thomas’ tutor were all dismissed.

Allerdale Hall itself suffered a physical decline after the
mine’s collapse, too. Without maintenance, the land around the estate overgrew
with sharp grass and choked with weeds; carpets of ashy, shriveled leaves fell
under the scrubby, twisted trees that dotted the edge of the grounds. Lucille’s
pony was sold off, as was most of the livestock. Only a single rosebush
remained in the once-lush garden, a splash of huge crimson blooms in the
thorns. There weren’t any more butterflies or jewel-bright beetles; there
weren’t even birds other than a few chickens. The house itself seemed to be
sinking, cracks appearing in the plaster of the walls and mud seeping along the
floorboards. The woodwork grew dull; the dust gathered in corners: an air of
gloom settled in.

It wasn’t a cloistered silent place, however. The house
groaned and creaked, and when the wind blew, it moaned and sighed through the
chimneys like a living thing. The siblings would flit from one shadowy corner
to the next, or huddle together in the attic, whispering to each other under
the shaded eves. Worse were the quarrels between Sir James and Lady Sharpe; too
often the angry words would escalate into furious curses and threats, and
Beatrice’s screams of pain and outrage. No mention was ever made of these
abuses; they were ignored by the few remaining servants and the children alike.
Too often the siblings were called out of their rooms after such incidents to
attend to their parents, as a demonstration of filial duty. Both their parents
made demands on them: the children would entertain them with Lucille’s piano
music and Thomas’ reading and recitations, as if they were the most proper and
loving of families. Thomas even began to look forward to these evenings, for it
was the only time their father showed any kindness toward him; indeed, it was
the only time he could recall a tender pat on the head and compliments from the
man. He was so moved by the unexpected contact that his eyes filled with tears.
Mother, however, wouldn’t even look at
either of them and barely said a word in their presence, let alone a
compliment. She tried to hide the fact that she was in pain; her hair had begun
to whiten, as if struck with frost.

During that time Sir James returned from one of his
still-frequent trips abroad and for a day or two was still somewhat sober and
cheerful. He insisted on his son and heir joining him on a walk with the remark
that the fresh air would do the lad some good. The hounds were happy for the
holiday and dashed down the dirt path, barking enthusiastically. Thomas did his
best to keep up with the long strides of his father, for he had been ill off
and on. He was a wan, thin thing, his skin all the more pale in contrast to his
dark hair, blue eyes wide and eager, excited to have the undivided attention of
his father.

They walked on in silence for a while, until Sir James began
to make some small talk. It was mostly observations of the weather, and
inquiries of his interests, and some rambling incidents of his travels. Thomas
replied that he should very much like to travel someday.

“As well you should, boy,” Sir James approved. “There’s far
more to the world than this blighted corner of it. Fancy being a soldier, then?
There was a Sharpe who bought a commission a generation or so back, but nothing
came of it. Wouldn’t do, though; not for you. You, my boy, are heir to all
this.” Sir James vaguely waved a hand over the whole of Crimson Peak. “It’s a
grand thing, this legacy, you know. An honorable duty.” He frowned and began
walking once more. “It will flourish again, you’ll see. They’ll all see. Still,
you needn’t tie yourself to it like some broody hen; travel, see the world. For
god’s sake, don’t bind yourself to some wretched woman too soon! Above all,
don’t fall into that trap! When our fortunes return, Thomas—and they will, I
swear—the name of Sharpe will hold some weight again, and you’ll be sought
after. Don’t sell yourself short.”

“I shan’t, Papa,” Thomas promised. “Although, I shouldn’t
like to be a solider, I think.”

“No, I suppose not. No, your place is by my side, boy; we’ll
be partners, you and I. Sharpe and Son; how’s the sound of that, eh? We’ll tour
around and I can show you the sights. Gentlemen about the town, you and me! In
much demand at the London clubs and at the hunting parties and such; what a
sight we will be, my boy! Tell me, do you ride? Fish? No? Why, at your age I
was a crack shot and expert at snares.” Sir James shook his head. “But how
could you be, shut up in the house with those miserable females all the time?
They have you doing nothing but reading novels and reciting poetry.”

