*****
“And how does your father do tonight, my lady?” Anna inquired while unpinning her mistress’s hair before the vanity mirror.
“Much the same, I’m afraid.” Eva’s tone displayed her unhappiness.
“I’m awful sorry, my lady. I’ll say a prayer for him.”
Eva smiled at the elderly woman’s kindness. “Thank you, Anna.”
Soon she was fully clad in her sleeping garments and tucked beneath the blankets, staring at the dark shape of her off-white bed curtains shielding the view of the tall ceiling. Though her body begged to enter into sleep, her eyes resisted the urge to close. What would usually be described as a feeling of restlessness was not what Eva felt as she lay torpid in the midst of her large bed. Her body did not toss and turn in search of sleep but lay motionless as she looked into the darkness. Her mind seemed unable to close itself on her ever-present worries. The thought that she might awaken in the morning to find her father had been lost during the night kept her from slumber.
What might have been a peaceful night passed slowly and with little rest. Eva’s eyes had just began to close, it seemed, when something aroused her senses, something her sleep-deprived mind could not distinguish. Again she felt herself giving way to sleep when the noise met her ears for a second time—a low hum that forbade her to ignore it. Fluttering her eyelids and inhaling deeply, Eva looked about her dark room, knowing that hours must have passed since she first laid her head down, seeing nothing but the dark silhouette of the bureau, vanity, and daybed. All was silent, and yet it was not a peaceful silence that hung over the room, but one of apprehension as Eva waiting to see what it was that so rudely awoke her as she finally succumbed to the urge of slumber. Still all was silent until the muffled hum of masculine voices met her ear from the corridor. Eva sat still, perched on her elbows, straining her ears to hear from whence the voices came. They were low and heavy, as though the speaker feared discovery. His careful murmur attracted Eva’s attention all the more.
Rising carefully from her bed, she donned her robe and tiptoed across the cold floor to lay a careful ear against the wooden door. The hum became considerably louder as she deduced that its source was but a few yards from her quarters. Her brow creased with curiosity as she strained her ear to recognize whose voices it was that whispered in the hall. Pressing her ear closer to the cold surface, Eva held her breathing to shut out all other noises. Despite her best efforts, all that she could distinguish was the low hiss and hum, not clear enough to know their source.
Should I open the door and expose myself? she mused inaudibly though soon thought better of such a notion. However she longed to know the reason behind the unintelligible mumbles, something warned Eva not to reveal her position to whomever it was whose voices had awakened her. Instead, she stood quiet and unmoving in hopes that this man—or men—would come closer.
As she listened to their mumbles, Eva could not help but feel the unsettled air, which seemed to have overcome her, as though something underhanded were going on in her midst. I shall go out there. She tried to rally her bravery. But what if they are thieves? No, she concluded, thieves would not linger in the hall. Surely it’s only the servants, but what could be so amiss to cause servants to roamed the halls at night? Her mind tried to persuade her, though Eva found this thought of little comfort. What reason would the servants have to stir at this time of night? In that moment, the voices ceased just as suddenly as they seemed to begin. All was plunged into quiet once more. Eva pressed her ear to the door and held as still as she could, trying to hear any further noises, but there were none. Withdrawing from the door, she frowned in puzzlement. Eva awaited the soft murmurs to resume, but they did not; not even a footfall was heard as if the sources of the voices were retreating elsewhere.
“My slumbering mind has run away with me,” Eva whispered to herself in hopes of convincing her solicitous nerves. “It is nothing to bother about. Only restless servants.” Turning back with hesitant slowness into the drafty room, the lady moved soundlessly back to her bedside. Not another murmur was heard as she lay down and closed her eyes. She would not disturb what little sleep she had sustained over the mere whispers of her inmates. But as Eva lay in the silence, she found her body was now fully awakened and would not fall back into slumber despite her best efforts. Unlike the first part of the night, Eva began to toss and turn restlessly. Something haunted her, preventing her mind from relaxing enough so that she might sleep. Perhaps it was the memory of the voices in the hall or the way they seemed to disappear, or was it their effect on her nerves, which forestalled her slumber. Nonetheless, Eva resolved to think no more of the incident. She berated herself for allowing her nerves to get the better of her when surely there was nothing to the voices besides that of stirring maids and housemen. Eva knew that it was close to their rising time and allowed herself to calm with this reassuring thought. Taking one last look at her heavy wooden door, Eva closed her eyes and let out a slow breath, relaxing herself, awaiting sleep to overcome her.
