| |
APPARENTLY ARDETH, Lady Westcott, had, indeed, left her bed, or rather Lady Montford’s bed, and joined the others today for she was the first to boldly address me.
“So, where have you been all day, Miss Abbott? You look as if you have been enjoying a pleasant sleigh ride in the snow.”
My lips firmed as I moved towards the group gathered before the fire. From the corner of an eye, I noted that three or four of the servants were busy setting covered dishes of food upon the sideboard in preparation for tonight’s meal. Against my will, my stomach growled, although I am certain no one but me heard the faint rumbling.
Lifting my chin, I replied, “I have spent the entire day searching for my . . . companion, Miss Matilda Tompkins. If you recall, she went missing yesterday afternoon and has not been seen or . . .”
“I assume you are referring to your maid, Tony’s killer,” Ardeth declared, her head tilted so high I feared her blonde wig was once again in danger of sliding off, and with luck, would land in the fire.
“Tilda did not kill Mr. Torbitt!”
Amidst murmurings to the contrary, Carlotta abandoned her knitting in order to confront me in an accusing tone. “We have all spent the past several hours discussing Tony’s tragic death, Miss Abbott, and we have unanimously drawn the conclusion that, for whatever reason, you and your maid conspired to take the life of our dear friend, Anthony Torbitt.”
I gasped even as she glanced at the others to verify her outrageous charges, “We all concur, do we not?”
Amidst nods and murmurs of agreement, my heart plunged to my feet. Scanning the angry faces before me, I discovered with dismay that Lady Montford was not amongst them. Were she present, I was certain she would call a halt to the unfounded accusations being leveled against me.
“As soon as our host and hostess join us for dinner tonight,” Carlotta went on, the blue yarn from her knitting dangling from her fingers, “we intend to request that you be . . .”
“The plain truth is, Miss Abbott, you are not one of us,” Ardeth heatedly interjected. “We all believe that evidently you misread Tony’s attentions towards you. Theatre people often behave in a familiar fashion with one another. Something you obviously do not understand. At any rate, it is quite clear that the reason you wished Tony ill is that you were jealous of the attention he showed to your maid after he appeared to have singled you out. Because you misread his intentions, you grew jealous and that alone prompted you to strike him with such force that the blow snuffed out his life. Am I not right?”
“Of course, you are not right! I could not care less who Tony . . .”
Helen interrupted, “Perhaps you did not mean to kill him, Miss Abbott, but, the fact remains that you did. That you have been gone all day and your maid has also been absent, tells us that the pair of you are . . .”
Mr. Lyttleton held up a hand. “I believe what the ladies are trying to say, Miss Abbott, is that we, everyone, have reached the grim conclusion they you and your maid did, indeed, conspire to take the life of our friend. The ladies now do not wish to pass another day or night in your company. The rest of us, meaning we gentlemen,” he looked around, “quite agree. In addition, the matter of Lady Westcott’s maid’s death should also be further looked into. Clearly not a one of us is immune to your deadly actions.”
“I had nothing to do with the death of Lady Westcott’s maid!”
“So you say. But, we do not know that for a certainty, do we?”
“Sir, you, yourself, carried her body to the coach!”
“And, you were seated within the coach, Miss Abbott, at the lady’s side. She may have not yet expired at the time. Both Emma and Carlotta will attest to the fact that you, and your maid, were the last to leave the carriage that day. Which provided you with ample time in which to . . . need I go on, Miss Abbott?”
By now, my head was spinning. “But . . .w-where am I to go?”
Replied Lyttleton, “Were the roads clear, the authorities would be summoned and you would immediately be brought up on charges and promptly hauled off to goal where you would be locked up.”
“And the key to your cell tossed to the wind!” supplied Ardeth.
At that instant, I felt a whoosh of cool air behind me, and heard light footfalls approaching on the bare wooden floor.
“Who is to be brought up on charges?” Lady Montford gazed about the sea of angry faces. “Has someone else been found dead, and the guilty party already run to ground?”
