Wynthall Manor- The Wynthall Manor Trilogy

by Brianne E Pryor

  Grey was startled from sleep, heart beating wildly against his chest, perspiration dripping from his forehead and running down his neck to soak the collar of his wrinkled shirt. His breath was quick and uneven, his mind wracked with panic until realization fell over him and he saw where he lay in the safety of the bedroom. It had all been a dream, that same dream that rudely awoke him every night, every night for ten years. Only now did he recall his anger driving him to exhaustion after the unexpected confrontation with Alexander Vastel. Rubbing the moisture from his forehead, he realized that sleep must have overtaken him, yet another place where his mind haunted him, another place where he was imprisoned by his own thoughts.

  Looking through the crack in the window shades, as was his habit when his mind wandered, Grey saw that the sun had passed its high point in the sky and now shown on a lovely summer afternoon. Knowing his muscles would be stiff and sore, Grey moved every limb with care, slowly rising from the rumpled sheets and stumbling to the window where he pulled the curtain apart to peer outside where servants were hard at work in the courtyard below. He then turned his eyes beyond them to the river running past Calgar where he knew life was carrying on, his people enjoying the beauty of the day. Turning away from the window, Grey let the curtain fall from his fingers, running one of his large hands through his damp black hair, looking to the rumpled bed, where he had tossed and turned in his sleep.

  There is no escape, his mind grieved, not even in sleep. Trudging wearily into the front room, Grey collapsed in an armchair to look down into the fireplace, scenes from his dream running anew through his mind. Bracing his elbows on his knees, the baron buried his face in his hands, hoping to shut out the terrible memories. The moment his eyes were closed, however, Grey witnessed images of his nightmare play over and over as though he were not himself but another standing back and beholding the scene without a hope of warning his younger self of the horrors that were to come.

  He saw the damp, dark woods, fogged from the low hanging clouds, a full moon just beginning to emerge. He saw the wet road much like the night before when he had found the young woman, feverish in the trees. This thought caused Grey to look up from his hands, remembering the girl who was surely laid in the house, recovering from that which had taken such a dangerous hold on her. Grey wondered if she had awakened and told his servants all that had befallen her, given an explanation as to why he had come upon her in the night, shivering from fever on the road to Calgar, begging to be left to succumb to its burn. He recalled the face he had seen, but for a moment as she was taken away, so thin and pale, darkened with purple bruises, and yet still filled with a striking beauty.

  Compelled by curiosity Grey stood from his chair and approached his bed again, pulling the cord to ring for his valet, anxious to know what they had learned of her. The doctor had said that he thought she had been attacked, perhaps by highwaymen who then left her on the road to die. But why had she been outside in the rain when she was obviously very ill? Grey could not surmise his own reasons behind the events of that night, he could only wait to hear what had taken place while he tossed and turned in his nightmares.

  In a moment, Merek opened the door, bowing to his master. “You rang, my lord?”

  “Yes. Tell me of the girl. Has she awakened?”

  “Yes, my lord, I believe she has.”

  “And what do you know of her?”

  “I’m afraid I know very little, my lord. She awoke not an hour ago and is with the housekeeper at this moment. Shall I fetch Byrum, sir? I’m certain he knows more than myself.”

  Grey nodded, waving his valet off with a flick of his wrist. Nearly ten minutes passed before Byrum appeared in his master’s chamber apologizing for his late arrival. “I was with the young lady, my lord, but I fear I have little to tell you.”

  Grey frowned. “Who is she?”

  “Unfortunately I know not, my lord,” Byrum admitted. “The girl is still not completely herself, and when asked for her name, she only shakes her head. She is in a very tender state, sir. The doctor says it is to be expected considering the condition in which she was found. There is no way to tell how long she was exposed to elements before you discovered her.”

  “And does she remember her finding?”

  “I’m afraid I’ve no idea, my lord. When she first awoke, she was quite shaken and it took a good deal of coaxing before Mrs. Byrum could calm her. We told her where she was, but there was no recognition that we saw. I fear she might be out of her head, my lord. Maybe that was why she was cast off so.”

  Grey sighed, this thought striking him strangely. “She’ll tell you nothing?”

  Byrum shook his head. “No, my lord, she’ll speak not a word. Mrs. Byrum is with her now, trying to get her to eat. She seems to have taken to my wife quite keenly, but she will not say a word to even her.”

  “Perhaps she is out of her mind,” Grey thought aloud. “Have you told her how she came to arrive here?”

  “I told her that the master found her on the way to Calgar and brought her here for help but that is all. She made no response.”

  “I see,” Grey mumbled, disappointed that they had not learned more.

  “Perhaps she only needs time, my lord. To awaken in a strange place with only strangers all about you, it is understandable that she acts so.”

  Grey nodded. “I suppose. Find out what you can and let me know anything she says.”

  “Yes, my lord, I shall.” Byrum then bowed and turned to take his leave when a sudden recollection stopped him. “Oh, Merek asked if you will take supper this evening, my lord?”

  Grey shook his head, “No, I shall not.”

  “But, sir—”

  “I said I shall not. I have no appetite.”