“I do other things,” Thomas pointed out. “I read on many
subjects, and I work at many things; little toys and mechanical devices. I’m
very fond of machines and inventions and constructions of that sort; I’ve a
passion for engineering. I don’t mind the poetry and such, Papa; that’s just
amusement.”

“Well, I do, and I shan’t have it! Are you to be a jeweler
or watchmaker, a common craftsman? Book knowledge is nothing as great as
experience. You are the son of a baronet, Thomas. We need to toughen you up,
that’s what. It’s not decent to be too influenced by the weaker sex, my boy. For
a man, charm and wit are good as such, but are best employed in winning friends
among peers and gaining advantage rather than wasted on the domestic front. It
is vital for a gentleman to command respect and project superior strength of
both character and body, my son; remember that.
We’ll make a man of you yet. None of that romantic, flowery nonsense!
All false stuff and lies, the lot of it! Women have their place; humble
servitude and marital submission are far more suited to their temperaments and
stations than more masculine exertions. Poetry and novels; ridiculous!” Sir
James sniffed disdainfully.

Thomas grew silent in his disappointment and confusion.
Lucille wasn’t weak in any way, not mentally or physically—if anything, she was
the stronger of the two of them. It was she who continued with their lessons
after the tutor was dismissed, and she who cared for him when he felt poorly.
She was quite a capable nurse and devoted sister. It seemed so unfair that she
was denied so much merely because of her sex. All Thomas wanted was to repay
every kindness to her, to see her happy—surely it was but a trifle to allow her
books and conversation as comfort? And why shouldn’t Lucille be just as proud
as he to be a Sharpe?

Sir James was off again almost as soon as he had arrived,
and Thomas said nothing to Lucille about their conversation. His cough
returned, with the heaviness in his chest. Lucille was quick to set him over a
pan of steaming water and rub his chest and back with an ointment of camphor
and aloe. Eventually it faded, leaving Thomas with just a lingering chill.

“Father will be home soon,” Lucille stated one day at tea. There
was fresh bread and cakes from the morning’s baking, and she spooned fruit jam
and cream onto a scone. At Father’s insistence and due to the reduced number of
servants Lucille had begun some instruction in the domestic arts; of all her
newly acquired skills she most enjoyed baking. “There was a delivery from town
today. Mother isn’t pleased; the larder is only filled when he himself wishes
to partake, and how did he afford it? Never mind that we would starve without
what we fashion ourselves here. How long will he persist in this farce, I
wonder?”

Poor Lucille; she looked so tired! Thomas tried to ease some
of the burden placed on her as much as he was able, but he admitted the best he
had managed was not to add to it with more of his ailments. “Perhaps he has had
some improvement, if he can purchase a wagon’s fill of provisions?” he
suggested hopefully.

Lucille gave a very unladylike snort. “More likely he won
the lot in a wager. It’s drink and oddities, for the most part. Crocks of
jellied eels and barrels of salt pork, kegs of ale, sacks of oats and potatoes
and cabbages—got it off a garrison, probably. Perhaps he’s become a highwayman and
stole it. “

Thomas shook his head. “He wouldn’t; he’s too much of a
gentleman.”

“A gentleman would have a care not to compound his
misfortunes with such a free hand at cards,” she countered. “Drunk or not, he
will be in a foul temper when he arrives, I am certain.”

He groaned. That was not welcome news. “So, best for us to
stay out of sight; they will have a terrible row over it.”

“No doubt they will; Mother has never held back from her
criticism of him.”

**

It was far worse than either of the children could remember.
Sir James blew into Allerdale Hall as if on storm clouds; the house itself
seemed to shake and shrink in fear at his return. There was some words said
between the couple, but none in the house could overhear them. The walls
stifled the spat with its dusty moaning, choking them for their disturbance of
its entropy. Orders were given to prepare a meal from the newly delivered
supplies; the family would dine together, with Lady Beatrice and Lucille
expected to serve.

The meal was a dismal affair. Lucille assisted the cook in
its preparation and brought each dish to the table. It was coarse, common fare;
more suited to an inn than a manor house, and only Sir James partook with any
appetite. Other than the sounds of Sir James’ loud consumption of the food and
drink, they went on in silence; until the baronet insisted Thomas consume a
dish of the eels. Pressing her lips together in a tight line, Lucille placed
the eels before her brother, who stared at it with revulsion.