Once again, Ardeth spoke up. “For your information, Clara, Miss Abbott has absented herself from the rest of us this entire day. She only just now joined us. In her absence, we conferred and have decided that she, and her maid, who has not shown her face since yesterday, conspired to take Tony’s life, and perhaps, even my maid’s life. We, every last one of us, believe that the pair of them should be brought up on charges, and taken away, at once, in chains! I assume that neither you, nor Lord Montford, wish to harbour killers in your midst, nor subject the rest of us to the dangers imposed by the murderous pair!”
To my surprise, a split second later, Lady Montford’s questioning gaze vanished and she instead, laughed aloud. “Why, that is the most absurd notion I have ever heard!” Smiling, she bravely confronted the enraged group who, I am certain, if the ringleader Ardeth, were currently in possession of a rope it would have already been looped about my neck with another securing my wrists behind my back.
“Why, the very idea is rubbish! Everyone, do sit down.” She glanced my direction. “Miss Abbott, come and sit beside me.”
“Oh, indeed, protect the killer!” cried Ardeth. “What about the rest of us? Our lives are clearly in danger, yet you only care about what happens to the lovely Miss Abbott!” she sneered.
“Ardeth, you are being quite dramatical! If I did not know better, I would suspect that you and the others are performing a scene from a new play Mr. Egerton has penned for our enjoyment tonight!”
At that instant, Lord Montford entered the room. “Ah, so Egerton has penned a new play, has he? Well done, old man!” His lordship moved toward the top of the room and paused before his lady wife. As he bent to greet her with a kiss on the cheek, I stepped aside. Although still trembling with fear, and rage, I managed to remove my pelisse and gloves and drape them over the back of a chair.
“Good evening, John,” Lady Montford greeted her husband.
“So, we are in for a treat tonight, eh, Egerton? A new play? There’s a good fellow.” He looked about. “But, why does everyone look so grim? I take it this new play is not a comedy.”
When Egerton made no reply, Lady Montford said, “A new play is not quite the case, my dear.” She paused. “It seems our guests have . . . all decided that Miss Abbott is guilty of taking Tony’s life.”
“And, perhaps also of killing my maid!”
“Ah!” Lord Montford did not dispute the allegations; rather he cast a stern gaze at me. “And, what have you to say to the charges, Miss Abbott?”
“John!” cried Lady Montford. “The accusations are clearly rubbish! Miss Abbott declared last evening that she did not leave the drawing room in Tony’s company yesterday, but rather that her . . . maid left with him.” She cast a gaze at me. “Is that not correct, Miss Abbott?”
Feeling my knees go weak, I reached to grasp the back of the chair beside which I was standing. As I had not slept a great deal the previous night, nor eaten anything today beyond a biscuit and cup of tea, and also felt weary to my bones from searching for Tilda all day, this new assault was very nearly more than I could bear. As it was, I could scarcely manage a nod, and to murmur, “Yes, ma’am, that is correct.”
“Ah, so . . .!” Lord Montford all but bellowed. “I rather thought the general consensus last evening was that Miss Abbott’s maid is the guilty party.” He turned to address me. “I take it today’s search for your missing maid turned up nothing?”
I shook my head weakly. “Indeed, sir, our search was to no avail.”
“Well, then. There you have it. The maid is obviously the guilty party. Why else would the maid flee the premises? Clearly she is guilty of killing Tony.” He leveled a look at Ardeth. “And your maid, as well, you say? Sounds as if Miss Abbott’s maid might very well be a hardened killer. One never knows these days, does one? So, there you have it.”
A momentary silence followed but it was soon broken when Gaston, the butler, quietly stole up. “Excuse me, sir. Dinner is on the table. I would suggest that you and your guests be seated at once, sir, as there is no saying how long the . . . soup will remain hot.”
“Ah. Indeed.” His lordship glanced about. “Shall we all go through, er, that is, if everyone will walk this way, please.”
The Montford’s houseguests all obediently trouped across the spacious room and quietly took seats around the makeshift dining table. Not knowing beside whom I could safely sit, I hung back a bit. Until I felt a light touch at my back.
“You are welcome to sit beside me, Miss Abbott.”
