Crimson Peak: The Official Movie Novelization by Nancy Holder Page A

Lucille’s posture, Edith could tell that her new sister-in-law was looking over Edith’s shoulder at Thomas. Smiling at him, she hoped. Letting him know that she was pleased by Edith’s overture.
    “Warmth would be an excellent start,” Lucille said. “Thomas, your bride is frozen.”
    Lucille unhooked the key ring from her waist and turned to go. She seemed harried and a bit tired.
    Thomas smiled at Edith. “I’ll take you upstairs, my darling. Start a fire at once. You can run a hot bath. You’ll need to let the water run. The pipes will carry some red clay at first but then the water will clear.”
    Abashed that Lucille should perform housekeeping tasks while she bathed, Edith thought to reject the bath in favor of assisting her. But truthfully she
was
frozen, and so exhausted that she would be of no use to anyone. She vowed that she would lift the weight from Lucille’s shoulders, or, at the least, take on her fair share. She herself was not used to performing work customarily given to servants, but she was game to learn, and did know how to run a house.
    “Lucille, whenever it’s convenient, may I have a copy of the house keys, please?”
    “You don’t need one,” Lucille said quickly. Then, in a more measured tone, she added, “For now. There are parts of the house that are unsafe. It will take a few days for you to familiarize yourself. Then, should you still feel that you need them, I’ll have copies made.”
    Edith let herself be satisfied with that answer, but she made a pledge to herself to be useful to Lucille. The other woman had carried the burden of maintaining this enormous house for too long, and it was clear to Edith that the house was winning.
    We shall turn that tide together
, she vowed.
    Then she followed her bridegroom toward the lift, anticipating a nice hot bath and then, perhaps then… the bridal chamber.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

    I T WATCHED .
    The bride was in the bathroom, standing in her chemise and corset as she turned on the taps. Steam spilled from the faucet and the first few sputters were red as blood.
    “Oh, God,” she cried.
    There is no God here
, it thought.
Abandon hope, all ye who enter here.
    The recalcitrant heaters on both sides of the tub began to knock, the pipes vibrating like a death rattle, then growing louder, a horrible sound. Rude and demanding. Then the water ran clear and hot. Not everything was ruined and decaying. Not yet, anyway.
    She removed her eyeglasses and placed them in the basin. She climbed into the tub. Quite a dainty thing. Blond hair, a distinction. American. A novelty.
    Above her glasses, in the mirror, a handprint bloomed.
    Busy tonight, then, inspecting the bride. What was she like?
    * * *
    Belowstairs, in the scullery, it made another observation:
    “What is this?” the sister asked. Her voice was clenched with worry, a tinge of panic. “What is she playing at?”
    “I have no idea,” the brother replied, graduating the flame in the copper heater. Ah ha: caring for the comfort of the innocent in the tub. Making sure her bath was hot, and the water for her tea as well. Laying the traps. These two, these dark two. How it loved them. Wind them up—
    “The dog.” The sister was agitated. There were beads of perspiration on her forehead. “You said you’d killed the dog.”
    His face tensed. Was it with apology, or excuse? “I left it on its own,” he confessed. “I thought…”
    “How has that thing survived? All this time?” she wondered aloud. “On scraps, I suppose. As we all do.”
    Then his face softened, and the love he bore his sister came through. “We won’t have to do that anymore.” His voice held promise, certainty.
    “Won’t we?” She scowled. “The money is not here, is it?”
    “Not yet, but soon.”
    She stomped to the stove and readied a kettle of boiling water. Then she selected a red tin of tea and poured the water through the leaves into the pot. Next she inspected the cups and rejected the one with a