The remainder of the night passed without mishap until the lowly chime of the grandfather clock in the upper hall broke the calm of the slumbering castle. One chime, then two; by the time the third was heard, Eva’s senses were aroused from the sleep in which she had fallen. The clock chimed a fourth time and she made move to open her eyes when a strange sensation fell over her. Shivers crawled up her spine as she was awakened enough to realize that she was no longer alone in her room! A fifth chime was heard mingled with a gruff voice. “Take her.”
And in a moment, before she could cry out, Eva felt gloved hands take hold of her! One muffled her screams while the others yanked her from the warmth of her bed and began to drag her away. In a panic she thrashed, her vain struggles weakening her as she was dragged toward the chamber door and into the dark gallery. The clock chimed no more, it was not yet time for the servants to rise, and the sun was not showing its luminous glow from behind the mountain. Eva would get no help lest she screamed and the hand that covered her face closed off not only her mouth but her nostrils as her lungs squeezed for air. The unrelenting arms dragged her into an inky darkness, not a word was spoken until her bedroom disappeared behind the closing doors, then there were men’s voices barking at each other as Eva’s ears seemed to close and her head grow drowsy. She tried to gasp for breath, but there was none to be had behind the palm of the leather-clad hand. Stricken with panic and lack of air, Eva felt the world begin to disappear as the arms of her abductors dragged her roughly along the corridor. All she could think as her senses left her was of her father and if she would see him again.
~ 1 ~
“Finish up and get out of there. The master is due even this moment!” the butler’s course voice commanded his staff as he passed the master’s bedchamber, his pace almost a run. Should he be late to the great hall to welcome the baron, he surely would be in line for admonition. Straining his ears to be certain he heard the carriage and team ascending the drive, Byrum hurried through the dark halls and down the grand staircase. “My coat!” he called to the under butler, continuing toward the great hall, running one last hand across one of the long table’s surface to ensure every particle of dust had been removed, caring not that his master was sure to overlook it.
The arrival of Lord de Grey was a most anticipated event as he had been away for many months in the company of the House of Lords and now journeyed home to Wynthall, where he was sure to imprison himself under the burdens that dwelt within.
Byrum strode quickly into the hall, the only place in the house where light from the stained-glass window shed the sun’s bright color on carpet and walls in forms of reds, greens, and golds—the only window into the outside world that shined with such unique brilliancy.
“Your coat, sir.” The under butler appeared just as the clamor of the master’s carriage was heard coming up from the gate.
“Open the doors!” Byrum commanded, shoving his hands down the sleeves of his green tailcoat and pu
lling it onto his shoulders just as the front doors were pushed open, flooding the hall with light and revealing the halting carriage of the Right Honorable Lord de Grey.
Footmen leaped from the carriage rails to open the door, allowing the master to alight. James Nightten, was a tall, broad man, not yet one and thirty. His dark raven hair and eyes so brown they were nearly black gave him an air of distinction, which all nobility struggled to surpass. His manner and character were the subject of much wonder among the lords as he had borne his late father’s title for twelve years and yet did all within his power to keep to himself and out of the eye of a world that he abhorred.
Ignoring the footman’s outstretched hand to assist him, the baron stepped from the carriage and strode with wide, purposeful steps into the dark interior of Wynthall Manor. “Welcome, my lord.” Byrum bowed to his passing master, the lord unbuckling his cloak, discarding it on the marble floor where his butler rushed to retrieve it. His heavy steps continued toward the staircase with Byrum close at his heels. “May I get you—”
“You may not.” His cold voice, filled with command and assertive insistence that obedience follow instantly hushed the butler’s attempts, his first warning that he had better refrain from triggering Grey’s ire. “I’ll be in my room, not to be disturbed.”