I was grateful for Helen’s small show of friendship. However, I could not help wishing that her allegiance included an admission to the rest of the company regarding Mr. Torbitt’s forwardness towards her. That alone might plant a seed of doubt in their conviction that either I, or Tilda, were guilty of the deadly crime of murder at Montford Hall.
That the houseguests were also now convinced that I had, as well, done away with Lady Westcott’s maid, her life snatched from her on her way here not by a murderous highway who plied his trade during the daylight hours, but by me, was the outside of enough. The truth is that I was not, had never been, nor ever considered taking the life of another living being. Even the thought of committing such a horrid crime was beyond belief. And, I am certain the same could be said for Tilda.
Slipping onto a chair at Helen’s side, my back to a tall window from whose ill-fitting sill and rattling panes I could feel cold air escaping, I realized I had no clue how tonight’s less than entertaining drama would unfold, although Lord Montford’s assessment seemed square on the mark. The play, if the previous events could be thusly termed, was decidedly not a comedy.
Conversation about the table was thin as the less than appetizing meal progressed, although tonight’s soup did contain bits and scraps of meat, which when asked, Gaston informed his lordship was wild game, a rabbit, he clarified. “One of the stable hands managed to snag a hare, a rather large one, sir, and Cook immediately ordered the creature’s neck be bro . . .”
“That will do, Gaston,” Lady Montford interrupted what evidently she feared was leading towards a detailed description of the creature’s capture and how the meat from its bones had found its way into tonight’s stew. “You may tell Cook that the dinner is delicious, and get word to the stable hand that we do appreciate his efforts to . . . to . . .”
“Put meat on the table?” inquired her husband, his lips twitching.
Lady Montford sniffed. “Quite.”
Other than that somewhat amusing exchange, a dearth of levity prevailed throughout the remainder of the meal. At its conclusion, another jug of watered wine was brought in and a plate of rather dry biscuits passed ‘round, after which his Lordship rose to roundly address the group.
“My wife and I are in hopes that you all enjoyed your meal. Once again, we do apologize for the lack of variety in tonight’s dinner, but we are in hopes that the nasty weather will soon let up and the kitchen staff can find their way into the village to procure more appealing fare from the market. Now, then, since I have been informed that a new play is not on the agenda tonight, might I suggest that we all amuse ourselves with either a cribbage match, or a rubber of whist.”
He gestured over one shoulder. “You will find cribbage boards and playing cards in the cupboard next to the bookcase. I shall have a fresh bucket of coal brought in and we can all settle down and enjoy this cold winter night together before a blazing fire.” He smiled all around. “I have an aged bottle of brandy I’ve been saving for just such an occasion. Hear, hear!” He attempted to lift our spirits with the promise of a special treat.
Noise from everyone’s chair legs scraping against the bare wooden floor all but drowned out one of the gentlemen muttering, “A spot of brandy sounds like a capital plan, though I am so parched, I daresay I could down the entire bottle in a single gulp.”
Keeping my eyes downcast, I slowly rose, only to find Lady Montford standing at my elbow. “I would like you to accompany me to my suite above stairs, if you will, Miss Abbott.”
A small smile wavered across my face. “That would be lovely, ma’am. Thank you,” I murmured, thinking that not a one of the houseguests would notice me leaving the drawing room in her ladyship’s company nor would they care.
Once above stairs, my hostess rang for a fresh pot of tea and a platter of sugared tarts. “Cook knows how much I enjoy sugared tarts,” she said, her tone not the least bit apologetic, which told me she had instructed the kitchen staff to hold back certain treats for her own consumption.
Once the tarts arrived, she took two before handing off the plate to me. “Do have several, Miss Abbott. They appear fresh and are still somewhat warm.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” Given what had transpired in the drawing room earlier, my nerves continued to be on edge. Therefore, for the most part, I kept my gaze lowered. To say truth, I was unsure if her ladyship intended banishing me to a bedchamber somewhere within the nether regions of the house, or welcome me into her own suite.
To my surprise, the latter proved to be the case.
“I have decided that, for the duration of your stay here, Miss Abbott, you shall consider my sitting room as your private bedchamber. Ardeth will be returning to the ladies’ shared bedchamber tonight and you must stay here, where you will be safe.”
