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“Cranky old bat,” Phoebe whispered to Anna, as they climbed a set of seemingly endless stone stairs. “Don’t mind him. He is always like that. This is my room.” She pointed to a door at the end of a narrow corridor. “I usually lock myself in here and don’t come out until supper time. It’s safest like that.”
Safest? From what? Before Anna could ask, Phoebe continued. “Yours is in the south wing.” She hesitated before adding, with a glint in her eyes, “right next to Uncle’s.”
“Oh dear,” Anna muttered as she followed Marks, who’d stridden ahead, around a corner and down another endlessly long corridor that led to the south wing.
Where the mad earl resided.
Chapter 6
The corridors in the south wing seemed narrower, the walls more crooked, the stone slabs more worn than in the rest of the manor. It was the oldest part of the manor, Marks had muttered in an unexpected bout of informative communication, “Even King Edward the First stayed here, once. For three nights. In the earl’s rooms, of course. The Rose Room is only ever inhabited by women.”
“Ah-ha.” King Edward the First. The wheels and cogs in Anna’s mind worked hard. One of the medieval kings.
“Longshanks,” Marks added lackadaisically. “1272.”
“That old!”
Marks sniffed. “Not much has changed here since that era.”
Anna looked at the dark, rickety, old medieval chairs that stood along the walls, and immediately believed him. No doubt those chairs were so old they would collapse when one sat on them.
He stopped in front of a door, pulled out a heavy set of jingling keys on a chain, and inserted a massive brass key into the lock, turning it with difficulty. The door opened with a creak. He gestured her inside.
Anna stepped into the room and gasped.
The light poured in through a series of stained-glass windows that covered an entire wall, only interrupted by a grand fireplace. On either side were cosy window nooks, with velvet-cushioned benches, perfect for reading and embroidering. At the far end of the room, the biggest four-poster bed Anna had ever seen dominated the space, with an intricately embroidered canopy. Tapestries draped from the remaining walls, depicting unicorns and roses, roses everywhere. They bloomed on the canopy, the tapestries, even on the carpets underfoot. Ancient wooden chests lined the walls. They looked so old that Anna wondered whether they also came from King Edward’s time.
It was, without question, the loveliest room she had ever seen.
Tears rushed to her eyes. “I am to s-stay here, truly?”
Marks looked at her oddly. “Well, yes. His Lordship said so, didn’t he? And master’s word is law.”
“Whose room was this?” Anna turned on her heel, clasping her hands in delight.
“It belonged to the former countess. Miss Phoebe’s mother was the last to occupy it.”
Anna froze. “Oh. With countess, you mean, St John’s wife?”
“Nah. His Lordship has never married.” Marks sniffed. “I mean his mother, the dowager countess. She was stark raving mad and died in that very bed.” He pointed his chin at the lovely rose bed.
“Oh.” Anna regarded the bed, which was covered with intricate roses of all sizes.
“She was locked in here and had nothing to do so she embroidered everything with roses. Including the curtains, pillows and handkerchiefs, and pretty much every piece of fabric she could get her hands on.”
“Oh,” Anna repeated, weakly. “I suppose she had to keep herself busy somehow.”
She saw the roses in an entirely new light. Gone was their cheerful innocence.
She swallowed. “The earl… His rooms are nearby?”
Marks grunted an affirmative. “His Lordship’s suite of rooms are next to this one. There’s a secret connecting door behind one of the tapestries.” He grinned, revealing a row of crooked, yellow teeth. “But never fear, it’s locked.” He patted his jingling bundle of keys.
She extended her hand. “Might I have the key to this room?”
She was not keen on being accidentally locked in the rose-mad room, lovely as it was. She might have to lock herself in, when the situation demanded it.
Marks looked at her sourly, fumbled with the keys, separated one and handed it to her.
