Shadows Intensify

Upon arrival the next morning at La Havre, Lupin and Uncle Mortimor made their solemn way into the inn in their now familiar and disparate ways, and shared their large supper in the room, as was usual. The next day they spent in constant and speedy travel, Uncle Mortimor hiring a swift postchaise and four to carry them the long journey to Paris. The weather, fair at the port, had turned inclement, however, and late that afternoon they were forced to stop due to the impassable roads. They arrived at a small posting house in the gloaming of cold rain on fogging fields. The rain, not common on the soft plains between the sea and the rising country of Paris, was heavy even for its peculiarity. It was a cold rain from the North, and Lupin could feel the damp and the wet had crept into her as she braced herself for the turn into the hostelry’s drive.
In the chamber abovestairs, she could not stifle a prickling of anxiety as she unlatched her box and climbed surreptitiously onto the cold, slightly moulding wooden boards. She looked about her and narrowed her eyes to see better the darkening room, fast becoming a deep gray in the early twilight. She moved quietly to the window, and standing to one side, looked glancingly out into the fog. Something was amiss, and as much as she endeavored, the feeling would not be quelled by the iron hand of her mind. She could feel something was very wrong. She stepped back from the window quickly, and shook her head. She clenched her fist against the wall, and then spread it out, palm down, onto the damp siding. It was as if the house was – what was it? It was as if it was - malevolent. Or something was malevolent inside it. She gazed into the room and it looked as if it was pulsating in the dark and grainy light, but perhaps it was just her imagination. She felt breathless as if she had been thrown on her back very hard. She took a deep breath. Certainly her imagination. The dark played tricks with the eyes. She forced herself to step out into the room, despite her feelings of unease, and her heart began to race.
The feelings eased for a moment, and Lupin heard the step of Uncle Mortimor soon after. He only brought uncomforting tidings, and little in the way of victuals, however. The innkeeper had commented to another traveler when Uncle Mortimor was visiting the taproom that when the weather turned inclement like it had, it seldom relinquished its hold on the heavens for a week at least. There was little to eat as the cook had left and could not return through the deluge.
Lupin’s stomach clenched uncontrollably. She knew that to stay would be foolish, she could feel it was wrong, but what could be done? Uncle Mortimor would hardly countenance her reasons for endeavoring the storm. She could hardly countenance – or understand - them herself, but the feelings gripped her and she could not escape their clutches.
The knot was tightening in her stomach, but she took baguette and cheese and ate them steadily, looking stonily into the corner of the room, or stared at the poor blaze of mismatched kindling that Uncle Mortimor had built, her back very straight.
She took a sip of her wine with cold fingers, and set the glass down. Uncle Mortimor had lit no candles, lest they attract attention from without. The room was left to shadow. Lupin raised her chin. “I would like to see the journal,” she said very quietly, and glancing at him, she noticed the hardening of his lips even in the gloom.
He looked at her, frowning, but straightening his brow, he rose with a small sigh and paced to the small satchel he always carried with him. From within it he pulled the battered box with its ragged label, and laid them carefully on Lupin’s traveling trunk.
Lupin raised the lid and twitched apart the ragged wrappings from around the crimson book. Even in this dull light, it seemed to gleam and glow, catching the light from the fire and reflecting it in rich hues. Lupin shook her head slightly, and then, glancing up at Uncle Mortimor, commented tersely, “I need to know what my – father – wanted me to know. I must.”