“Yes, my lord,” Byrum answered immediately, bowing again as his master reached the grand staircase occupying the back of the hall, climbing it with every other step under the eyes of his butler, who watched from the foot of the incline.
“Is he unwell?” The voice of Grey’s valet startled Byrum while he watched the young lord disappear into the dark, eerie maze of the easternmost side of the old manor.
The butler sighed. “When is he ever well, Merek?”
“Does he desire me to come up?”
“No, he wants to be left to himself.” The valet shook his head almost in a mournful manner. “He’s too young to waste himself away in the confines of these drafty walls.”
Byrum nodded. “And yet that is exactly what he intends to do.”
“Do you fear he has become a danger to himself?”
The butler’s subdued brown eyes grew sorrowful. “It is not himself that he is in danger of, it is the man that he has become—that man who inflicts him with hurt every hour of his waking moments.”
Merek sighed remorsefully. “Will that man he’s become do him harm, do you think?” Byrum nodded. “It is and has been and will do for years.”
“Have we not any hope of freeing him from this torment?”
“No. We are helpless, that is to be sure.” As though he had given up the conversation Byrum’s strides took him back down the hall. “Are we to allow him to continue this way?” Merek called after the butler, but his words hung in the air.
*****
“My lord, I beg you would open your door. You’ve not had a meal since last evening,” the imploring voice of his butler outside the chamber door did little but annoy the baron as he stared forlornly onto the foggy lawns. Clad in his silk robe, his black mane disheveled, Grey seemed to be taking in the untamed beauty of his lands though his mind dwelt far away.
“My lord, if you desire me to leave, I shall, but at least say one word to assure me that you are not unwell?” His elderly butler’s consistent want of a reply was what granted him one. Grey would do anything to get the old man to leave him alone. “I am not unwell. For heaven’s sake, take your leave, man.” He could not hear Byrum’s sigh, though he knew the butler had uttered one before striding back down the dark corridor as he had promised. The baron continued to gaze through the small space between the heavy curtains. His body was numb, his mind slowly drowning away in self-pity. He knew that Byrum meant well, indeed perhaps he more than any other man in his acquaintance, but Grey would not accept any man’s interference into his troubles. There was nothing to be done in the matter but allow it to grow continuously worse until it burst into an unhealthy disarray. Despite his butler’s devoted attempts there was nothing he could do to erase what was already like a stone engraving.
The fields outside Grey’s window nearest his bed were in the shadow of the evening sun, which cut through the damp air after a light summer shower. Droplets glistened off the grass and green trees of the forest. Looking down on Calgar, situated at the foot of the hill on which Wynthall was perched, Grey began to wonder what it might be like to still harbor the innocents of childhood. To be free to play in the village streets with his little friends. To scamper throughout the buildings in search of new mischief, not harboring a care besides that of getting caught by the constable when snatching an apple or handful of raspberries from the street vendors and merchants. He recalled happy days of his youth brought to a premature end by circumstances that could have been so easily avoided. He recalled the cherished moments of his childhood in which he had been happy in his ignorance though it had later proved his undoing. If he had only cared for the matters with which those so close to him whispered to and fro under his nose, then perhaps things might have been different. Perhaps all he lived for would not have been the only thing taken forever out of his reach.
With the preoccupation of his mind, Grey’s eyes wandered away from the window to the dark fireplace where cinders lay behind the metal screen. That is what my life has become, he bemoaned in silent anguish. I stare through the shades at what was while living in the ashes of a fire that once burned. In a bout of anger, Grey drew the curtains together and slammed his palm against the wall. “What a fool I am,” he hissed through clenched jaws. “What a worthless fool.”
As he was sure to drive his hand into the wall again, Byrum’s voice was heard in the front room of his master’s chambers. “Lord de Grey?”
Whirling around to face the closed door, the master’s reply was filled with rage and annoyance. “What is it now?”
“Forgive me, my lord, but an express has come with news for you.”
In a huff, Grey called for his butler to enter the room. “Tell me what it is then,” he commanded when the elderly man was before him.
