‘What is wrong, Edward?’ asked Christopher, his tone softer and kinder than earlier.
Edward ran a hand down the front of his shirt. He did not know how to explain the strange sensation crawling around under his skin. The closest he could come to it was restlessness and even that did not truly explain it. ‘Do you ever think we are wasting our time? That everything we do is pointless before our inevitable death?’
Christopher leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. ‘Goodness, you went deeper than I was expecting. I thought you were going to confess to your pantaloons being too tight after your indulgence last night.’
Edward had drunk too much during dinner, hoping just one more glass would rid him of visions of fiery red hair. Not one of them had. ‘My clothes are exactly the right size.’ Even though he knew it had been his brother’s intention to get him to questionhis outfit, Edward still ran his hand over the perfectly fitting waistband. He rolled his eyes when he caught Christopher’s smirk.
‘In answer to your question,’ said Christopher, leaning back in the chair, ‘no, I do not ever feel that way. Maybe it is because you are vastly older than me and beginning to question your mortality.’
‘I am two years older than you, you widgeon.’
‘You really are in a foul mood this morning, Brother.’
Edward grunted, glancing at the time again. Only ten minutes had passed since the last time he’d looked. He shook the device; maybe there was something wrong with it and the minute hand was moving slower.
‘Edward.’ He looked up.
Christopher’s smile had faded, his eyes serious. ‘I realise I am being a bore, teasing you, but if you do want to talk about what ails you, I can be serious.’
‘I know.’ He looked at his watch again. There was definitely something wrong with it, because no time had passed at all now. He dropped it so it fell against his chest. ‘It is nothing. I am sure it will pass.’ It wouldn’t. The sensation had been creeping up on him for years now, sometimes leaving him for months at a time, but always coming back. His aunt had a penchant for locking him and his brothers in their bedrooms if she thought they had done wrong. The feelings had started then; looking back, he realised they were caused by the need to do something, anything to make the loneliness stop. The problem was, now he was free from his aunt, he still didn’t know how to stop the worry. Maybe talking with Christopher about it would help, but they had not been brought up to be close friends, and although that was slowly changing, he did not want to come across as someonewhose brain sometimes tortured him with thoughts that were not suitable for a public airing. ‘Do you have the time?’ he asked instead.
‘There is still twenty minutes left until it is time for tea.’
‘That is impossible.’
Christopher only smiled at him, reaching forward and swiping the newspaper from the table, before undoing all of Edward’s work in making it neat. ‘Check the carriage clock behind you,’ he said from behind the wide paper.
Sure enough, the clock told the same story as his watch. Time really had started to slow down.
Chapter Six
It had only taken Kate a couple of minutes to unpack her few dresses into the large armoire that ran along one wall of her new bedroom. The autumnal sun poured in through the large windows, highlighting the tiny repairs she’d made in the hems and sleeves. Next to the fine furniture, her clothes were drab and insubstantial.
Closing the heavy wardrobe doors so she didn’t have to look at them any more, she glanced around the room, no idea what she would do next. After her mother had died when she was twelve, she’d taken over the running of her father’s household and she’d been busy ever since. As the daughter of the vicar, she’d had better access to books than other women of her age in the village and she’d soaked up everything she could learn whenever she had a spare moment.
Her darling father had died six years later and she’d taken her first governess position. Working for four different families over the last nine years had not given her much time to be by herself. When her last position had fallen apart, she’d run to Simon and kept house for him. After they’d moved into their last lodgings,she had cleaned and scrubbed for weeks, pouring her energy into making the house fit for habitation. With no idea how to mend any of the broken things, the woodwork beyond her skills, she had polished them up to a nice shine. Dragging up old memories of her mother and her in the kitchen all those years ago, she’d taught herself how to cook. She’d taken Young Pete and his brother under her wing and begun to teach them how to read, although what good that would do them now she was gone, she did not know.
Here, there was nothing to polish. No need for her to cook. No one for her to talk to unless Emily required her company. It should be relaxing but the silence only allowed her mind time to think, something she really did not want to do. Thinking would remind her of how alone she was, how vulnerable. The few coins sewn into the lining of her travel bag were all that currently stood between her and destitution.
It was startling how a woman of her age could be reduced to so little by circumstances outside of her control.
Taking a seat at the small table in her sitting room, she ran her fingers over the smooth surface, feeling tiny and insignificant in the vast space. There was no dust, no chips in the wood, the polish on it so fresh she could see her reflection.
A knock at the door had her leaping to her feet, her heart thundering. She smoothed out the wrinkles in her dress, as if by some miracle she could change it into something fashionable; she’d even settle for something less drab. But alas no amount of staring could change the material into anything other than what it was. The knock came again; whoever it was out there, was not going away. Not answering was ridiculous anyway; it was not like there was anywhere else she might be. Slowly, she made her way towards the door, reaching out to touch the handle as one might reach towards a potentially poisonous animal. When shefinally pulled it open, her heart pounding, she found a young woman in a maid’s outfit, her dark hair pinned underneath a white cap.
‘Oh,’ Kate said, her heart fluttering wildly, seemingly still expecting Edward Dashworth to be there, scowling at her.
‘Hello, Miss.’ The maid smiled shyly and bobbed a curtsey. Kate’s body heated, sweat gathering at the nape of her neck. She was a fraud, not lofty enough to be curtsied to. ‘I’m Jane, Miss. I’m to be your lady’s maid while you are staying at Glanmore House.’
‘Oh, I…’ Kate floundered, unsure what to say to such an extraordinary statement, no idea what she would do with such a person. Her whole life, she’d only ever been one step up from being a maid and she was thoroughly used to doing everything by herself; there was nothing she could ask Jane to do for her. The months of her stay stretched ahead of her and she could picture the two of them sitting in the room, day in, day out, staring at the walls.
‘I’ve come to help you unpack your belongings and then show you to the Blue Lounge when you are ready,’ Jane continued, unaware of Kate’s utter bewilderment.
‘That is kind of you, Jane, but I have already put my belongings away.’
‘Oh.’ Jane looked so despondent at the news that Kate pulled the door open further. ‘You can come in though.’
Jane stepped into the sitting room, peering around the vast space with awe in much the same way Kate had when she had first seen it and known it was to be hers for the months of Simon’s investigation. Realising Kate was watching her, Jane visibly tried to school her expression into something neutral and Kate bit her lip so she did not laugh. Jane couldn’t be more thaneighteen, she realised. The same age Kate had been when she had started working all those years ago. It was unlikely this was Jane’s first job; one did not become a lady’s maid straight away, even if Kate wasn’t a proper lady.
