by Rebecca King
“Someone is playing tricks on us,” Barnabas warned.
“Malicious ones. Damn, I was going to go to the theatre with a very eminent gentleman I have had my eye on for some time as well,” Beatrice huffed.
In a characteristic very similar to her younger brother’s, Beatrice helped herself to a large goblet of brandy and threw herself into a chair before the fire.
“How ridiculous,” she snapped. “I should leave now, and would, if it wasn’t for that blasted weather.”
“Don’t swear,” Barnabas, the head of the family and oldest of the siblings, scolded.
“I shall do what I damned well want, brother mine, and don’t you forget it,” she retorted flatly, a defiant glare in her eye.
“How was the weather?” Myles asked with a frown. Strangely, he hadn’t heard her arrive. Usually, Beatrice’s arrivals were so chaotic that the whole house was thrown into confusion for several hours. “How long have you been here?”
“Just arrived,” Beatrice’s reply was succinct and left little doubt as to its honesty.
Knowing her to be a very forthright character, Myles didn’t doubt her.
“Is it still foggy?” He glanced at the window but remembered that the shutters and curtains were closed.
“It has started to lift, mainly because the wind has picked up. That storm everybody has been talking about is on its way. It was starting to drizzle as well. We managed to get across the moat, just in time I expect,” she reported. She glared at Barnabas. “It is about time you got rid of that old thing and filled it in. Nobody has a moat any more. This isn’t the dark ages, you know. The Vikings aren’t going to attack us again. People just don’t have those kinds of things any more, eccentric ancestors or not.”
“It’s a part of the charm of the house, my dear,” Barnabas replied calmly but firmly, well versed in this age-old battle. “It stays while I am alive in this house.”
Beatrice snorted inelegantly. “Well, if the sender of those notes is a harbinger of doom, your days are numbered, my dear.”
Everyone fell silent at that. The venom behind the words was poorly timed given the arrival of the notes, and the mysteries that surrounded them. Even Beatrice seemed to realise it and lapsed into disgruntled silence while she drank her brandy. She studied the notes uncharacteristically warily as she sipped; her frown thoughtful.
“Well, until someone else makes an appearance we have to assume that someone is playing a trick on us. Now that we are all here, whoever sent these will have to appear at some point to tell us why they have done this. If they don’t then I think it is safe to say that we can all assume this is some kind of silly charade and can go about our business again. I don’t know about any of you, but the next time I receive one of those I have every intention of ignoring it.” With that, Gerald left the room and closed the door behind him with a quiet snap.
Beatrice studied the door for several moments. Myles expected her to issue some sort of withering attack on Gerald’s character, but she didn’t. One minute passed. Then two. Then three more. Eventually, she pushed to her feet. Myles realised then that she was waiting for Gerald to leave the hallway so she could go to her room and was pleased she was so determined to avoid a confrontation with her brother.
“Well, I am off to my bed seeing as the excitement has died down. I shan’t bother trying to cross that stupid moat again tonight. I shall wait until morning. I am exhausted after all of this chasing about. Woe betide anybody who interrupts my sleep, that is all I can say. Good night, all.”
“Are you not coming down to dinner?” Barnabas asked with a glance at the large clock on the mantle. He gave a start when he realised how late it was.
“Not, I think, my dear. I shall go to bed instead. I am too tired. Ta da.”
Myles shook his head as he watched the door close behind her, for once relishing the silence that settled within the room. Now that Gerald and Beatrice had gone the tension had vanished with them. It was considerably more comfortable within the room now and, for the first time all evening, he began to relax and think about day’s events.
“I think we would do better to simply sleep on all of this for now,” Barnabas sighed. “I will put the letters in the safe so nobody tampers with them. We will have to wait to see what happens, Myles. I don’t have any other solution.”
