She watched Dr. Martinson walk back toward the hospital, her hands nervously worrying the envelope in her hands. She watched him until he was out of sight, then turned and walked down the street, avoiding the shallow puddles left by an early morning rain. Winter was coming. There was a decided chill in the air. Yesterday she'd had nothing, no place to stay, nowhere to go. Last night, steeped in despair over her future, she had tossed and turned, wondering what she would do when she left the hospital. She had never been employed, never lived anywhere but at home with her family.
Her family. They had been happy together in spite of their poverty. Even when food was scarce, when the future looked bleak, Mama and Papa had somehow managed to find something to look forward to, some tiny ray of hope. And now they were gone, Mama, Papa, Thomas and Arthur. Why had she been spared and they had not?
Who was Alesandro Avallone, and why had he offered a penniless stranger the hospitality of his home?
Turning onto a path that led through a small park, she sank down on a wrought-iron bench, the envelope still clutched in her hand. If she had the nerve to accept Lord Avallone's offer—if he truly meant what his letter said—all her troubles would be over, at least for the time being.
She couldn't believe it, didn't dare believe it. Why would this man, this stranger, offer her shelter? Blackbriar Hall. The very name sent a shiver of foreboding down her spine. Even in her small village, they had heard of Blackbriar Hall. A dark, sinister place made of gray stone atop a windswept hill. A place wreathed in mystery and superstition. Some said it was cursed, others that it was haunted.
Taking the money from her pocket, she counted it. The letter had said there was enough to cover transportation and meals, but there was enough for her to live on for many months, if she was frugal.
She sat there a moment, overwhelmed by the generosity of a stranger, and then beset by doubts. Why would Lord Avallone offer her his home? Was it some kind of ploy? But if it was, what could he possibly hope to gain? She had nothing of value, nothing save the shabby clothing she wore and the money he himself had given her.
She looked up as a few fat drops of rain landed on her cheek. There was a crack of lightning, a crash of thunder, and the heavens opened, unleashing a torrent of rain.
Jumping up, she ran toward the carriage stand on the corner and flagged down a passing coach for hire. The driver pulled over, took one look at her ragged apparel and well-worn shoes, and shook his head.
"Not working for charity today." Tugging his cap down, he clucked to the horse.
"Wait!" she called, running after him. "I can pay."
The coachman drew back on the reins. He squinted down at her, his expression skeptical. "Show me."
She withdrew a coin from her pocket and held it up.
With a nod, the driver swung down from his seat and opened the door for her. "Where to, miss?"
"Blackbriar Hall."
He looked at her, his close-set blue eyes widening beneath heavy brown brows. "Are ye daft, girl?"
"Maybe so," she muttered, and climbed into the coach.
It wasn't long before they had left the city far behind. The neat, well-tended roads turned into narrow, winding paths lined by tall trees bent by the storm. The houses grew smaller and further apart until they disappeared altogether and there was nothing to see but rolling countryside and an occasional herd of sheep clustered together against the storm.
Analisa huddled in a corner of the carriage, the lap robe pulled up to her chin, the letter clutched, like a talisman, in her hand. She grew more and more nervous with each mile that passed until, too tired to fight it, fatigue overtook her and she drifted to sleep, her dreams filled with a tall, dark, hooded figure and eyes that glowed like indigo fire.
She awoke with a start as a bright flash of lightning lit the interior of the coach. Thunder raged across the heavens, shaking the ground. She shivered, not so much from the cold, but from a sense of unease. The storm was like none she had ever seen before.
A short time later, the coach came to a halt. She heard a rap on the top of the coach and then the voice of the driver. "There's an inn ahead," he shouted, his voice muffled by the wind. "Will ye be wantin' to stop for the night?"
The thought of staying at an inn, surrounded by strangers, sleeping in an unfamiliar bed, filled her with apprehension. "How much farther is it to Blackbriar Hall?"
"About an hour."
"Let's go on then."
"Very well, miss."
She drew the curtains over the windows, then huddled deeper into the lap robe, shivering now as the wind picked up, sneaking through whatever cracks it could find. Belatedly, it occurred to her that she would be among strangers and sleeping in an unfamiliar bed at Blackbriar Hall, too.