I have no doubt that my sigh of relief was audible as I looked up, tears of gratitude welling in my eyes. “Thank you, ma’am.”
Lady Montford was shaking her head. “I find the manner in which the others treated you this evening unconscionable. Of course, you did not take either Tony, or Ardeth’s maid’s life. And I am certain they all know that. Most especially, the . . .” she haltingly said, “the real killer amongst them.”
My eyes widened. “Are you saying that you believe . . . that one of your guests is the . . . ?”
Lady Montford’s graying head wagged. “I do not know what I believe, my dear, except that I know you are not the guilty party. For all I know,” she bravely went on, “it is entirely possible that, believe me, I am loath to say it, but I think it possible that Ardeth killed Tony. She may profess to be bereft over his death, but I know for a fact that she has grown quite weary of supporting him these many years.” She paused again to take a sip of tea. “The fact is Tony could be impossibly demanding.”
I digested all she was saying and for the nonce, made no reply. Although, I was vastly interested in the theory she was forwarding, especially if it meant that she was truly dismissing the absurd notion that either I, or Tilda, were guilty of the crime, either crime, and that we were both innocent of the horrendous charges being leveled against us.
She continued, “It is also my opinion that neither Emma nor Carlotta can be ruled out as suspects. Tony appealed to both of them for funds long before Ardeth agreed to become his benefactress.”
“But . . .” I reminded her weakly, “I was told that Tilda left the drawing room in Tony’s company yesterday afternoon. Apparently she needed to go up to our bedchamber to take care of a . . . personal matter. That she left with him does rather appear to be indisputable.”
However, Lady Montford seemed determined to dispute it. “Can you be certain of that, Miss Abbott? Do you truly recall the whereabouts of every one of the guests at that precise instant yesterday afternoon? Did you observe the pair of them leaving the drawing room together?”
“N-no, ma’am. I-I did not actually see them leave the room. I recall I had abandoned the group and was standing before a window gazing out upon the snow-covered grounds. At the time I was not paying the least bit of attention to what was being said or done by the others. When I returned to those who were still seated before the fire, I discovered Tilda not amongst them. It was Helen who leaned over to tell me that she had left in Mr. Torbitt’s company.” I paused to consider. “I suppose it is possible that any one of the guests could have left the room a bit earlier, or soon after, perhaps even carrying the fire tool in hand,” I theorized.
Lady Montford was nodding. “And, once above stairs, the deed could have been swiftly done and the guilty party returned to the drawing room even before Tilda left it, or before she vacated her bedchamber, then when she did, she spotted Tony lying dead in the corridor.”
“You appear to have thought the matter through quite thoroughly, ma’am.”
“As you might have noticed, I did not speak a great deal during dinner tonight; instead I continued to mull the matter over. I am well versed in the antics of theatrical sorts, you know. When circumstances warrant, they do staunchly stand up for one another. However that sort of deceptive behaviour goes quite against the principles that govern my own conduct. As does allowing others to run rough shod over an innocent young lady, or in this case, two innocent young ladies, even if one of them is only a maid. Deception is not to be borne, Miss Abbott, and I will not stand by and watch such incivility taking place within my own home.”
Another relieved breath escaped me. That Lady Montford was a principled woman did, indeed, provide me with cause to rejoice, despite the fact that she viewed Tilda as being on less equal footing than herself, and perhaps also with the rest of us.
Her ladyship went on. “Theatre people are often quite crafty in their doings, my dear. On the stage, of course, to forward falsehoods is part and parcel of acting; and in order to be convincing, actors must learn to be superb at their craft. To fool every member of the audience is paramount to success in our profession.” She smiled a bit sadly. “I include myself amongst their number as I did once trod the boards alongside them, or rather, a bit behind them, where I was . . . rarely seen and quite possibly, rarely heard.”
“I-I have never associated acting with . . . forwarding falsehoods, ma’am; but . . . I-I suppose you are right.”