  Knowing an argument would only provoke the baron’s displeasure, Byrum bowed once more and left the room. Grey sighed heavily, taking his bottom lip between his teeth as his mind searched for answers. He had hoped to know a great deal more of what had befallen the lady to put her in such a condition. He had supposed that when she awakened, she would be more than anxious to tell who she was so that she might be reunited with her people. This, however, was obviously not the case as the girl had refused to talk when Grey knew very well that she could and recalled vividly her prominent speech.

  She must be very frightened, he concluded. But it was this which only spurred his interests all the more. Why was she so frightened? Had she seemed so when he had come upon her in the forest? Grey thought back to the moment he first found the source of the whimpers huddled against the tree. When she had spoken to him, her voice shook, but it was not as though she was afraid; she had wanted nothing more than for him to leave her there to die. It was the way in which she had said it that compelled Grey to conclude that she had not been so frightened then as she appeared now to be. She was merely afraid that he would save her life when she so adamantly wanted to see its end. Why was she now suddenly so frightened that she refused to speak?

  The thought of death was reassuring to her, he finally concluded, gazing toward the drawn shades of his window. This was a feeling he knew all too well, a feeling of security knowing death was close and suffering would be no more. And I robbed her of it, he sighed. But Grey knew very well that there had been nothing else to be done. He could only resolve to find out why this young girl had been so comforted by the thought of death, the way that he had been for so many years.

  *****

  As the afternoon slowly became evening Grey confined himself to the library, his place of choice to conduct his business and be left to himself. Very frequently did he meet with his tenets; knights and farmers who occupied his region or the occasional man from town for the baron to settle their disputes. That day, however, Grey found himself totally alone and savored the few hours that he might put his mind to his work, though he often found it straying to one thought he could not seem to rid himself of: Who was the lady he had found on the road? And what had befallen her so that she was there to be found?
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  Afternoon soon became evening as Grey awaited further news of the young woman, but he heard none until Byrum arrived in the library at sundown with the physician to say that she had continued in her silence. Though they had attempted to coax her, she would say nothing; her frail body only lay in bed, allowing Mrs. Byrum and the maids to do whatever they wished with her. Her fever had completely broken, and she had been fed and cleaned and was given new clothes as hers were so poor, but throughout it all, she made not a sound.

  The doctor produced his own theories as to why she would not speak, thinking perhaps she was dumb from birth, that that was the reason upon which she had been cast out onto the road. But Grey knew this could not be. He had heard her voice as clearly as he had seen the bruises on her face, and he knew that not only did she possess one but she was most certainly not a member of the lower class as his physician seemed to believe.

  Though he knew better Grey said nothing when he spoke to the doctor that evening and was told the young woman was most certainly out of her wits and had been left to die on the road when she contracted the fever, giving her family one less mouth to feed. The baron knew that this woman he had spoken with so briefly could not have been a lunatic, nor was she voiceless as the doctor mused. But still Grey said nothing; he knew not why he concealed this knowledge, but a bit of sense within him told him to say nothing until he could speak with her himself.

  As the night came upon Wynthall, Grey found that despite the few hours of sleep that had befallen him earlier in the day his body was thoroughly exhausted and readily succumbed to slumber though his better judgment protested. Laying in the midst of the large bed, his pillows and feather comforter heaped about him, and he slept only a few hours into the night before his muscles began to tense and beads of sweat pressed through his skin. His heart raced as though he were running, and his body began to twitch and then thrash against the mattress. His hands gripped the sheets, his hallucinating mind overwhelming his body until his eyes were thrown open and he sat up in a rush, his chest heaving with every breath. For a moment Grey sat, his panicked eyes scanning the dark room before him until he realized what it was that had seized him in his slumber. In a rage, Grey struck the bed with his hand, crying out angrily. The fury he felt for his own mind and the horror which it aroused, causing heat to rise in his face.

  Throwing back the blanket, he escaped the tangle of sheets to pace the floor. His trembling hands clutched his own hair until he felt he would pull out the roots. “Why must I be tortured so?” he hissed, knowing only he and God Almighty could hear—if there, indeed, was a God and if He cared to listen. “What have I done

  to deserve this torment? I shall never escape it!” Grey cried out in declaration. It was that same moment—as if particularly planned to draw him from his rage—in which his attention was suddenly captured by a very distant thump echoing of the walls and traveling down the hall. Pausing all so suddenly in the midst of his tirade, Grey looked toward the heavy wooden door in the front of his chamber, his brow furrowed. Who would be prowling the house at this time of night? He wondered. And in one of the upper halls at that. Accompanied by only the sound of this thumping heart the baron donned his robe from where he had cast it on the floor and made his way to the front room. Laying his ear to the door, Grey wondered if he might hear the faint sound again. All was silent as his heart slowed, but the baron was certain that something had been the cause of the distant yet very discernible thump, a dull, blatant noise only just loud enough to meet his hearing.

