Clutching my
candle, I headed into the darkness beyond the sharp turn that led to the older
part of the house. In daytime, with others nearby, it had seemed romantic, but
alone and in near darkness, climbing that narrow spiral stair was like stepping
back two centuries. In several places my elbow grazed rough stone. My poor
little candle flame flickered wildly in the upper corridor and its light
glinted and rebounded from metal shields, axes and pieces of old armour that
decorated the walls.
The hairs on my
arms rose as I approached the door to my bedchamber. I glanced back the way I
had come and thought it was a pity that wood panelling had not been used to
cover the bare stone as it would have made the corridor so much warmer. Close
at hand, someone sighed.
I whirled round
with such speed I almost extinguished my candle.
The corridor was
empty. I held the candle high, but saw only the dull gleam of ancient armour. The
silence was such that it was hard to believe any other person lived in the
house, let alone walked the corridor with me. I took a firm grip of my candle, turned
to the bedchamber door, grasped the sneck and entered.
A fire burned in
the hearth, and the bright, cheerful glow was a welcome surprise. Relief rushed
through me as I closed the door. The maids had lit candles, turned down the bed
and laid two white nightgowns on the side nearest the fire. Heaping blessings
on their heads, I hurried across the room and crouched before the fire. Heat
soaked into me and gradually I forgot the sigh of sound in the corridor.
Lacking the
nerve to ask Amelia to leave the company downstairs in order to help me
undress, I struggled to undo the ties of my evening gown, but managed without
too many contortions. Amelia loved parties and gatherings and it would have
been unkind to insist that she should leave because I was tired. The bed was
wide, so there was a good chance that I would not slide into my sister while
asleep. If I did, I would surely earn an elbow in the ribs.
As I snuggled
down beneath the covers Elspeth and Maud’s advice about standing up to Amelia wandered
into my mind. How odd that Robert should have spoken of the same subject but two
days ago. I really ought to have taken a stand against her before now. If I did
not do something soon, the pattern would be set for the rest of our lives. Comforting
myself with the knowledge that I was cleverer than my sister was no longer
enough. I had made a beginning today and must keep it up even though she was
the more articulate and seemed able to think and speak at the same time, which
often flummoxed me. My answers were good, but had a habit of coming a day later
than I actually needed them.
My nose grew
cold, so I drew the covers higher and hugged myself beneath them. The fire
blazed well, and threw a bobbing, grotesque shadow of the chandelier onto the
ceiling. If I had the courage to claim the side of the bed next to the fire, I
might grow warmer. The idea appealed to me but for the fact that Amelia would almost
certainly demand that side when she arrived. Until I was more practised in
opposing her, I did not wish to provoke an argument over which side of the bed
I should have.
My nose was icy
cold, yet a few minutes earlier I had stood before the cheerful blaze and felt
comfortably warm while I fastened the pearl buttons at the throat of my
nightgown. I could not get warm in spite of the heaped blankets. A small sound
captured my attention and I froze into stillness, for the sound had been very
like the sigh I had heard outside the bedroom door.
Rolling my head on
the pillow, I checked around me. My senses quickened. Flickering firelight did
not penetrate the darker corners of the pretty room, but there was enough light
to see what little furniture there was: a small dressing table with a washbowl
and linen towel between the two windows and a vast wardrobe stood in the far
corner, a chest of drawers next to it. Breathing shallowly, clutching the sheet
to my nose, my gaze roved the room in an endless sequence, seeking anything
different or strange in my surroundings.
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