Page 6 of Mistress of Darkness

Chapter 3

Over the next few days as they waited for Christopher, Robert noted that life at Dredthorne Hall had settled implausibly into a routine of sorts. After breakfast, he and Gwen roamed the hall together, exploring distant staircases, looking for more secret rooms, and hunting for evidence of long forgotten foul play. They’d discovered a music room and even a medical supply closet, but nothing that shed any light on the fate of Miss Wilson. After lunch, Gwen would retire to read through the journals while Robert managed his affairs, as he did now.

He sighed, closing his eyes at the mountain of work before him. His father would have delighted in it—if he’d been here. The man took to paperwork like slaying a dragon. But increasingly, it was Robert’s duty to conquer the letters, records, and every other document pertaining to the household. His father’s health was in steep decline. They’d sent for the best doctors, healers, and medicines—everything that he and his mother could possibly think of, and more. But there seemed no solution to his increasingly watery cough and the swelling around his too thin waist.

Robert had to face up to the fact that he would soon be the head of the household—and he wasn’t sure how he would accomplish it. His mother was a wonderful wife to the elder Sheraton, and admirably managed their home in London. But Robert had no such help, nor any prospects for such.

His valet, Parks, appeared at the door. “May I help you prepare for dinner, sir?”

Dinner? How long had he been staring daggers at the onerous pile of papers. “Certainly, Parks.”

James Parks had served the Sheraton family for nearly thirty years, as had his father William before him. Always immaculate, he kept his gray and receding hairline oiled and combed back, his black suit clean and pressed, and his tie precisely knotted.

As Parks dressed him, Robert forced his thoughts away from London and back to Dredthorne. Why were women going missing at the hall? Nothing that he and Gwen had seen, aside from the journals, had given any indication.

As he walked down to dinner, he met her at the bottom of the stairs. Her sea green gown was the perfect complement to her jewel-like eyes. When he offered his arm, she smiled radiantly and graciously accepted it. He escorted her into the dining room and then to her seat, before motioning for the first course. But when he took his place and saw the onion soup, he almost pushed it away. He looked up to see Gwen watching him, a smirk curling the corner of her mouth.

“You as well?” she asked.

“Definitely,” he said, moving the bowl aside. “I’d rather eat a salad like a rabbit than taste one spoonful of onion soup.” He motioned for the next course. “What have you found in the journals?”

“Mrs. Thorne was definitely jealous of the courtesan,” she began eagerly. “She was famous for her many, shall we say, talents. She danced beautifully, and Mrs. Thorne couldn’t dance at all.”

He listened to her rush on, smiling as she spoke. In fact, he barely noticed the servants taking away the abysmal soup. But as she described how Miss Wilson played cards and was even known to gamble with the men, a tiny piece of white plaster landed on the table between them.

He gazed up as Gwen asked, “What is that?”

But Robert had no time to answer as he flew from his seat, dashed to where she sat, and shoved her out of the way. The massive chandelier crashed onto the table a second later, shattering the wood and sending splinters in every direction. He dove to the ground and covered her with his body as she cried out. For several moments there was no sound at all, then the servants began shouting.

Robert pushed himself up enough to see Gwen’s face. “Are you all right?”

Tears brimmed in her eyes, but she nodded a vigorous yes. Slowly he helped her to sit up and they surveyed the damage. The footmen were hurriedly putting out the many candles that had fallen, and it appeared that nothing had burnt. But the chandelier’s crystals were scattered in every direction, and the thick iron of its central support had driven into the table like a harpoon. Large splinters of wood were impaled in the back of Gwen’s chair. Robert realized that she had come very close to being seriously injured.

As the servants fluttered around them, Robert helped her to stand.

“Heavens,” Gwen muttered, putting a hand to her heart as she stared at the devastation. “We could have been…”

Robert blocked her view of the chair and motioned to Frances. “Escort Miss Archer to her chambers,” he told the young woman, her staring eyes as big as saucers. “Frances,” he said sharply, and she finally blinked.

“Yes, master,” she said, with a quick bob.

“You’ll stay with her until I say so,” he ordered.

“Yes, sir,” she answered.

“Robert…” Gwen reached out for him, her hand trembling.

He gently took it with both of his. “You need to lie down, Gwen. Please, you’ve had a shock. Let Frances help you.” He looked over to Agnes. “Fetch a glass of brandy for Miss Archer and take it to her room.” Both maids curtsied and he reluctantly let go of Gwen’s hand. With a final long look at him, she nodded and followed the two women from the room.

Despite feeling like he could use a brandy himself, Robert took charge of the clean up. The servants, obviously unnerved, set to their tasks nevertheless. As they did, he looked up at the ceiling.

Four ragged holes in the panels surrounded an even larger one in the middle. Had all of them come loose at once? Or had one come undone, taking the others with it? Though Robert had never hung a chandelier in his life, he found it unlikely that such a monumental piece of lighting would be secured by anything but the strongest of means. Nor had there been the slightest indication that a failure of its securing mechanism was imminent. He had dined here every night since he’d arrived.

If not for that small piece of plaster…

Tomorrow he would bring a ladder to investigate, when there was more light. But even now he suspected that another Dredthorne mystery might be in the making.

“We hardly need another,” he muttered.