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“Malicious ones. Damn, I was going to go to the theatre with a very eminent gentleman I have had my eye on for some time as well,” Beatrice huffed.
In a characteristic very similar to her younger brother’s, Beatrice helped herself to a large goblet of brandy and threw herself into a chair before the fire.
“How ridiculous,” she snapped. “I should leave now, and would, if it wasn’t for that blasted weather.”
“Don’t swear,” Barnabas, the head of the family and oldest of the siblings, scolded.
“I shall do what I damned well want, brother mine, and don’t you forget it,” she retorted flatly, a defiant glare in her eye.
“How was the weather?” Myles asked with a frown. Strangely, he hadn’t heard her arrive. Usually, Beatrice’s arrivals were so chaotic that the whole house was thrown into confusion for several hours. “How long have you been here?”
“Just arrived,” Beatrice’s reply was succinct and left little doubt as to its honesty.
Knowing her to be a very forthright character, Myles didn’t doubt her.
“Is it still foggy?” He glanced at the window but remembered that the shutters and curtains were closed.
“It has started to lift, mainly because the wind has picked up. That storm everybody has been talking about is on its way. It was starting to drizzle as well. We managed to get across the moat, just in time I expect,” she reported. She glared at Barnabas. “It is about time you got rid of that old thing and filled it in. Nobody has a moat any more. This isn’t the dark ages, you know. The Vikings aren’t going to attack us again. People just don’t have those kinds of things any more, eccentric ancestors or not.”
“It’s a part of the charm of the house, my dear,” Barnabas replied calmly but firmly, well versed in this age-old battle. “It stays while I am alive in this house.”
Beatrice snorted inelegantly. “Well, if the sender of those notes is a harbinger of doom, your days are numbered, my dear.”
Everyone fell silent at that. The venom behind the words was poorly timed given the arrival of the notes, and the mysteries that surrounded them. Even Beatrice seemed to realise it and lapsed into disgruntled silence while she drank her brandy. She studied the notes uncharacteristically warily as she sipped; her frown thoughtful.
“Well, until someone else makes an appearance we have to assume that someone is playing a trick on us. Now that we are all here, whoever sent these will have to appear at some point to tell us why they have done this. If they don’t then I think it is safe to say that we can all assume this is some kind of silly charade and can go about our business again. I don’t know about any of you, but the next time I receive one of those I have every intention of ignoring it.” With that, Gerald left the room and closed the door behind him with a quiet snap.
Beatrice studied the door for several moments. Myles expected her to issue some sort of withering attack on Gerald’s character, but she didn’t. One minute passed. Then two. Then three more. Eventually, she pushed to her feet. Myles realised then that she was waiting for Gerald to leave the hallway so she could go to her room and was pleased she was so determined to avoid a confrontation with her brother.
“Well, I am off to my bed seeing as the excitement has died down. I shan’t bother trying to cross that stupid moat again tonight. I shall wait until morning. I am exhausted after all of this chasing about. Woe betide anybody who interrupts my sleep, that is all I can say. Good night, all.”
“Are you not coming down to dinner?” Barnabas asked with a glance at the large clock on the mantle. He gave a start when he realised how late it was.
“Not, I think, my dear. I shall go to bed instead. I am too tired. Ta da.”
Myles shook his head as he watched the door close behind her, for once relishing the silence that settled within the room. Now that Gerald and Beatrice had gone the tension had vanished with them. It was considerably more comfortable within the room now and, for the first time all evening, he began to relax and think about day’s events.
“I think we would do better to simply sleep on all of this for now,” Barnabas sighed. “I will put the letters in the safe so nobody tampers with them. We will have to wait to see what happens, Myles. I don’t have any other solution.”
Myles nodded, mainly because he couldn’t come up with a different plan of action. Until the sender of the letters stepped forward to make their identity known, they had no way of finding out who had sent them, or why.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Estelle sighed deeply with pleasure as she snuggled beneath the soft cotton sheets. The warmth beneath the blankets was sublime. She couldn’t remember ever having had such a good night’s sleep before, but felt considerably better for it. For a few moments at least, she allowed herself the small pleasure of not having to think of a single thing. There was no worry, no fear, and no difficulties to work through. Instead, there was nothing more troublesome than the thought of having to leave the comfort of the huge, soft bed, and get dressed at some point.
Preferably for something to eat, she thought with a frown when her stomach rumbled.
She rolled over with a yawn only to wince when the back of her head began to throb dully. When she lifted her hand, it trembled slightly as it probed through her wild mass of hair and the small lump that was the cause of the pain. Suddenly, the memory of where she was and what had happened to her slammed into her with brutal force. Just as ruthlessly as the horses had done last night when they had barrelled into her.
“Oh, Lord,” she whispered when the memories of what had led to that moment filtered through her sleepiness and stole her contentment. “Oh, dear me.”
“Are you alright, miss?” a rather timid voice asked from some way off.
Estelle opened her eyes and stared at the huge canopy above her head for several moments. Confused, she sat up, clutching the blankets to her chest as she looked around the large room. Her gaze fell on a neatly-presented although tired looking maid perched on a chair beside the fireplace, a basket of sewing at her feet.
“Hello,” Estelle murmured.
“How are you feeling this morning, miss?” the maid asked. She carefully put her sewing back into her basket and moved toward her.