“Eat up, lad; that will give you some vitality,” Sir James
bellowed. “You look like a boiled pudding, all pale and quaking like that! Need
to feed you up, put some meat on your bones…Go on, then!”

Trying to avoid the sour, vinegary stink of the bowl’s
contents, Thomas scooped up a spoonful and gulped it down. Without pause, he
continued his odious task, determined to down the lot without having to taste
the awful stuff. His father was heartily congratulating him at accomplishing
it, too, when Thomas felt his stomach lurch. Leaping up, he dashed out of the
room, barely in time to get outside before the whole mess came back up in a
rush.

The dishes were quickly removed; the couple left the room in
a bitter quarrel. Checking on her brother, Lucille gave him a damp cloth to
wipe his face and a mug to rinse out his mouth. “Stay out here or go back up to
our rooms,” she advised, before being ordered back to their mother’s side. She
only wished she would be excused from this tedious task; she wanted to see to
Thomas and would rather not be present when their parents went at each other.

“What in Heaven’s name were you thinking, sir, to force that
vile stuff on the boy?” Beatrice fumed.

“Oh, you coddle him!” James argued. “Is he so tender and
weak a creature that you coddle him so? Those were good eels; solid, hardy
stuff. He’s a disappointment, a pathetic, fragile, timid thing, and you’ve made
him so.”

“I have done nothing of the sort,” the lady insisted. “You
have the nerve to speak of disappointments to me! You deprived us of adequate
provisions, only to supply us with such fare that is suited for the docks and
barracks rather than a house of privilege. It’s shameful, sir; an utter
disgrace!”

“Disgrace, is it?” Sir James paced the floor. “I had still
got the lot provided, didn’t I? It’s no fault of mine that your delicate senses
are so offended by the offering.”

“It’s your fault that you cannot provide more suitable
goods,” she returned with some bitterness. “You manage to squander what remains
to us, though, don’t you, with your cards and wagers and drink, and worse, I
should imagine!”

“You dare slander me that way, woman, and in front of the
girl!”

“Slander, is it? Hardly insult to the tatters of your fine
name and reputation. What tripe! What a farce! You’ve ruined it all, and us
with it, and it’s not a secret. They laugh at us, you know; they mock us even
as they shun our company, here in Cumberland and in London!”

“Do they?” he sneered. “Well, Lady Sharpe, you need not
concern yourself with their company any longer, for I intend to sell off the
London holding.”

Beatrice drew herself up to her full height. “What?!” she
exclaimed. “You cannot do that; it is my property and I’ll not be deprived of
it!”

“Need I remind you, wife, that your property is my
possession to do with as I see fit? The cost of the London place’s maintenance
is more than we can now bear, and since we have no further use for it at
present, the funds from its disposal will be better used elsewhere.”    

“So you would
imprison me in this dreadful place without society or resource while you throw
away what’s left of our income on trivialities and futile schemes? How could
you be so selfish? Are we to be reduced to paupers by your vanity and pride?”

“You wretch of a wife, have you no faith at all in me?”
James yelled.

Beatrice turned in disgust, as if to leave. “You, sir, are
drunk. I have no more to say to you tonight; go to bed!”

“Don’t you walk away from me, you harpy! You think you can
order me about in my own house?” James strode across the carpet and spun her
around with such ferocity that he knocked the lady to the floor. “Bad enough
that the entire world is against me, must I endure such derision from my own
family?”

“Father, no! Stop! Please!”
Lucille leapt up, crying out as Beatrice tried to crawl away. Like an
enraged bull, James shoved her aside and went after the wailing woman. “You
vile, prune-faced cow! You disdainful witch!” he ranted, kicking and stomping
at the creeping form as he went.  

There was a dreadful crunching sound as Sir James’ boot came
down on his wife’s exposed leg, snapping it like a dry twig. Beatrice gave out
a hideous shriek before fallen senseless against the footboard of the elaborate
bedframe. Panicked, Lucille dashed to the doors, wrenching them open and
running to the balustrade to beg for help.

Shocked into some sobriety at the violent consequence of his
diatribe, Sir James stood immobile as the butler and housekeeper dashed up the
stairs and into the room. Thomas lingered in the shadows, unsure of what had
happened and whether he should go to Lucille’s side. Catching his eye, she
waved him away, her expression pleading with him to stay back. Without a single
question he dutifully drifted away up the stairs to the nursery to await
Lucille’s return.  

