Crimson Peak: The Official Movie Novelization by Nancy Holder Read Free Book Online Page B

right about them.”
    He handed Holly a slip of paper with
Sir Thomas Sharpe, baronet
and
Lady Lucille Sharpe
written on it. “These are their names. I need you to investigate for me. Spare no expense. I want results.” He handed Holly a check. “As soon as possible.”
    No sense prolonging her agony, if that is what it comes to.
    * * *
    It was a brilliant day in Delaware Park, the most recent in a number of brilliant days Edith had spent in the company of the Sharpes. A band played; families picnicked. The weather was absolutely glorious. Edith strolled with Lady Lucille Sharpe, a parasol protecting their complexions from the bright sunlight. She wore her burnished gold skirt accessorized with the belt of two ivory hands clasped one over the other, a personal favorite because it reminded her of the illustrations in her cherished childhood copy of
Beauty and the Beast
. The Beast’s enchanted castle was populated by magical servants who did his bidding, and although they were supposed to be invisible, in the pictures, they were shown as spectral white hands outlined in black. When first they had read the story together, Edith had asked her mother if they were ghosts. Mama had replied that there were no such things, and if anyone—perhaps Cook, who was Irish and therefore superstitious—told her otherwise, she was not to listen.
    The Sharpes were both dressed in deepest coal black, which reminded Edith of Dickens’ many descriptions of the impenetrable soot that hung over London. Lady Sharpe’s costume was punctuated with a large red flower at her breast and a lace collar and cuffs. Sir Thomas was a tall black shadow with a slice of white collar and a dangling silver watch chain. They both wore round black spectacles to shield their eyes from the sun.
    Thomas sat a ways apart with Alan, Eunice, and a few of Eunice’s friends. Heads turned as Edith and Lady Sharpe promenaded; Edith’s head was buzzing with excitement, though she maintained a pleasant yet placid exterior. Lady Sharpe had come with tweezers and a specimen jar, and was busily collecting butterflies.
    “
Papilio androgeus epidaurus
,” she announced, as she placed a pretty, fluttering insect into a jar.
    “They’re dying,” Edith murmured, somewhat stricken.
    “They are,” Lady Sharpe concurred. “They take their heat from the sun, and when it deserts them, they die.”
    “That’s so sad.”
    “Not sad, Edith,” Lady Sharpe riposted. “It’s nature. A savage world of things dying or eating each other right beneath our feet.”
    Edith grimaced. “That is absolutely horrid.”
    “Not all of it.” Sir Thomas’s sister plucked up a cocoon attached to a tree limb, and examined it.
    “Look at this. Everything it needs is in there. A perfect world. If I keep it warm and dry, a pretty little thing will hatch. A dollop of sunshine with wings.” She smiled at Edith as she held it up. “Back home we have only black moths. Formidable creatures, to be sure, but without beauty. They thrive on the dark and the cold.”
    She wrapped the cocoon in a handkerchief and folded it carefully.
    “What do they feed on?” Edith queried.
    “Butterflies, I’m afraid.” She sounded almost bored.
    She was gazing down at something on the ground, and Edith followed her line of sight. An army of ants had pinned down a lovely butterfly; they were devouring it as it quivered. Edith was repulsed.
    But Lady Sharpe watched avidly.
    * * *
    “The specter started to move in a hunched posture, as if in pain… and it was then that she realized, both with horror and relief, that the specter was that of her mother.”
    Sir Thomas read aloud from Edith’s manuscript as she, Lucille, and Alan picnicked on the grass.
    Lady Sharpe arched a perfectly shaped brow. “Ghosts? Really? I never imagined that’s what you wrote about.”
    “Edith saw a ghost when she was a child,” Alan said, and the long-suppressed heat of embarrassment rushed up Edith’s neck and spread across