“Of course, I am right. Every night, on every stage in the land, actors stand before an audience and do their best to convince every person looking up at them that the words they are speaking are the unvarnished truth. Believe me, accomplished liars make the most successful actors. They can, and do, make one believe every word they utter. When, in fact, the real truth is, the entire company is working together to forward the exact same falsehood.”
Since I did not know what to say to her theory, I said nothing.
“I have had a good many years to consider that particular trait amongst the members of my chosen profession. And, what I firmly believe now is that more than one person, more than one actor, or actress, knows exactly what happened to my beautiful sister, and they have all contrived to keep the truth hidden; not only from me, but also from the authorities. So, together, they continue with their performance, year after year, making everyone believe the lie they are forwarding is the whole truth.”
Both her countenance and her tone grew sad as she went on, “I host these little parties thinking that one day, someone will say something inconsequential and that the real truth, or at least a portion of it, will accidentally slip out. Then, at long last, I will learn what happened to my dear, sweet Theodora. Someone, or a company of someones, knows exactly what happened to her, Miss Abbott; I am convinced of it.”
Once again, I did not know what to say. Especially in light of all that Mr. Lyttleton had revealed to me regarding her ladyship’s missing sister. Moreover, I was finding it difficult to shift my concern for Tilda’s whereabouts to the whereabouts of a young girl who disappeared from a theatre stage above a decade ago, and who had not been seen since.
“I am so very sorry for what ever happened to your sister, Lady Montford, but I fear all my thoughts are now centered around Tilda’s well being and what has happened to her. If what you say is true, that one of the others took Tony’s life, then why did Tilda not return to the drawing room after she found him lying dead in the corridor?” My head shook sadly. “Where is Tilda now? What has happened to her?”
Lady Montford looked down. “Unfortunately, I do not know the answers to your questions, Miss Abbott. I also do not know if my theory regarding the others is, or is not, true. But, I do believe they are all hiding the real truth, and they have all agreed to keep it from both you, and me.”
I took a sip from my teacup before absently reaching to set the cup aside. “I do thank you for believing in my innocence, ma’am.”
“You are most welcome, my dear.”
After she had refilled her teacup and asked if I would like more tea, or another sugared tart, she inhaled a deep breath and once again took up the subject of Tony Torbitt’s untimely death.
“Although I thoroughly dislike saying so,” she confessed, “I daresay that either Lyttleton or Nordstrom could also very well be the one who actually took Tony’s life. Even, Henry, Mr. Egerton, could have done the deed. I cannot be certain of anything, but everyone, everyone in the theatre, that is, knows that both Lyttleton and Nordstrom harboured grudges against Tony from the days they all appeared together on the London stage. Tony was notorious for upstaging actors and yet, he remained extremely popular with audiences, both here in England, and elsewhere. And, there was a time when Egerton was so very angry with Tony that he refused to allow him to appear in any of his plays. Egerton takes his work quite seriously and vehemently dislikes actors who deliberately make a muddle of his well-chosen words whilst on stage.”
I felt led to say, “If my mother ever mentioned such behaviour amongst her theatre friends, I do not recall a word of it.”
“I do not doubt that, and knowing your mother as I did, I doubt Minette would have ever said anything against anyone. Your mother was very kind; she had no enemies that I know of. Plus, I can and do understand how the sort of antics I am speaking of must sound to someone who never saw Tony perform; but to an actor or a playwright, his exploits were simply horrid. The truth is, Tony would do anything for a laugh. He very often stepped on another actor’s lines just for the sheer fun of it. With a look, or an aside to the audience, he would stray wildly from the script to the point that his fellow actors had no clue what Tony was talking about or what his own next line should be. Tony could make a proper nuisance of himself . . . both on, and off stage and yet, in his own way, he was a loveable rogue.
“And, because he was so very open and friendly,” she went on, “folks confided in him, which meant he was privy to everyone’s secrets. I think it is possible he actually persuaded Ardeth to support him all these years because of some misstep . . . some regrettable action of hers that took place in the early years when Ardeth first began to act.”
“Are you suggesting that . . . that he was blackmailing her?”
