Trying to ignore the pit of guilt that was growing in her stomach, Hope opened the wardrobe and crouched to rummage through the built-in drawers, reaching for her night rail. But when she pulled, it snagged. Stretching her arm further into thedrawer, she groped along the wooden interior for the displaced nail or splintered wood that her nightgown must have caught on.
The pointed object grazed her fingertips. Gritting her teeth, she wrapped her hand around the fabric just beneath the snag and yanked it hard. When the garment came loose, she fell slightly backwards, only to frown at the fabric in her grip.
A dull, square piece of cloth sat above the crisp white fabric of her night rail. It was dingy and for a moment Hope thought to throw it away. But then her eyes caught on the pattern. Hope carried it over to the oil lamp on the edge of her vanity table. Squinting at the fabric as she held it next to the light, she distinguished a green and red plaid. It was the tartan worn by Fergus MacKinnon in the dining room portrait.
How very odd.
Inspecting the small piece of fabric, Hope wondered how long it had been lost in the back of the armoire's drawers. Whose bedchambers had these once been? Glancing around the room, she searched for clues, but nothing grabbed her attention.
Setting the piece of plaid on her nightstand, she decided to ask her aunt about it tomorrow. Hope was assisted by Una as she changed into her night shift. Once the maid dimmed the oil lamp, she left, and Hope climbed beneath the green satin brocade bedding that had been stitched with gold thread. It was far more luxurious than she had ever been accustomed to.
Closing her eyes, she tried to make her mind blank. But peace did not come.
Despite her exhaustion from the day, Hope was restless all night, unable to find a restful sleep. Her dreams were vague, with visions of doors slamming in her face while a thick gray fog surrounded her. She couldn’t see anything and the harder she strained her eyes, the darker it became. Her breath became shallow as she sensed a presence drawing closer to her. Then, asingle cello string echoed around her. Her heart pounded and a voice sounded close to her ear, deep and heavily accented.
“Hope.”
Her eyes snapped open as she sat up in bed, pressing her hand to her beating heart. It hadn’t precisely been a nightmare and yet she couldn’t shake the sensation of been stalked. For several seconds she breathed heavily until her heartbeat settled. The gray light of dawn gave her room an unnatural glow. Though she was weary at still such an early hour, she pushed back the covers. Hope had no intention of returning to that unsettling dream.
Pulling out her most cheerful gown, colored bright yellow and crème, she began to dress. Thankfully it had a set of buttons going down the front, making it easier for her to dress alone. After braiding her hair and pinning it up in simple hoop, she rotated her body towards the mirror above the vanity. Agitation showed all over her face as she pressed the pad of her forefinger against the small crease between her brows. She would have a face full of wrinkles soon enough if she didn’t stop displaying every emotion she experienced on her face. Sighing, she decided to head downstairs, though she was already yawning and longing to return to her room by the time she reached the dining room.
Breakfast was a quiet affair. While her sisters seemed unbothered by all the revelations from yesterday, Hope couldn't quite come to terms with it. She pushed her porridge from one side to the other of the blue and white China bowl, preoccupied with her thoughts. On the one hand, Belle’s behavior as a young woman shocked her. But on the other, how could Hope stand in judgment against the person who had been their saving grace for years? Grandmother had certainly not approved of her sister’s lifestyle, and yet she had not quibbled about staying in Belle’s London home for all these years. Wouldn’t gratitudebe a more appropriate response than condemnation? And yet, if Hope accepted it, it was as though she were betraying her grandmother in doing so. She had always told Hope and her sisters the importance of being a proper young lady, and Hope had agreed most of the time.
But maybe she wasn’t cut out for being a proper young lady.
“Are you feeling well, my dear?” Belle asked, stirring her tea.
Hope straightened her shoulders.
“Sorry,” she said, remembering that her grandmother had often corrected her when she would get lost in her thoughts.
“There’s no need to apologize,” Belle said.
Faith and Grace both stopped eating their toast and tarts.
“You do seem rather quiet,” Faith said, concerned. “What’s wrong?”
She didn’t wish to discuss her tumultuous feelings at the moment, especially when she was wrestling with what she felt versus how she thought she should feel. She wanted to know more about Belle’s history, but she worried that any questions she asked would sound critical.
“Nothing,” Hope said, forcing her tone to sound light.
Silence followed.
“Very well,” Belle said before addressing the other two. “I thought we would go to the village this morning so that you girls could explore your new surroundings.”
“That would be wonderful,” Grace said, leaning over the table slightly. “I was hoping to visit the bookshop.”
“Bookshop?” Belle repeated, a single silver brow arching upward. “Well, I wouldn’t call it a bookshop, but I’m sure you’ll find Haggarty’s an amusing shop.”
Grace’s smile faltered as Faith leaned forward.
“Might there be an art supply shop? I’ve managed to bring my watercolors, but I’m afraid I don’t have any canvases.”
“Oh, I believe there is. Right next to Rory’s blacksmiths,” Belle said, turning back to Hope. “Will you come, Hope?”
“Yes, of course,” she said, spooning some porridge into her mouth so she wouldn’t have to speak any further.
Thankfully, Belle nor Hope’s sisters pressed her. As soon as breakfast finished, they began to get ready. Her sisters wore similar brightly colored gowns, as did Belle, though hers was slightly old fashioned, with a more flowing cut at the waist. Rose also joined them, though she was wearing a rather plain, faded brown dress with small, yellow flowers stitched into the hem.
