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She touched the hair on the side of her head. It hung in damp ringlets around her face and chilled her already frozen flesh more. Shoving it away from her cheeks, she studied what she could see of the windows of the house when they emerged out of the fog. Some of the shutters were open, just like they had been last night. There weren’t any lights flickering a welcome. The house was devoid of life. Had her father had gone to bed?
That’s what it is, she thought, her heart pounding with increasing fear. That’s what’s wrong. My father hasn’t stayed up to wait for me. There is no light on in his study, or in his bedroom.
Wondering if he had fallen asleep at his study desk again, she took a hesitant step forward but then stopped to check her surroundings once more before she left the sheltered protection of the tree. She sternly reminded herself that this was her home and she shouldn’t be afraid. She still found herself tiptoeing cautiously around to the back door, though. She felt ridiculous. There was no reason for her to be tiptoeing anywhere, but she did. Not least because of the niggling worry that someone was going to appear out of the fog and try to cart her off again.
Once at the kitchen door, she swiftly hurried inside and slid the bolt closed for good measure. Leaning her back against the door for a moment, she battled tears while she allowed the enormity of what had happened to her to sink in. It sounded fantastical even to her, but she had experienced it nonetheless and was terrified because of it.
Strangely, while she felt a little safer being inside, it did little to eradicate her growing fear that something was still not right. Determined to find her father, whether he was in bed or not, she straightened her spine, shoved her wet hair out of her face, and marched into the main body of the house.
“Father?” She called aloud, not caring if he was asleep.
Slamming her way into each room as she passed it, she gave them each nothing more than a cursory inspection-until she reached her father’s study. Then she stopped.
Silence settled its heavy cloak over her shoulders but it wasn’t welcoming. It was cold; as cold as the empty fireplace in the kitchen; as cold and empty as she felt right now.
As she studied the empty room, something within her changed. It became harder, less accommodating, and more determined than ever before to do what was right for her. Alright, so her relationship with her father couldn’t ever be considered close but, as far as she could see she had never given him any cause to want to be rid of her, especially to someone like the Count. While as far as the gossip columns were concerned, the Count was the prize catch all the matchmaking mamas were desperate to secure, Marguerite knew him to be a fraudster who was on his way to gaol just as soon as he let his guard slip, like he did last night with her. Until that day came, she had to avoid him at all costs.
“Father?” she called as she slammed the study door closed and searched the other half of the ground floor of the house.
Her anger grew with each room she searched and found to be empty. Stomping up the main stairs, she studied the darkened hallway ahead of her. There was not even a hint of a flickering candle left burning in case she returned home. He either hadn’t been expecting her to come back or hadn’t come home yet, which was odd given her sire was a stickler for routine.
“Father? Are you home?” she called when she reached the upper landing.
The town house was large and sprawled over four floors. The first floor contained additional sitting rooms predominantly for the lady of the house, and the third and fourth floors were allocated for bed chambers. She had one floor and father had the other. It was a comfortable arrangement, and perfect for just the two of them, or had been until now.
Shaking her head in disbelief, she hurried up to the floor her father occupied. She checked his sitting room and then turned her attention to his bed chamber. When she turned toward it, her wet skirt brushed the damp flesh of her thighs and elicited another rash of goose bumps that made her shudder. Wiping at the moisture her hair dripped steadily onto her face, she hurried up to her room and quickly changed.
It was blissful to slide into the warmest clothes she owned. She took a moment to poke at the fire with the iron, but she didn’t bother to light it. Her discussion with her father had to come first.
Her shawl wasn’t enough to warm her as quickly as she wanted so before she left the room, she dragged a blanket off her bed and cocooned herself in it before she made her way back down the stairs to her father’s bed chamber.
“Papa?” she called. “Eustace?”
Having spoken the two words, she realised that she was more comfortable now calling her sire, Eustace rather than Papa. There was something about his behaviour last night that had driven a wedge between them.
She pushed open the door to his room. Her gaze immediately fell to the untouched bed, and her stomach dropped to her toes with an almost overwhelming sense of disappointment. The bed blurred as tears gathered on her lashes. Now that she was safe, and protected from the menace of whatever lurked in the fog outside, she allowed them to fall.
“Where are you?” she whispered, unsure of everything now that the brutal truth was before her.
She knew he couldn’t be at the Carmichael’s house still. Even if he had still been there when she had left the house, the fires proved he hadn’t come home to check on her.
“Where are you?” she whispered aloud, tears trickling steadily down her cheeks.
She wasn’t sure whether she should be angry, or deeply worried. She couldn’t think any more. Her mind had gone numb. She just wanted to curl up, get warm, and pretend the world didn’t exist for a while. Maybe after some sleep, everything would make more sense. Right now, she just couldn’t focus on one thing long enough to be able to think clearly. There were too many unanswered questions, problems, worries and concerns bubbling around inside her for her to even comprehend just yet, especially in her tired state.
Her hand slid off the door knob. She turned to leave but something drew her back to face the room. Taking a step deeper into the bed chamber, her attention was immediately drawn to a large, looming shape hovering at head-height behind the door only a few feet away.
Her scream locked in her throat-seconds before the world went black.
When she returned to the world some time later the room was still dimmed by the fog outside. To begin with, she lay perfectly still while her senses returned. She was warmer than she had been, she knew that much, but her toes were still painfully cold. She frowned and tried to remember why the fire was not warning the room. There was also a heavy weight on her and, she was lying on the floor. Confused, she waited for her fuddled mind to begin to work.
Slowly and carefully she took stock of her surroundings.
One thing swiftly became evident was that she wasn’t in her bedchamber, in her bed where she should be. She rolled onto her back and moaned when her bruised and aching flesh protested. Opening her eyes, she peered at the wooden surface of the dresser mere inches from her nose. Her frown deepened as she pushed herself onto her elbow and studied it. It was then that she realised where she was.
Her stomach lurched. Her eyes widened. Horror suffused her. Slowly, she turned to look at the door. A scream turned to a whimper when her stunned gaze landed on the figure hanging from a solitary strand of rope attached to one of the beams running along the ceiling.
“Oh, my God,” she whispered, her eyes locked in stunned disbelief on the macabre sight.
