I need to escape this house, even if it is for just a short time.
Chapter 8
“Your Grace, please, think about this.” Mr Arnold’s plea was not going to stop Diana, though. “At the very least, wear this as well.” He was clearly getting desperate, proffering a woollen shawl forward as well.
She took it from him in silent agreement and turned to look in the mirror. She was wearing one of her warmest dresses, with her walking boots on her feet, a spencer jacket over her body, her midnight-blue pelisse with a white fur collar, and a wide-brimmed straw bonnet with a lace cap underneath. She was now prepared for the weather. As a last thought, she threaded the woollen shawl around her shoulders as well.
Mr Arnold offered her the leather gloves. As she went to take them, his hand didn’t quite release them. It resulted in a momentary tug of war over the leather, which made her look at him. He was not being so formal or distant now; there was something in those eyes that was desperate.
“The weather is dreadful. It is surely dangerous to walk in this.”
“If I was to be walking for a long time, yes,” she said, snatching the gloves out of his grasp and pulling them over her hands. “I need to escape this house.”
“At least allow me to ask a maid to go with you. Anyone.”
“No, Mr Arnold.” She turned her head away and walked towards the front door. “I wish to be alone with my thoughts for a while.” She opened the door, aware that as she did so Mr Arnold placed his boot against the door, holding it in place. “You said you wished to go back to being nothing more than my butler,” she whispered, knowing he was standing very close indeed.
“That is what I said.”
“Then as my butler, I have a request of you that you must follow. Please, release the door.” She disliked ordering him around; it felt unnatural to her. Yet at this moment, she was determined to escape the house, and if the only way to do that were to give him an order, she would do it.
Mr Arnold sighed and released the door with his boot, allowing her to fling the door open wider and scurry out. She could tell he was watching her from the front door as she hurried down the steps and out onto the snow-covered estate, but she didn’t look back. She kept her eyes lifted and stared straight ahead, admiring how the blanket covering of ice had turned the world completely white.
Rather than sticking to the main drive that had been cleared a little of the snow by the wheels of her husband’s carriage leaving the house once again, she turned into the garden and trudged through the deepest of snow, not caring when it reached above her walking boots and began to dampen her petticoat and skirt of her woollen dress.
She walked for what felt like hours, determined to put distance between her and the house. Sometimes she thought of what she had overheard between Gilbert and Mr Potts; other times, she thought of Jessie’s odd behaviour, then, at last, she thought of Mr Arnold’s rejection.
“I will not let a cracking heart control me,” she whispered, lifting her chin higher and feeling the icy wind bristle against her skin, like the breath of a monster made of ice. Determined to think of something else, the further she walked, the more her thoughts turned to the story she had started writing, planning what twists and turns she could add next.
Diana’s feet soon took her to the edge of the estate, hurrying between trees to where the snow wasn’t fully covering the ground, thanks to the covering of the branches. In the middle of the oak trees, she found a small stream; well, it had once been a stream, now it was frozen in place, with no water movement and an icy glacial surface.
She moved to the side of the stream, wondering briefly if she could walk over the frozen water to reach the other side. Thinking the better of it, she turned and intended to walk along the stream, yet the icy bank slipped away from beneath her feet. Her ankle cracked as she veered to the side and landed on the frozen stream of water. Her hands were planted down, sticking the leather to the ice as she winced at the bruises across her body.
The cracking of the ice was her first sign of the danger. She tried to scramble back from the water, moving towards the bank, yet the ankle that had cracked started shooting pains up her leg, inhibiting her movement.
Part of the ice fell away from beneath her, dropping her legs into the water as she reached out for the riverbank. She yelped at the pain of the cold that encased her legs – so strong; it was as if her bones were frozen within her skin.
With her gloved hands firmly on the few clumps of snow and the grass blades that shone beneath, she clutched onto the riverbank and pulled herself free of the water. It was hard work, with her right leg refusing to move as she wished it to, leaving her arms to do most of the work.
Once she was free of the water, she laid still on the riverbank, feeling her teeth begin to chatter, shuddering her jaw. One glance down at her gown and pelisse showed the full extent of the situation. It was sodden and turning white with ice. Her boots, too, were beginning to frost around the toecap. The shawl she had lost completely, and it resided in the water, like an eel coiled.
With shaking arms, she tried to pull herself to her feet, but her right leg wouldn’t take the weight. Her attempt to stand once resulted in her falling face down into the snow again.
“No,” she murmured aloud, trying desperately another time. On this occasion, she put her whole weight on her left leg alone. It allowed her to stand, but the moment she tried to walk, her right ankle gave way beneath her, and she fell towards an oak tree, using it to keep standing as her gloved fingers clutched the bark of the tree.
The house seems a long distance away now.
***
“Something is wrong,” Owen said again as he marched up and down the kitchen, ruffling his hair with both hands.
“I am sure she is fine. Who doesn’t love a walk in the snow?” Tommie said, looking up from where he was kneading dough, slapping the wool-like mixture onto the worktop repeatedly. They were the only two people in the kitchen at this time, with every other member of staff elsewhere, seeing to their duties. Well, sort of.
Owen hadn’t missed how in the preceding weeks some of the staff had not been so eager to perform everything at the exact moment they needed to. With the duke away so much, their duties were slim, and the duchess hardly had the confidence to complain if things were not to her liking.
She wouldn’t like to cause so much fuss.
“Owen? Did you hear what I said?”