Myles nodded, mainly because he couldn’t come up with a different plan of action. Until the sender of the letters stepped forward to make their identity known, they had no way of finding out who had sent them, or why.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Estelle sighed deeply with pleasure as she snuggled beneath the soft cotton sheets. The warmth beneath the blankets was sublime. She couldn’t remember ever having had such a good night’s sleep before, but felt considerably better for it. For a few moments at least, she allowed herself the small pleasure of not having to think of a single thing. There was no worry, no fear, and no difficulties to work through. Instead, there was nothing more troublesome than the thought of having to leave the comfort of the huge, soft bed, and get dressed at some point.
Preferably for something to eat, she thought with a frown when her stomach rumbled.
She rolled over with a yawn only to wince when the back of her head began to throb dully. When she lifted her hand, it trembled slightly as it probed through her wild mass of hair and the small lump that was the cause of the pain. Suddenly, the memory of where she was and what had happened to her slammed into her with brutal force. Just as ruthlessly as the horses had done last night when they had barrelled into her.
“Oh, Lord,” she whispered when the memories of what had led to that moment filtered through her sleepiness and stole her contentment. “Oh, dear me.”
“Are you alright, miss?” a rather timid voice asked from some way off.
Estelle opened her eyes and stared at the huge canopy above her head for several moments. Confused, she sat up, clutching the blankets to her chest as she looked around the large room. Her gaze fell on a neatly-presented although tired looking maid perched on a chair beside the fireplace, a basket of sewing at her feet.
“Hello,” Estelle murmured.
“How are you feeling this morning, miss?” the maid asked. She carefully put her sewing back into her basket and moved toward her.
Estelle glanced down at herself a little awkwardly. She had never had a maid before and therefore had no idea what the etiquette was for dealing with one. Given that she didn’t belong in these environs, she wasn’t altogether sure it mattered.
“I am a little sore if I am honest,” she replied honestly.
The maid nodded. “It is to be expected given what happened to you.”
“What did happen to me?” Estelle asked curiously. She knew but she was also curious to know what the staff had been told.
“Why, the master ran you over with his carriage,” the maid murmured.
She suddenly fell silent and looked nervously at the door as though debating whether to run and fetch someone. Estelle got the distinct impression the maid knew she had just overstepped the mark by talking ill of the master so didn’t push for details. She knew already.
“Thank you,” Estelle whispered, although had no idea why she was whispering, or what she was thanking the maid - for running off, maybe? Aware that more questions might get the young girl into trouble, Estelle looked about the room and then down at the white nightgown she wore.
“Where are my clothes?” she asked.
“Oh, Mrs Cranbury, the housekeeper, has those. They got awfully dirty and a bit torn last night so she has given them a wash. They will be ready for you later today,” the maid gushed. She looked at the clock. “It’ll be time for breakfast soon, miss. Would you like a tray in here, or would you prefer to go down to the breakfast room?”
Before, Estelle could speak a huge gust of wind rattled the windows. She looked at the closed shutter, immensely grateful she wasn’t out in such awful weather.
“I hear the fog has go
ne,” she murmured wryly.
The maid smiled. “Yes, but this is the storm everyone has been talking about. It is upon us now I am afraid, so you won’t be going anywhere anytime yet, even if the master says it is alright for you to go.”
“Oh?” Estelle baulked at the thought of being held captive.
“It’s the moat, you see. It is flooded again. Why, the last time it flooded it took three days for the waters to go down enough for any of us to be able to cross it.”
“A moat, did you say?” Estelle watched the maid begin to fuss with the covers, straightening them and tucking them in. Unsure if it was a silent request for her to leave the bed so it could be made, she threw the covers back and stood up.
“Yes, ma’am. You crossed it when you came here last night. The only way over it is by the narrow bridge, but that is next to useless once the waters come up. It is no more than a few planks between the gardens and the house, really, but everyone calls it a bridge. The master says he will make a proper bridge at some point. You know, with a stone wall and everything, but he never does. I don’t suppose he will now. Maybe the master will do it.”
“Myles?” Estelle felt a nervous flurry in her stomach.