She moved with the stiffness of an automaton when she
reappeared. Sir James had rushed away to fetch a physician, but they had
managed to wrap Beatrice’s leg and wake the lady before Lucille had been
dismissed. It would be hours before their father could return and there was
nothing more any of them could do. Thomas went to his sister and gently
embraced the haggard girl; slowly she sagged against his slight form. She
blinked and tears trailed down her cheeks, gone as quick as they had appeared.
Her arms mirrored his action, and they swayed and rocked in the dark, finding
consolation with the tender contact in silence.

**

There was no new talk of the disposal of the London
holdings; Mother was swiftly removed to them to have her leg tended to. She was
away for months as it mended, and Father stayed away, too. Both of the
children’s birthdays came and went uncelebrated, but some weeks afterward,
wagons arrived with crates of machinery and gears, and a small swarm of workmen
descended on Allerdale Hall to install a gleaming new device in the house; an
elevator. Looking like an oversized, gleaming birdcage, it fascinated Thomas,
who would not be moved from the spot during its instillation and demonstration
of its working. The children were warned not to operate it or even go near the
newly made elevator shaft; the vertical corridor extended through all stories
of the manor, even to the subterranean mud vats and Roman ruins beneath the
house and up through the attic, displacing their parlour-turned-classroom. The
mural Thomas and Lucille had painted on the wall became obscured behind the furniture
and empty crates; they retreated further from the intrusion into the remaining
maze of twisting walkways, covering much of the abandoned furnishing with
sheets and sacking.

The piano music heralding the return of their parents was
more distinct and clear, rising through the elevator shaft to their ears, but
they descended using the stairs. Not being allowed in the great hall, they
assembled in the master bedroom. Sir James and Beatrice both looked
travel-weary and worn; Mother’s hair had gone completely white and her face was
etched with ugly creases of pain. A flexible cane lay near her by the settee,
indicating that her injury had healed but crookedly—forever after she would
have a marked limp, and would tire far easier than before. Both of them still
maintained their aloofness, however, and their piercing critical gaze, which
they fixed upon their offspring unsparingly.

“Lady Sharpe will often be away in London,” they were
informed. When she was in attendance at Allerdale Hall, Lucille was to look
after her as benefits a well-behaved daughter, and Thomas would do likewise for
Sir James. Their further education was not addressed; it was left to them to
get by with self-study for the time being. Not that they were inclined to do
so, but there was to be no fraternizing with the remaining servants, nor would
they be allowed any company, especially when their parents were away. They were
utterly alone, and had no other place to go.

Lucille and Thomas Sharpe were not unaccustomed to such a
monastic daily existence, and Thomas found that suited him fine. There were
long stretches of time that they were left to their own devices. Lucille took
up her study of French and plodded her way through the French novels in the
library, while Thomas continued with his interest in all sorts of mechanisms
and device: he even succeeded in dismantling and reassembling the grand clock
in the foyer, to its great improvement. The sciences shared their attention
with their pastimes of music and storytelling; together they explored such
diverse subjects as chemistry, botany and physics with unbridled curiosity.
Lucille’s tending of the kitchen garden and remaining livestock benefited
greatly from these lessons, and Thomas rewarded her with little inventions,
some to alleviate her domestic burden, some simply for amusement. Often they
would play music and dance, even though the servants sourly reminded them of
how useless and spoiled they were, to have such freedom.

It was only when their parents appeared that their lonesome but
tranquil existence was disrupted. The oft-inebriated servants were quick to
slander them to their employers, blaming them for all sorts of ills; the usual
result of these lies was threat of punishment. Lucille would often claim to be
the responsible party, in order to spare her beloved brother from the canings;
whether they suspected otherwise or not, they were content to cane her
nonetheless, as she was responsible for her brother’s behavior in either case. The
guilt Thomas felt for his sister’s pain and of his own cowardice in allowing
her to take the blame was tremendous: he became accustomed to consoling her
after the beatings; smoothing some of Lucille’s balms on her bruised skin, tenderly
brushing her hair and kissing away her hurts. He couldn’t abide her tears and
would gently wipe them away, whispering to her his promise that they would
always be there for each other, that he would see that all her love and
attention was amply rewarded. As much as he disliked the source for his
attentions, he craved the intimacy of the contact, the expression of care and
love he was able to give to her in such circumstances. Perversely Lucille
developed such tender emotions toward their mother despite the beatings—she
provided Beatrice with all variety of ointments, salves and liniments and would
rub them into the scarred and twisted leg, bringing the woman brief moments of
relief. Lucille was her daughter and still just a child, after all: despite her
unfair treatment, she still craved some show of affection from the one who had
birthed her.

