Page 13 of Mistress of Darkness

Perhaps she should speak to Robert about…a possible alliance. If Regina and Christopher did not find their way to each other again, nothing stood in the way of a different marriage. Perhaps their families could still be joined, even if it was not the way that they had intended. It was not too terribly far-fetched for the older siblings to marry; in fact, in hindsight, it may even have been a better idea than the original one to join Regina and Christopher.

Gwen shook her head at her own temerity. Such must be the dreams of old maids in the making.

“Stop your foolishness,” she chided herself. She would end up taking care of her parents, and likely live in the home where she’d been born until the day she died.

She stared out the window into the star-pocked sky. As she watched, a cloud sailed slowly toward the moon and hit it, though neither seemed the worse for wear. Gwen sighed. Clearly, sleep had abandoned her for the night. Between musing on Miss Wilson and thinking about Robert, she would never rest. Maybe some warm milk would soothe her. She rang the bell pull at her bedside, and commenced to wait for Frances.

As she looked at the pile of journals, a sudden notion occurred to her. Perhaps she could sort out her worries and troubles by commending her own thoughts to a journal. For now she could start with pen and paper.

She rifled through the drawers of the dressing table, found paper, ink and quill and began to write.

Dear Journal,

I am not quite sure what to make of this extended visit with Robert. He is becoming someone that I cannot say that I recognize—and that is a good thing, I think. He is helping me with Mrs. Thorne’s journals; we have four more to review tomorrow after dinner and have pored through so many that I have lost count. He is so far from the man that I once thought he was. And the dreams that I’m having about him are most unbecoming; he’s penetrating my thoughts, becoming someone that I think about daily, and apparently nightly.

I would almost say that I am beginning to feel something for Robert, though I thought I had made my mind up about him long ago. I would never have thought it possible; I am older than Regina and was beginning to feel that I would be unmarried forever, with her getting married first. Now, that appears as if it will not happen for my departed sister, and here I am with Robert nearly courting me. He follows me around and shows me the grounds, ensuring my comfort and safety at all times. I feel as if he is my shadow, my bodyguard, and my confidant.

Aside from Robert, I have heard things, noises, dim utterances coming from deep inside the hall. The door in my dressing room heads to the kitchen, I know—but why? When I listen close to it, I think I can hear muted sobbing and muffled words. I believe it is a woman’s voice, but no one is in sight. I cannot discern where it is coming from; its source lies somewhere beyond the walls.

After a long minute,she frowned and looked to the door. Usually Frances was much quicker than this. Could it be that she’d rung too late? Maybe the young girl was asleep and had not heard the bell. Slipping on her house shoes and wrapping her robe tightly around her, Gwen wandered out of her room. All was stillness in the hallway, and also in the house. It seemed she would have to get her own warm milk.

As she neared the top of the stairs, she saw Frances making her way up. “Oh, Frances,” Gwen said. “I thought perhaps you were sound asleep.”

Startled, the young maid dropped the rag she’d been carrying—and tripped.

“Frances,” Gwen cried, grasping for her. Though Frances thrust out her hand, their fingers just missed.

As Gwen clutched the handrail, she watched in horror as Frances flailed her arms frantically. Her terrified gaze met Gwen’s and then she fell backward, cartwheeling head over heel. She caromed down the steps, her body alternately doubling over or her limbs splaying out. There seemed to be no stopping her as she gained speed, only to be halted abruptly by the stone floor far below. With a great thud, the limp body came to a rest.

“Frances,” Gwen shrieked, running down the stairs.

“What’s going on?” she heard Robert shout from above.

But as Gwen reached the broken body of the young maid, the awful truth was only too clear: Frances was dead.

More shouts and thundering footsteps filled the air. Suddenly Robert was beside her, pulling her close. “My God, Gwen, what happened?”

Gwen covered her face with her hands as tears sprang into her eyes. “She tripped,” she sobbed.

As she hid in the safe embrace of Robert’s arms, he called for Parks to bring a sheet and told Agnes to stay back. When Jonathan arrived, he was sent for the doctor. Quiet finally descended and Robert softly asked, “Gwen, are you all right?”

She nodded tightly and swiped at her eyes, looking at Frances just as Parks finished covering her with a white linen.

Robert shielded her from the sight with his body. “Can you tell me what happened?” he asked. “How did she trip?”

“I…I’m not quite sure,” Gwen said, looking back to the top of the stairs. “I had rung for her to order warm milk, and Frances had come. But she’d taken overly long and I’d assumed I would get it myself. I met her at the top of the stairs.” Gwen gazed up at the steps. “There,” she said pointing. “She dropped her rag because I think I startled her.”

Parks hurried up the steps to fetch the rag.

Robert shook his head. “But surely being startled wouldn’t have been enough to cause her to fall. She must have been up and down these steps hundreds of times.”

Parks cleared his throat. “Sir, I believe there’s something here you should look at.”

As Robert joined him, Gwen followed.

“Careful of your step, Miss,” Parks warned her.

Robert took her arm in a firm grip. “What have you found?” he asked his valet when they’d nearly reached the top.