“Yes, the master, ma’am. You met him last night. We call him Master Myles. Don’t you remember?”
Estelle nodded and went in search of some clothing. A strange, restless feeling swept over her at the mention of Myles name. She wanted to see him; just to make sure it really had been him who had saved her last night. Confusingly, she also didn’t want to see him because she wasn’t sure what to say to him. She touched her tangled hair with tentative fingers, aware that she must look a fright.
“Don’t you worry about that, miss,” the maid gushed with a smile. “We can tidy your hair up in no time.”
Estelle opened her mouth to speak but all that came out was a rather timid ‘thank you’. She wasn’t sure the maid had heard her given that she was already scurrying across the room and was yanking out drawers from the dresser in the far corner.
Estelle took stock of her injuries. Her feet and ankles ached like the dickens, but the rest of her didn’t seem too bad. Apart from the dull ache in her head, she was feeling considerably better than she had last night. Confident that she was on the mend, while she waited for the maid to find her some clothing, Estelle opened the shutters and looked out at the weather.
“Oh, my word,” she breathed when she studied the wildly swaying trees lining the perimeter of the huge landscape garden beneath the window, the view of which was marred by the relentless rain pelting ferociously against the window.
“It’s a rough storm,” the maid assured her.
Estelle stared in amazement as another howling gust of wind lashed another deluge at the window. It was so heavy she wondered for a moment if it was going to break the glass. With a shiver, she hurriedly closed the shutter again and made her way over to the fire.
“I should like to go down to breakfast, if that is alright?” Estelle began.
For some reason the sound of the howling winds made her feel vulnerable and afraid. The thought of eating a meal all by herself in this huge bed chamber made her homesick and in need of company. While she didn’t relish the possibility of joining the others, she couldn’t abide the thought of staying alone in the room either.
“I need some clothes to wear,” she added lamely when the maid continued to flutter about.
“Oh, that’s already been sorted for you, miss,” the maid gushed. She nodded to a chair beside an armoire. “It is one of Miss Beatrice’s old dresses, that is, miss. Cranbury got it out of the attics for you last night. It has been aired all night and is clean and everything. It should suffice until your own dress is ready. Although, I have to say that it looks like you are going to be stuck here for a few days, I am afraid, so it might be best if we get you a few more changes of clothes down. You know, just so you can change clothes for dinner and that kind of thing.”
Estelle felt rather breathless in the midst of the maid’s lively chatter.
“Am I going to be expected to dress for dinner?” Having come from parents who ran a farm for a living, Estelle had never dressed for dinner in her life. The very thought of the social etiquette required to attend such a function left her quaking in her boots.
“Well, the master isn’t as much of a stickler as he used to be. Not since Myles in any case. He is more down to earth than any of them so won’t bat an eyelid if you don’t dress for dinner, especially because he knows it isn’t your fault that you are in this situation,” the maid replied with surprisingly blunt honestly.
Estelle nodded her thanks.
“I am sorry, but what’s your name?” she asked, eager to have at least one friendly face in the midst of such overwhelming change.
“Oh, Bobbi, miss,” the young girl replied.
“Bobbi?” Estelle asked with a smile.
“Yes, miss.” The maid bobbed a curtsey. “My mama wanted me to have a posh sounding name so called me Roberta, but nobody ever calls me that. Everyone calls me Bobbi. The other maid who will tend to you is called Katie, but she is working down in the kitchen right now, miss.” She looked at Estelle a little shyly. “You can too if you like?”
“Work in the kitchens?” Estelle asked in confusion.
Bobbi looked horrified. “No, call me Bobbi,” she repeated.
Estelle felt her cheeks blush. “That would be wonderful, Bobbi. You may call me, Estelle.”
Whatever else she was about to say was stopped by a shake of Bobbi’s head. She heaved a sigh and hurriedly finished making the bed. Estelle, unsure if she had offended the girl in some way, turned her attention to her dress.
