AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Shouldn’t she?
The pitter-patter of feet sounded and she could take no more, curiosity piqued, so she hauled back the three coverlets, found her slippers with fumbling toes, donned her robe and, from the bedside lantern, lit the candlestick – the hefty brass one with pointy bits.
She placed an ear to the door that led to Mari’s bedchamber, but all was silent, hence she crossed to her own chamber door, opened it a notch and peeked out.
No duke in a state of déshabillé.
No spectral scoundrel.
Although…
She held her candlestick aloft and squinted to the far end of the corridor…
Nigh translucent in the gloom but caught within the reach of the flickering flame, a slender white figure faced the windows.
What in heaven…
The figure rattled the shutters. Attempted to slide the hefty bolts.
Isabelle crept out, heart beating faster than a fire gong, but surely it was just Mrs Pugh or mayhap…
“Mari? Is that you?” she softly called as the figure turned and glided to the next window to commence working at its bolts. “Mari?”
No response, so Isabelle stepped nearer, seeking the girl’s face beneath the tussle of hair. Hadn’t she retired abed in plaits?
Then Mari twisted, gliding towards her on bare feet, and Isabelle put hand to breast in fright.
For her charge’s eyes were as iced and vitreous as the Serpentine in winter, and her features, normally so animated with life, were barren as though nothing earthly inhabited that body.
The girl walked in her sleep.
Never had Isabelle tended a charge who’d suffered such a phenomenon, but she’d read of it, and knew of two governesses who’d encountered it. One had abandoned her post, screaming that the girl was possessed by the devil, but the other she recalled…
With meek voice and measured movements, Isabelle ventured nearer. “Mari, ma petite,” she murmured softly. “This way.”
The girl showed no signs of acknowledgement and Isabelle wasn’t too proud to concede that it was a little eerie to witness.
Nevertheless, with a gentle hand, she guided her. “Let us to bed, ma petite. This way.” She’d read that a sleepwalker could become enraged, not realising what was happening, so she kept her touch light, purely her fingers extended.
Yet it appeared Mari was quite content to return to her chamber unaided, so Isabelle pushed the door open as, with eyes still empty, Mari ambled through, crossed to the tester bed, sat, took off her slippers, pushed them to one side and then laid flat, her head to the pillow.
Isabelle could do naught but wonder where her mind lay, what dream the girl was following, until sudden footfall from the corridor grew louder, stout and–
She spun to a footman stood in the doorway, one she’d never seen before – boyish and muscled with harried eyes and furrowed brow. “Forgive me, Miss, I just nipped off for a cuppa and a pis–”
A shriek rent the air and Isabelle dropped to the bed, Mari now sitting up, biting lips and staring out with terrified gaze. “Why are you here?” And she buried her head in her hands. “Oh, no… What did I do?” she whispered.
Isabelle gathered her trembling charge into her arms and twisted to glare at the footman. “Who are you?”
“I’m Madog, Miss. At your service.” He bowed with a flourish. “I make sure Miss Cadogan here doesn’t go down the servants’ stairs or climb over the banister or break the windows when she’s walking at night. We used to have a maid look out for her, but Miss Cadogan was too strong, so she was.”
Madog.
Isabelle closed her eyes. “There’s no actual mad dog then?”
“Er, no, Miss. Don’t think so. Mr Morgan’s not keen on dogs in the house.” He grinned. “My mam named me after Prince Madog ab Owain Gwynedd.”
Sacre bleu.
