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

letter…?” Edith fished for her eyeglasses and looped the ends over her ears. Red wax in a coat of arms with a skull design sealed the flap of an envelope of thick parchment paper. Her name was written across the front in a bold but elegant hand. Edith didn’t know if she dared read it, but she ripped it open anyway. The room seemed to dim as she devoured the lines:
    Dear Edith
,
    By the time you read this, I will be gone. Your father made evident to me that, in my present economic condition, I was not in a position to provide for you. And to this I agreed. He also asked me to break your heart—to take the blame. And to this I agreed too. By this time, surely I have accomplished both tasks.
    But know this: When I can prove to your father that all I ask of him is his consent—and nothing more—then, and then only, will I come back for you.
    Yours
,   
Thomas
    Elation surged through her; euphoria. He had not abandoned her, had not proven a heartless cad. But when had this been delivered? What time was his train?
    Am I too late?
    Frantically, she rushed for the stairs, shouting for Annie. She dashed out into the hall, crying, “Annie, my coat!”
    Then through the streets, past so many monuments to her father’s pride, through traffic and crowds, fighting to get to the hotel where the Sharpes had been staying; dodging, weaving, then into the lobby and at last to the front desk.
    “Thomas and Lucille Sharpe?” she asked breathlessly.
    The manager studied the guest registry. “One-oh-seven and one-oh-eight,” he said, “but—”
    Edith bolted, rushing past some guests and a porter; at last she reached the door to one hundred and seven, to find it ajar—
    —and two young, dark-skinned maids inside a room devoid of luggage or personal belongings, making up the bed.
    One of them said, “They checked out this morning, miss. In time for the early train.”
    Edith stood stock-still, panting, defeated. No, it couldn’t be. To have found out, to
know
, and to have missed him… it was too cruel.
    “Are you all right, miss? Miss?” the other maid asked.
    Would she ever be all right again? Would she—
    She became aware of another presence; someone standing close by. She turned her head.
    It was Thomas.
    Unimaginable joy blazed inside her. She managed to rein in her instinct to throw herself into his arms as his dear face sought understanding in hers. Forgiveness. Hope. Her heart thundered in the silence. Surely he could hear it.
    “Lucille has gone,” he began, “but I could not. Your father bribed me. To leave.”
    He reached into his pocket and produced what she recognized as a bank check. Then he tore it in half.
    “But I cannot leave you, Edith. In fact, I find myself thinking of you at the most inopportune moments of the day. I feel as if a link, a thread, exists between your heart and mine. And that, should that link be broken by distance or time… well, I fear my heart would cease to beat and die. And you’d soon forget about me.”
    Edith found breath to speak. “Never. I would never forget you.”
    She looked in his eyes and melted. This was happening. This was real, a dream after the nightmare.
    He pulled her close, and kissed her. Her world became Sir Thomas Sharpe. His arms, his wild heartbeat. The softness of his lips as they brushed her mouth, then pressed harder. Edith closed her eyes, waltzing again, her wish come true.
    She felt his restraint, as if holding back; she was about to open her eyes to assure him that there were liberties that he could take now. He had broken her heart, and only he could mend it. Then he relaxed against her and gathered her up, and all was right, so very right, with this beautiful new world, this shining, golden day. Perhaps Ogilvie had been right to insist upon a love story. The endings were so wonderful.
    But this is not the end of our story
, she thought.
It is only the beginning. He declared himself in his letter. He has asked me to marry him.
    Arm in arm they