“Here, let me help you with that,” Bobbi murmured once Estelle was in a clean set of undergarments, which fit surprisingly well. “You don’t want to catch that bump on your head now, do you?”
“It doesn’t ache as much as it did last night, although I still can’t remember much detail about what happened.”
“Is that a bad thing?” Bobbi asked. “I mean, if you got run over and everything, why would you want to remember it?”
Estelle had to concede she had a point. “I don’t really, but I should like to remember, just to know that I can.”
Bobbi looked a little confused. Estelle decided not to bother to try to explain, she suspected the maid couldn’t understand because she had never been in Estelle’s situation. Still, at least she was prepared to help. Right now, Estelle needed as much help as she could get, especially if she didn’t want to make a complete fool of herself partaking of meals downstairs.
“Will this be alright to go down for breakfast?” Estelle asked once Bobbi had finished tying the laces in the back of her dress.
The fine material, liberally sprinkled with small rosebuds, fit her perfectly and felt sublime against her bare skin. Estelle twirled in it as she studied herself in the mirror and delighted in the delicate feel of the silken fabric against her bare legs.
“It’s wonderful,” she breathed.
“It’ll do,” Bobbi replied with a critical eye. “It is a little long, but that Miss Beatrice is a bit bigger than you.”
“Ah, there you are,” Mable, Mrs Cranbury, said from the doorway.
“Yes, mum,” Bobbi replied as she bobbed a small curtsey. “I was just telling the miss here that we need to get her some more clothing out of the attics. She feels well enough to go down to breakfast, mum.”
“Well, if you are sure?” Mrs Cranbury stepped into the room and closed the door behind her.
“Thank you for this,” Estelle murmured as she waved to her dress.
“Aye, well, I think Bobbi might be right. You do need more clothing because the storm has closed in now with a vengeance. You are not going anywhere today, that’s for certain. So, I will get Cranbury to go and get you some more. I am sure Miss Beatrice won’t mind. I don’t doubt she will have forgotten all about them in any case.”
Estelle nodded, even
though she had no idea who Miss Beatrice was. Before she could ask them, a faint gong echoed through the silence.
“That’s the call for breakfast, miss,” Bobbi explained. “You had best hurry. There is a full house today, so you get the chance to meet everyone.”
“If you are sure that this is going to be alright?” Estelle asked nervously. When she had said she would go downstairs she hadn’t stopped to consider what she actually faced.
“Just follow what everyone else does,” Bobbi suggested; a gentle prompt that she needed to be on her way.
Estelle nodded, breathed her thanks to Mrs Cranbury, who opened the door to the hallway and stood back to let her out. Once in the hallway, she hesitated and turned back to the room.
“Downstairs, third door down the corridor to the right,” Mrs Cranbury said before Estelle even uttered a word.
Estelle accepted the shawl Bobbi held out to her and draped it over her shoulders gratefully before she went in search of the main staircase.
“Good morning.”
Estelle whirled at the sound of the masculine voice directly behind her.
“Hello,” she murmured to the tall, dapperly dressed gentleman who was beaming a rather mischievous smile at her.
He bowed at her as his eyes twinkled mischievously. “I don’t believe we have met.”
“N-no,” Estelle replied, suddenly gauche and uncertain. “I only arrived last night.”
“Oh, well, that’s good then,” the man replied.
“Is it?” Estelle asked, her brows lifted.
“Yes, because I can introduce myself seeing as there is nobody else here.” He assured her.
There was so much teasing in his demeanour that Estelle wasn’t sure if he could be trusted. But, she was happy to converse with him as long as he was happy to talk to her.
“My name is Isaac.”
He seems harmless enough, she thought, finding nothing offensive or untoward in his affable persona.
In fact, it was distinctly reassuring when she was as out of depth as she was in the opulent surroundings. Happy to amuse him, and somewhat relieved that she had an ally, Estelle curtseyed. “Miss Estelle Matthews.”