“It was a messenger from Covingdell Castle, my lord.”
Grey’s brow furrowed as the name captured his attention. “From the duke?”
“No, my lord, from Lord Alexander. He asks that you send him one hundred men to aid in the search for His Grace’s daughter.”
At mention of the duke’s brother, Grey blew out a huff, “And Vastel has not enough men to cover all of England? Surely he does not expect me to weary Calgar with a futile hunt?” Again he was annoyed at having been disrupted by such a topic on which he was so indifferent. “The lady has been gone for nearly three months. I should think with His Grace bound to his sickbed Lord Alex would be less than enthusiastic to discover his niece alive.”
“Indeed, my lord, but His Grace the Duke will not give up the hunt. He vows to find the girl.”
“And so he should. I would despise the thought of leaving my title and lands to the likes of Alexander Vastel. I would not be surprised if the duke’s daughter left of her own accord to be rid of the man. But never mind. Tell him I am in no mood to send my men traipsing across the countryside looking for a girl who shall never be discovered.”
“But, my lord, should they fail to find Lady Eva, it would mean Lord Alex becomes duke.” Byrum put up an argument he knew he would soon regret as the piercing eyes of his master darkened. “And you think this fact a loss to me?” Grey huffed with an angry gesture of his arm. “Let him become whatever the man wishes and have done with it. They cannot suppose that their chance of finding this girl after three months are anything less than impossible. Send the lad to tell Vastel I’ve no intention of disrupting my people to look for a girl who is lost to him.”
“But, my lord—”
“Not another word will be said on the matter. Bring me paper and pen and I shall dictate the message myself.”
Knowing the conversation to be ended, Byrum said no more and brought his master the desired writing materials. G
rey penned the letter to Lord Alex in much of the same words he had voiced to his butler though more formally and in addition he wrote his best wishes to His Grace the Duke and then sealed the envelope with a drop of wax. “There, have this delivered at once to Lord Alex.”
“Yes, my lord.” Byrum took the letter and writing tray and quit the room, leaving his master’s indifference to any goings on in relation to Covingdell, unmoved. Byrum knew the two were not on friendly terms, not many were so with Lord Alex, as his uncommonly viscous nature turned away any personage from the highest of nobility to the lowest of commoners. It had been speculated over the months that the duke’s missing daughter had accomplished just what Grey predicted, to escape her overbearing uncle, whose controlling temperament would surely be upon her at every moment after the death of her father the duke. Not many would desire the thoughtless manipulation of Alexander Vastel, whose persona demanded an otherwise absent self-worth.
Byrum released an inaudible sigh as he descended the back staircase and strode through the halls to the servant’s door where a footman waited to deliver his master’s reply. “Deliver this at once to Covingdell Castle,” Byrum instructed.
“Yes, sir.” The young man bowed and turned on his way. Byrum closed the door, his expression woeful as he contemplated the thought of Alexander Vastel becoming duke after his brother's so untimely death. Surely all the regions within one hundred miles would feel the loss of such a man as John Vastel, and even more so should his daughter not be present to save the peerage from Lord Alex. All had thought it very strange that Lady Eva should have disappeared when it was widely known that the duke had but a few months to live. Would it not have been considered a viscous slang against the honor of Lord Alexander, Byrum was certain that he would have heard talk of what many had suspected, that the duke’s brother had whisked his niece away in hopes that she would be presumed dead, leaving none other besides himself to inherit the peerage. But in a desperate attempt to find his daughter the Duke of Dawcaster had hung onto life longer than any had expected, though the grief and long days spent in fear for her left him all the more weak and brought him closer and closer to death. It would not be long before his suffering was ended and he was laid to rest, leaving the dukedom in Lord Alexander's greedy hands. And to the great displeasure of many an English province, Grey had been correct in his insistence that the rightful heir to the peerage was likely never to be recovered, leaving all matters of Covingdell in hopelessness. Lady Eva was lost to the Vastels, and it was high time Lord Alex came to know it, if he did not already.
Wynthall Manor- The Wynthall Manor Trilogy Page 2