Something metallic. Somethingwrong.
Two gentlemen knelt on the balcony, coats discarded, loosening the collars of women who had fainted to rouse them. A third man stood at the railing, staring down, his face grey as stone.
Eliza stepped onto the balcony. Her slippers made no sound on the stone. She looked over the railing.
Below, in the garden, shards of green glass caught the moonlight.
A wine bottle, shattered.
And beside it, crumpled in pale blue silk that gleamed dark and wet in the lamplight…
No… it cannot be…
Eliza’s breath stopped.
Red curls spilled across the flagstones. A pale hand, fingers slightly curled, as though reaching for something just out of reach.
Abigail.
Unmoving… and lifeless.
“Eliza! Open this door at once!” her mother yelled, knocking hard on her bedroom door.
Eliza pulled her pillow over her head, pressing it against her ears. The room was dark, curtains drawn against the afternoon sun.
She didn’t want light. Didn’t want sound. Didn’t want to be a part of a world that had stolen Abigail from her. There was only retreat.
“I know you can hear me, young lady!” Lady Ramersby’s voice sharpened. “You have wallowed in this room for five whole days since the funeral. Five days! This behavior is unacceptable, and you know it. I will not have it!”
Eliza said nothing. She couldn’t. Her throat was raw from crying, her eyes swollen. She clutched the pillow tighter.
“You will come downstairs this instant,” her mother pressed. “We have a guest arriving for dinner, and you will be present. Do you hear me, Eliza? You will be present!”
“No,” she whispered.
A pause. Then footsteps receding, and her mother’s voice, sharp as a whip crack echoed down the hall.
“Margaret!”
Oh no.
“Yes, my lady?” Margaret’s voice was soft, cautious from outside the door.
“Give me the key to my daughter’s room.”
“My lady, perhaps if we gave Lady Eliza some more time to adjust. Grief does not mend the quicker when being pressed?—”
“The key.Now. This has gone on long enough! I will not have such souring in my home!”
The metallic clink made Eliza’s stomach drop. She sat up just as the lock turned.
No—
The door flew open like a hurricane. Lady Ramersby stood silhouetted in the hallway light, her face a mask of cold fury. She strode across the room and grabbed Eliza’s arm, yanking her out of the bed.
“Mother!” Eliza protested, rubbing her hands where her mother had grabbed her.
“Look at you!” Lady Ramersby hissed, her grip back on her arms and bruising. “Still in your nightgown at three in the afternoon! Your hair is a disaster, your face is inflamed. You look like something dragged from the gutter!”