Thomas craved the same from their father, and did all he
could to live up to Sir James’ desire of having a strapping, strong son, but it
only provided disappointment, for it was not suited to his nature. Sir James
had become a brooding, dark presence of a man when at home, barely uttering a
word to anyone other than barking orders and often riding off into the hills.
Any desire to regain his fortune or standing in society seemed to have deserted
him; he acted utterly defeated.

His resentful misery only led him to make more demands of
respect and attendance from his family, however. Under the pretext of filling
the larder he would embark on fishing and hunting trips, insisting on taking
Thomas along with him. While Thomas enjoyed being out of the looming Sharpe
edifice, he wasn’t suited for the rough activity in the wild, and found the
handling of the catch distasteful.

They were deep in the hills hunting grouse when Thomas was
ten; Sir James’ pace was grueling, and Thomas fell behind, unable to keep up.
Dizzy and wheezing, the thin boy finally reached him in a small clearing among
the marsh reeds. “You’re a damned disgrace to the Sharpe name,” his father
declared. “Not a bit of me in you, is there? You’re as weak and pathetic as
your damned mother.” Thomas hung his head; this was not a new insult, and he
found himself wishing again that he was more like Lucille, or that she had been
born male and he female. Lucille favored their father’s strong chin and
handsome features, while he took after their mother, and he wondered if that,
too, was a source of Sir James’ displeasure.

Thomas was completely taken by surprise as Sir James moved
like a striking snake, suddenly grasping him by the throat. Muttering curses
beneath his breath, the man squeezed with an unrelenting pressure, and Thomas
gagged and scrabbled at the vise-like grip.  Fighting against the fading vision of his
father’s manic face, he was scarcely able to hear him shouting, “There, you are
dead now, and my disappointments shall be ended!” before the darkness flooded
over him and he was gone.

**

Darkness surrounded him, but so did a sense of piercing
cold. Finding himself in a boggy puddle, he could discern the swaying marsh
reeds circling his prone form; hear the dry rasp and clacking of them in the
night breeze. He sat up and gasped as a sharp pain slashed through his head; he
coughed, his throat aching. It took him several moments to recall what had
happened; he shivered when the truth come back to him. He was alone, on the
moors of Crimson Peak, at night.

The wind was picking up, moaning like a wounded thing, and
Thomas was afraid. His shoes were saturated and filled with mud, his clothes an
icy, dirty weight on his chilled body. Grasping at the reeds, he extracted
himself from the mire with great difficulty and stood on the edge of the
clearing, peering into the dark in hopes of seeing any sign of his father.
There was no moon; the dark was near total, and there was nothing to be seen.
How long had he been in that state? Surely Father had gone to fetch help, or
start a fire. Thomas tried calling out, but he could only manage a weak croak.
Strange sounds of unseen creatures assaulted his ears, and Thomas spun around
in terror.  Too afraid to remain where he
was, he stumbled toward the last place he could remember they had trod, praying
he didn’t trip or fall as he crept along, searching for some sign of humanity
in all the wilderness.  

How long he wandered, he didn’t know. The sky
was overcast, without a single star, and a cold mist rolled in, hanging like a
smoky blanket over the mossy paths between the rushes. His leather shoes were
caked in muck and impeded his progress; he decided he would be better off
removing them. There were small clusters of scrubby trees that would loom up
suddenly in the haze; stumbled from one to the next, realizing that it was
beginning to grow lighter. His fear and exhaustion was complete; his feet were
blistered and torn as he trod on sharp blades of marsh grass and thorns, and
his throat burned with each breath. As dawn broke, he couldn’t keep to his feet
any longer: he fell against one of the trees in a dead faint, the delirious
image of evil tree creatures reaching for him with their tangling branches in
his mind.