She nodded. “It is possible. Ardeth would never admit to it, of course, but she does possess a rather . . . shall we say, chequered past. It is possible she simply grew weary of Tony knowing so very much about her, and thought the best manner of silencing him would be to . . . silence him forever.”
“But, what of her maid? Was her maid also . . . silenced?”
“I daresay she might have been, and for the selfsame reason. The woman had been with Ardeth this age. There are any number of ways she could have had her maid silenced. Perhaps she paid Tony to do it.” She paused to think. “Actually, I do not recall where everyone was the afternoon you and Lyttleton arrived. I recall the snowstorm had only just begun. Tony could have laid in wait for Ardeth’s carriage to turn onto the lane leading up to the house and somehow waylaid the driver and . . .”
“But the driver’s body was nowhere to be found,” I pointed out.
“True.” She nodded. “Still, it is not outside the realm of possibility that, in some manner, Ardeth was, indeed, behind the death of her maid. Yes, she put on a convincing show of hysteria when she viewed the body, but . . .” She shrugged. “She is an actress. And, a very good one. As are they all.”
I could keep still no longer. “Was Tony in the habit of making a nuisance of himself, in an improper fashion, with . . . female performers?”
Lady Montford’s countenance grew solemn. “Unfortunately, he was. And, truth be told, quite often. I recall you mentioned something to that effect only this morning to my husband.”
“It was Helen who confided to me that he attempted to embrace her, but I . . . I cannot believe Helen would take his life. Still, it was she who told me that he and Tilda had left the room in one another’s company. Yet, I recall I had earlier confessed to Tilda that . . . I did not care for the gentleman and that whilst here, I intended to avoid him at all costs.” After a pause, I added, “Tilda is an innocent young girl, ma’am. I am certain, she would have trusted Tony unless he became quite forward with her.”
A moment later, Lady Montford’s head shook sadly. “Well, to be sure, we have exhausted a good many possibilities tonight in regard to who could have taken Tony’s life. I suppose it is still possible that your maid did the deed. Perhaps Tony did attempt to embrace her and, as you said, to protect herself, she landed the fatal blow. I do hope that does not turn out to be the case, but, I also hope that by keeping you here in my suite for the next several days, your life will not be in jeopardy from the real killer, who, for whatever reason, might now wish you ill.” Once more, she paused to take another sip of tea, and to reach for another tart. “I also brought you here because I do so wish you to tell me whatever it is you might have overheard from any one of the guests in regard to . . . Theodora. Please, Miss Abbott . . . do tell me, whatever it might be.”
“Very well, ma’am.” I reluctantly turned my thoughts to the other mystery stalking the corridors of Montford Hall, the one that had apparently robbed her ladyship of peace for many years. Because I saw no way around it, after refilling my teacup, I began by reminding Lady Montford of the dreadful winter storm of 1814 in London and how the fog hung so thick over the City that carriages fell from bridges into the frozen river and the occupants within were never heard from again. She said she did recall the Frost Fair, and that before the weather became too awfully treacherous that winter; every player in the theatre was reduced to procuring a hansom cab to make their way home each and every night following a performance. She agreed that a carriage becoming lost in the fog and plunging into the frozen River Thames was, indeed, worth considering.
When she continued to listen raptly, I went on to relay what I’d heard from the houseguests regarding Lord Mannerly’s tragic murder at the Drury Lane Theatre. I launched into detail relaying my theory regarding a performer on stage accidentally locking gazes with the killer, either the moment before, or immediately following, the fatal stabbing. And, that the chance event could have very well proven deadly for the sharp-eyed actor, or actress, or in this case, a dancer.
When I mentioned the name of the play being staged on that ill-fated night, Scandal’s Folly, and also the name of the afterpiece, As The Crows Fly, in which dancers wearing elaborate costumes constructed from black feathers leapt and twirled about the stage, I heard her quick intake of breath. When I concluded that following that night, As The Crows Fly was never staged again, Lady Montford lurched to her feet, her eyes wide, her features contorted with terror.
“I shall have a maid bring up your things, Miss Abbott. I hope you sleep well.” With that, she left the room, leaving me to wonder if something I said had struck an awful cord of remembrance within her?