She felt a change in the pace of the coach, knew they had begun the long upward climb to Blackbriar Hall. She drew back the curtain and peered out, though there was nothing to see but darkness, nothing to hear but the pounding of the rain on the roof of the coach. She felt a moment of regret for the driver and his horse, comforted herself with the thought that she had the means to pay them well.
A flash of movement caught her eye. Leaning forward, she peered into the darkness, her eyes widening in surprise. Was that a wolf running alongside the coach? A black wolf? A flash of lightning lit the sky, and for a moment, her gaze met the blue eyes of the wolf. She blinked and looked again, but the creature was gone, if indeed it had ever been there. With a shake of her head, she let the curtain fall back into place.
As they neared the top of the hill, a gray mist rose from the ground, floating around the coach like smoke. The road leveled out, widened, ran between a forest of ancient oaks and elms twisted into strange shapes by the wind.
And then, in a burst of lightning, she saw the house, standing dark and sinister in the midst of the storm. Gargoyles leered down at her; tall, arched windows, black in the night, stared at her like sightless eyes.
The coach came to a halt. A moment later, the driver jumped down and opened the door. "We're here, miss," he said, a shiver in his voice that had nothing to do with the chill of the night. "Blackbriar Hall."
She paid him his fare plus a generous tip, then climbed out of the coach and ran up the thirteen stone steps to the front door. Thirteen, she thought. Unlucky. She stood there a moment, shaking the rain from her hair and wondering if she shouldn't climb back into the coach and return to the city, but when she looked over her shoulder, she saw that the coach was already on its way back down the path.
Taking a deep breath, she prayed for courage as she turned back toward the door. It was an impressive entrance. The door was at least ten feet high. The head of a snarling wolf was carved into the heavy dark wood. Taking a deep breath, she knocked on the door, and then knocked again. Was no one home? She shivered as the wind picked up, its icy fingers creeping up her legs.
A moment later, the massive front door swung open, revealing a tall, regal-looking woman clad in a severe high-necked black dress. Her hair, once brown but now mostly gray, was pulled into a loose chignon at her nape.
Raising her lamp higher, the woman regarded Analisa through narrowed gray eyes. "Miss Matthews?"
"Yes."
"Come in," the woman said. The keys at her waist made a tinkling sound as she took a step back to allow Analisa entrance to the house. "We have been expecting you."
Analisa followed the woman down a marble hallway into a large parlor.
The woman set her lamp on a polished hardwood table, gestured toward a curved sofa covered in rich dark green damask.
"Sit, please. Cook is preparing tea to warm you. Sally is preparing your room. I am the housekeeper, Mrs. Thornfield."
Analisa sat down, shivering in spite of the heat radiating from the fire that crackled in the large stone hearth. Preparing her room? How had the woman known she was coming when she hadn't known herself? Or that she would be arriving tonight, and at such a late hour?
"Would you care for something to eat?
"
"Yes," Analisa said gratefully. "Thank you."
"Cook made a pot of lamb stew this evening, but if you would prefer something else, you need but ask."
"No, that will be fine, thank you."
"If you will excuse me, I will tell Cook you have arrived."
Analisa nodded, folding her hands to still their trembling as she gazed at her surroundings. The room was larger than the house she had once lived in. The furnishings were all dark wood and forest hues, somber yet elegant. A tapestry depicting a wolf chasing a stag through a field of black briars hung on one wall. A pair of overstuffed chairs covered in muted shades of brown and gold were arranged to one side of the fireplace, a heavy square table between them. Several large rugs were spread over the black and white marble floor. The mantel over the hearth was made of the same black and white marble. A single vase, looking very old and very fragile, sat empty on the mantel. Heavy green and gold velvet drapes covered the windows. A glass-fronted cabinet was against the wall across from the hearth.
Rising, she crossed the floor to look inside the cabinet. One shelf held a collection of animals carved from what she thought might be jade: a large dragon spewing fire, a bat with wings spread wide, a wolf with teeth bared, a mountain lion sleeping on a tree branch, a tiger hunched over a kill.
