Jamintha Read Online Free Page A

I could hear the wind sweeping over the moors, an anguished sound full of desolation. Moonlight streamed down, creating a world of black and gray and tarnished silver, shadows moving as wispy clouds floated over the surface of the moon. I leaned forward, peering at the horizon. Danver Hall loomed like some monstrous folly created by a madman.

CHAPTER TWO
    At one time it must have been majestic, but the years had taken their toll. The west wing was a shambles, a labyrinth of partially standing walls and heaps of huge gray stones, all bathed in moonlight and silhouetted against the night sky. The central portion was intact, a small tower at either end of the portico, and the east wing was solid. Built of stone, the multi-level roofs a soot-stained green, Danver Hall had no beauty, nothing to alleviate the gloom. It must look even worse in sunlight, I thought, as the wagon drew nearer. Beyond the west wing, across a stretch of shabby gardens and some distance from the house itself, stood the Dower House, a small, compact house made of the same materials, sheltered by the enormous oak trees that grew all over the property.
    â€œNot much to look at, is it?” Johnny said, clicking the reins and urging the horse to a faster pace.
    â€œIt’s not—too attractive,” I agreed.
    â€œThey don’t build ’ouses like that anymore, and thank the Lord. Impossible to ’eat, impossible to keep clean. It’s too bulky, too ’eavy. The west wing ’as already crumbled, an’ one of these days the rest of it’s goin’ to topple over and sink into the bog.”
    â€œThe Dower House looks sturdy enough,” I remarked.
    â€œAh, there’s a sore spot. The ’ouse and the acres around it were sold over a ’undred years ago, passed out of the family ’ands. Dower ’ouse belongs to some gentleman in London. ’E rents it out ever now ’n then. The Danvers don’t take to the idea, an’ that’s a fact, but there isn’t anything they can do about it.”
    â€œWho would want to rent it?” I mused.
    â€œNot many, I can assure-ya. No one’s lived there for ten years, but it’s been kept up. Well, Miss Jane, ’ere we are—”
    The wagon passed through two tall stone portals, a heavy wrought-iron gate standing open, and proceeded along the crushed shell drive that circled in front of the portico. Johnny stopped the wagon, leaped down and reached for my hand. He held it in a firm grip as I stepped down. We stood on the steps that led up to the portico spanning the length of the central portion of the house. No lamps burned, and the moonlight only emphasized the darkness. Crickets rasped between cracks in the stone, and there was the constant, mournful sound of the wind.
    I trembled inside, the panic starting to rise, and Johnny held on to my hand, squeezing it tightly.
    â€œThere now,” he said huskily, “it’ll be all right. Susie’ll look after you. She’s eager to ’ave someone ’er own age about. Don’t worry, Miss Jane.”
    â€œI wish I weren’t such a coward.”
    â€œâ€™Ell, you’re just a lass, an’ anyone’d be upset seein’ this place for the first time. You buck up, ’ear? People in the village remember you, an’ they’re ’appy to ’ave you back.”
    His words made me feel better. I managed to compose myself as he took the trunk out of the wagon and carried it under the portico, setting it beside the immense black oak door. Reaching for the heavy brass knocker, he pounded it against the solid wood. I could hear the noise echoing within, and in a moment there was the sound of footsteps ringing on a marble floor. Through the panes of the side windows I could see a light flickering wildly as someone approached.
    The door swung open. A girl with long tarnished gold curls and saucy brown eyes peered up at Johnny, the lamp held aloft in her