A bit later, a housemaid did rap on the door, and after I opened it, she and a helper carried in all my belongings, and also Tilda’s. I watched as the pair draped my clothing over the backs of chairs, then when they’d exhausted the supply of chairs in the room, they simply piled the remainder of our things in a disjointed heap upon the floor. I hurriedly attempted to straighten out the mess and to also search for my nightrail. Nearby, the maids silently began to unfold blankets and spread them upon the pretty Japanned chaise that backed up to the wall in a corner of the room.
One of the maids exited the now quite disheveled room and returned moments later bearing a pillow and a chamber pot, which she shoved beneath a chair. I noted with chagrin that for now, there was no modesty screen in the sitting room behind which I could dress or tend to my personal needs. Still, being consigned to a room of my own away from the lethal glares of Ardeth and her companions, did serve to put my mind at ease. Perhaps, I might even be able to snatch a bit of sleep tonight.
Once I was left alone, however, it occurred to me that if Tilda did manage to find her way back to our former bedchamber, she would not know why I was not there, or what had happened to me. Sadly, that thought alone cancelled out a modicum of the relief I had begun to feel over sleeping apart from the others. In truth, this restful holiday in the country was turning out to be anything but.
After I’d settled myself down to sleep upon the chaise, the bedcovers pulled to my chin, I listened for, and heard, a few muffled noises coming from the adjoining room, Lady Montford’s bedchamber. I also heard the rumble of Lord Montford’s voice, then later the sound of another bedchamber door opening and closing, which I took to mean that his lord and ladyship at times slept in separate apartments.
That, in itself was hardly surprising. Even in my limited experience with such matters, I knew it was quite common for some married couples to seek their own company at night. However, I hoped that when I married, that would not be the case. Most especially if I were fortunate enough to one day wed Mr. Sheridan. I would wish always to be with him. Most especially at night.
I believe I fell asleep dreaming of my handsome gentleman friend, although long, long into the night, some sort of noise, I cannot say what, startled me awake. Instantly my eyes sprang open, although I felt a trifle disoriented until I remembered where I was, then upon becoming fully alert I realized the small sitting room had grown quite cold, indeed.
Glancing towards the fire, I noted it had all but died away, with only a few red-rimmed coals visible here and there. Driving my toes into a pair of slippers, I padded across the room to reach for one of the fire tools propped alongside the hearth. After prodding the coals a bit, I felt rewarded when one small flame sputtered to life. I turned over several more chunks of red-rimmed coals, and was pleased when the action produced several more bright flames.
Satisfied that the room might soon warm up a bit, I walked to the lone window in the chamber to curiously peer out. The windows here also looked inward onto the courtyard, facing the opposite wing of the house. Gazing out, my spirits were instantly lifted when I noted only a few flurries of snow coming down and realized, that, at long last, the white flakes appeared to not be falling quite so hard and fast as they had been the past several days. Was the snowstorm finally about to let up?
With a finger, I rubbed a clean spot on the frosty glass from which to better see. Looking up, a small smile lifted the corners of my mouth when I spotted a hazy ring surrounding the huge globe of moon looming large in the night sky. The world seemed especially still, but also a trifle eerie at this hour; yet it was comforting to know that the universe was always alert and awake as it went about its business of watching over us whilst we lay fast asleep below. I could not remember when I had last seen the moon, or such a wide ring of mist surrounding it. The sight was somehow reassuring, as if the moon had been there all along as well, throughout our long, cold days and even longer and far colder nights.
Lowering my gaze, I studied the snow-covered shrubs and bushes in the courtyard, the thick snow transforming the growth that lay beneath the frozen moisture into ghostly shapes. I noted the snow was still piled high against the gray stone building, reaching nearly as high as the windows, which appeared naught but rectangular black holes punched into the gray stone wall.
My long gaze inched upward, past the lower level of blackened windows, on up to the second level, then up, and across the ice-covered slate tiles comprising the roof. Suddenly, my eyes widened when I spotted something extraordinary; something that I would never have expected to see. And, yet, there it was. As clear as day; and as unmistakable as the bright, round moon illuminating the cold night sky.