  When it came no more, Grey decided upon searching it out, refusing to believe that in his anxiousness he had imagined it. Upon pulling the door open, he was faced with only the dark gallery. The lamps mounted upon the wall between tapestries were all extinguished but the one farthest away, leaving all the light Grey needed to see that the corridor was quite uninhabited. Stepping out of his quarters, he looked first to the right, then the left, seeing no person but soon realizing as he squinted down the hall that not all was in place. Partway down the left corridor in the direction of the manor's front-most halls, Grey saw a small object knocked from its perch.

  Closing the door to his room, he approached it with curiosity and a hint of apprehension at what had caused its dislodging. When he was upon it, Grey realized that the small form was a bronze candelabrum that had previously stood on its stand against the wall, one of its three candles now lay broken in the stand, the other two having fallen loose and now lay side by side in the midst of the hall. Now it was for certain, Grey realized, there had surely been someone in the corridor for the bronze piece could not have taken such a tumble on its own.

  Reaching to retrieve the item, Grey’s eyes examined first the brass stand, then searched the corridor around him for whoever had caused its disturbance, undoubtedly causing the thump that had drawn the baron out of his unhappy rage. All remained quiet while his eyes strained to see into the dark corners, knowing fully well that whoever had been lurking in the hall could be anywhere within the house. Placing the candelabrum back on its small table, Grey decided to make his way toward the front hall thinking that perhaps one of the servants was to blame for the overturned candles, though he could not imagine why anyone would be aroused at this late hour and certainly not on the upper floor where Grey thought he was the only resident.

  With the possibility of a burglar foremost in his mind, Grey rounded the corner with caution, being certain to steal a glance behind him and ensure that no one followed. As he looked down the front hall toward the stairs, he saw only darkness still with a bit of light from the lamp at the turn of the corner illuminating only a small portion of the wall, furnishings, and tapestries. Without hesitation, he advanced toward it, listening for any sign of the person or persons who had overturned the candelabrum. Grey heard nothing more, however, and was beginning to fear that whoever it was had either slipped down another staircase or had already escaped ahead of him, when he heard a sudden movement him and turned quickly just in time to see the end of what looked to be a dark-colored garment dash around the corner before him!

  Undaunted by the possibility of danger, Grey hurried after the figure, hearing nothing but his own footfalls against the floor. As he rounded the corner, expecting to come face to face with that whom he searched, he was surprised by the seemingly empty gallery, nothing out of place but the candles still lying on the floor. The figure had disappeared into the air, it seemed. Pausing to scan the gallery with a furrowed brow, Grey advanced with caution, knowing that there was only one explanation as to this sudden disappearance—the ghostly personage that had turned the corner was now hiding in one of the many rooms lining the gallery, Grey’s own chambers among them. Armed with only the absence of fear for whoever roamed the drafty halls of his castle, the baron took hold of the first door and pulled it open.

  ~ 6 ~

  With a quick and forceful shove, Grey pushed open the door to one of the many rooms lining the hall, preparing himself to be attacked by whoever it was who had rounded the corner so quickly and then disappeared from sight. But he was met with only blackness, his eyes unable to detect whether or not there was any movement in the room without a proper light, only the outline of the room’s furnishings and a small shadow beneath a moonlit window. “Whoever you are, I demand that you show yourself!” he called out, his usual baritone hard with insistence. But again, he was met with a rather tense silence.

  Frown deepening, Grey closed the door gruffly. There were only three rooms remaining, his own at the farthest end of the gallery. Grey approached the next, yet another bedroom that had been in unoccupied for many years. Taking hold of the latch, he did not hesitate before throwing the door open only to be met with the musty smell of disuse and a dark front room. If there is anyone there, I should never know it, he thought. But whoever it was must be concealed hereabouts. Closing the second door, Grey paused in the midst of the hall and called out again, “I know there is someone here. Best you come out before you are found!” Still there was s
ilence, which only perplexed the baron further, though he now realized that whoever it was must be an intruder for a servant would not ignore his master’s command if the servant’s intentions were just.

  Knowing he would be able to find no one without a candle or lamp, Grey was certain he would have no other alternative than to risk leaving the hall to retrieve a source of light from his bedchamber. He had taken only one step when a plan came to mind, a ruse to draw out the figure he was certain must be very near. Making his way passed the remaining door to his own Grey pushed it open and paused for only a second, before pulling it shut, hoping that whoever it was would be fooled into thinking he had left in search of light and would take this opportunity to escape. Ducking within the shadowed corner Grey waited, wondering if his scheme would work. A long moment passed, and the baron soon came to conclude that his ruse had failed when his attention was drawn by the very slow movement of the second door as it ever so carefully opened inward.

  Holding in a breath, Grey made certain not to move and reveal his position, waiting patiently for the person to appear in the gallery. Only a moment later it seemed the figure made a sudden dash from within the darkness, racing toward the great hall! Leaping from within the shadows, Grey pursued it, his long legs soon beginning to overtake the mysterious person who stumbled about the seemingly unfamiliar surroundings. Dashing madly, the cloaked personage nearly reached the front staircase when Grey was upon it, seizing its arm from behind as he roughly turned the intruder to face him!

  “No, let me go!” the very feminine cry took Grey quite by surprise as it cut through the silence and the lamp from the top of the stairs cast just enough light on the face of the fleeing figure for Grey to recognize it!