The second shelf held a series of small, thick books bound in rich dark brown leather.
The third shelf held an assortment of objects that might be collected by a child: a bird's nest, a sprig of what looked like dried heather, a white sea shell, a shiny black stone.
The sound of the housekeeper's keys warned of her approach. Analisa whirled around, feeling guilty without knowing why.
"I did not mean to startle you, Miss Matthews," the housekeeper said. "Would you prefer to eat in the dining room or in here, before the fire?"
"I'd like to eat in here, if it isn't too much trouble. And please, call me Analisa."
"You may do as you wish, Miss Analisa. The house is yours, and I, like the other servants, are yours to command."
Analisa blinked at the dour-faced housekeeper. Hers to command? She had never been in command of anything, or anyone, in her whole life. "How many servants are there?"
"Myself. Sally Kent, who is our housemaid. She will also be your personal maid, if she pleases you. Farleigh is coachman at Blackbriar. Dewhurst is the groom. Elton looks after the grounds. Annie Cullen is the scullery maid. And there's Cook, of course. Lord Avallone has not seen fit to replace Hal, who served as footman until a few months ago. We are a small household. We have no butler, so Sally and I fill in as needed." She gestured at the sofa. "Please, be seated, miss," the housekeeper said, and left the room.
Analisa sat down, thinking seven people hardly seemed sufficient to look after such a large estate.
The housekeeper reappeared a short time later and placed a pewter tray on the table beside the sofa. The savory aroma emanating from the soup tureen caused Analisa's stomach to growl loudly. She felt a flush heat her cheeks at the housekeeper's knowing glance, but the woman said nothing except that she would return later to collect the dishes.
Analisa stared at the bounty laid out on the tray. The fine china tureen held enough stew to feed a family for a week. There was a loaf of brown bread still warm from the oven, a pot of tea, as well as a small pitcher of milk, a dainty sugar bowl, a pat of butter, a pot of honey.
She spread the white linen napkin on her lap, filled a soup bowl with savory stew, poured tea into a pretty flowered china cup, added milk and sugar, spread a thick layer of butter and honey on the bread. The stew was delicious; the bread tasted warm and yeasty; the tea chased the last of the chill from her bones. It was, she thought, the best meal she had ever eaten.
She had no sooner finished the last bite than the housekeeper reappeared, followed by a slender young woman wearing a long gray dress and a blindingly white apron. Her curly brown hair was bundled beneath a frilly white lace cap, her brown eyes wide and friendly.
"I have taken the liberty of drawing you a hot bath," Mrs. Thornfield said, taking up the tray. "Sally will show you to your room. Will you be wanting to see the rest of the house after you bathe, or would you prefer to wait until the morrow?"
"Tomorrow, I think." Analisa smothered a yawn behind her hand. "I find I'm rather tired."
"As you wish. I shall bid you good night, then," the housekeeper said, and left the room.
"This way, miss," Sally said, and led the way down a short hall and up a winding staircase that led to a long corridor.
Analisa followed Sally, passing room after room until they came to a carved mahogany door at the end of the hall. Sally opened the door and Analisa followed her inside, her breath catching in her throat as she took in her surroundings.
It was a large square room. A cheery fire blazed in a white marble fireplace. Thick carpets covered the hardwood floor. There was a large wardrobe made of cherrywood, the double doors carved with flowering vines, a matching vanity, and a dainty stool covered in burgundy velvet. Drapes of the same rich color were drawn back from the tall leaded windows, giving her a view of the storm.
A canopied bed was situated across from the hearth; there were dainty cherrywood tables on either side.
"Oh, my," Analisa breathed. "It's lovely. And so… so big."
"The bathtub is in there," Sally said, pointing to a door in the corner. "I've laid out clean towels, and a robe and gown. And slippers."
"Thank you."
"The privy is the last door down the hall to your left," Sally said. "If you don't want to go that far, there's a chamber pot under the bed."
Analisa nodded.
Bobbing a curtsey, Sally left the room.
Later, after a long soak in deliciously warm scented water, Analisa sat in a chair in front of the window. Wrapped in a long blue velvet robe, she stared out at the storm. The rain fell steadily, punctuated by bright flashes of lightning and long drumrolls of thunder. She wondered, fleetingly, who had picked out her night rail and slippers and how they had known her size, or that her favorite color was blue.
Mrs. Thornfield had come in a few minutes earlier, asking if there was anything she required before the staff retired for the night. Somewhat shyly, Analisa had asked for a cup of hot cocoa.
She sipped it now, unable to believe she was here, warm and safe. She had lingered in the tub until the water grew old. Clean hot water, scented soap, toweling that was soft against her skin. Never in all her life had she known such luxury, such comfort. A cheery fire burned in the hearth, casting dancing shadows on the high ceiling and the pale blue walls.
Why had Lord Avallone invited her to stay here? She did not even know the man; certainly he did not know her, yet he had opened his home to her. Why?
Blackbriar Hall. It was a house shrouded in mystery and legend. Though some claimed it was haunted, Analisa had never been one to believe in ghosts or goblins. Her fears had been of hunger and disease, but here, in this place, it was easy to imagine the spirits of the dead walking the long, dark corridors. There were numerous alcoves and shadowed corners where any number of otherworldly creatures could hide.
She drank the last of her cocoa and set the cup on the floor.
Feeling warm and sleepy, she crawled into bed and pulled the covers up to her chin. Turning on her side, she closed her eyes. The storm had calmed and she drifted to sleep, serenaded by the music of the rain.
She woke abruptly, overcome by a feeling of being smothered, of being trapped in darkness, unable to breathe. The high-pitched wail of a wolf sent a shiver down her spine.
Bolting upright, the covers clutched to her chest, she glanced around the room, her heart pounding wildly.
She didn't know what she expected to find lurking in the dim light of the dying fire, but there was nothing visible. She had never been afraid of the dark, but now she lit the lamp beside the bed, peering into the corners, flouncing down on her stomach to look under the bed.
It was a long time
before sleep came again.
In the morning, with sunlight streaming through the windows, her fears of the night past seemed foolish. Sally came in to light the fire, and then, while Analisa snuggled under the covers waiting for the heat of the fire to chase away the chill of the night, Sally brought her a cup of hot cocoa and a sweet roll still warm from the oven.
Analisa thanked the girl. Except for the weeks she had spent in the hospital, no one had ever waited on her, nor had she ever stayed abed so late. At home, she had risen at dawn to milk their old black and white cow and fight the chickens for their eggs.
"Now," Sally said, going to the wardrobe, "what shall you wear today?"
Analisa was about to say she had nothing but the much-mended dress she had worn the day before when Sally opened the wardrobe doors, revealing at least two dozen gowns in a variety of colors. Velvets and satins, silk and challis, gabardine and serge, cotton and muslin and dimity.
"Oh, my," Analisa murmured. She had never seen so many gowns in one place, at one time, never owned more than two dresses in her whole life.
Sally glanced over her shoulder. "So, miss, which shall it be?" She pulled out a soft gray dress of finespun wool, and a rich gold and brown striped taffeta with a high collar, both of which looked far too fine for the likes of her. "Or perhaps something more cheery," Sally suggested, and pulled out a flowered muslin with short puffy sleeves and a froth of delicate lace at the throat.
Analisa shook her head in wonder. At home, she'd had two choices: black or gray. "Whose gowns are these?"
"Why, yours of course." Head cocked to one side, Sally regarded her a moment. "This one, I think, miss," she decided, laying the gold and brown taffeta on the foot of the bed.
An hour later, clad in the striped taffeta, her feet encased in soft black kid boots, her hair coiled in a loose knot at her nape, Analisa went downstairs to breakfast.
The dining room was large, as were all the rooms she had seen thus far. An elegant mahogany table surrounded by a dozen high-backed chairs stood in the center of the room. A matching sideboard took up most of one wall. The carpet, drapes, and chair upholstery were all done in shades of forest green and burgundy. There was a large painting of a ship sailing turbulent waters on one wall; a chandelier, as delicate as a spider's web, hung from the ceiling on a thick silver chain.
Midnight Embrace Page 2