“It would have been delightful to accept the invitation to the Grosvenors’ autumn ball, which is the last of the Season. We must wait out the mourning period until we can attend such events. But as most of thetonhave left London, it would be difficult to find goodcompany.”
“Please don’t be concerned about me, Gramma, I’m perfectly content to spend a quiet time here with you. I am dreadfully tired and look forward to my bed. I hope you sleep well.” Prue hugged her great-grandmother fiercely, reassured by her familiar violet scent. What would she do without her?
“My goodness!” Gramma chuckled. “I know you grieve for your father, as I do, and we still don’t know why it happened,” she said, her eyes sad. “But try to be patient, dear child.” Patting Prue’s cheek, she went to her bedchamber, leaving Prue to go pensively to hers.
The maid awaited her. “Good evening, Lady Prudence.”
“Good evening, Anna.”
Prue sat and slowly removed her shoes and stockings. Did the chance of another visit from Roland make Gramma uneasy, as it did her? She heaved a sigh. It appeared that he hadn’t called while they’d been away. Might word have reached him about their stay in London? She would like to think he now realized his case was hopeless. That she would never marry him. But she feared he was merely biding his time.
After the maid had assisted her into her nightgown and brushed out her hair, Prue dismissed her. She slipped into bed, her feet finding the spot where the warming pan had been placed with an appreciative moan. The candle snuffed, she stared despairingly into the darkness. She supposed she was too impatient. But the week when she’d thought answers would be found had been bitterly disappointing. Nothing was resolved. Father was yet to be buried beside her mother in the family crypt, his memorial delayed while the investigation continued. Nor had the will been read. So, she supposed it wasn’t surprising they hadn’t heard from Roland. She was relieved but disappointed at the reply to her letter from the magistrate. Sir John Kent was polite and sympathetic but firmly stated the investigation was ongoing.
Prue supposed Roland remained at Sedgwick Hall, like an evil, threatening spider in its web, waiting for her to return. Or was he planning something? She feared it was the latter.
Two days later, Prue took a long walk through the gardens and along the river path to try to curb her impatience. A man waved from a barge as it passed by on the River Thames, and a robin’s melodic song drifted down from trees. The air was fragrant with scents from the late blooming shrubs. How peaceful it looked. But there was no peace to be found. Not until Papa had been laid to rest, and the villain imprisoned.
At least a letter had arrived from the family solicitor. He requested her presence at their office on Monday of the following week. At last, she would hear how things stood and could make plans for the future. Would there be enough for her to remain independent? Papa had insisted she should marry, and Gramma was also keen to see her wed. But Prue was now unsure she wanted a husband. There was really only one man she admired enough to marry. But he wasn’t the marrying kind. Husbands were too controlling. The life she wished for herself would be impossible if she married.
Her mind ran over the possibilities should her papa have left her money. She soon gave up. For her dream to have become a reality, she would need a great deal of money. Hopefully, he had left her one of the unentailed properties in his will. It had been his intention to offer the Devon farm as part of her dowry, when she married. If that were hers, she could utilize all she’d learned from Papa. But should she marry, her husband would hold sway over her, and she would lose the chance. As soon as the will had been read, she would be able to decide what was best to do.
On Saturday evening, she and Gramma retired early, having spent the day shopping for accessories suited to their mourning period. Prue had purchased a black velvet bonnet with a feather that curved delightfully around the brim, and Gramma, a pretty, purple silk shawl.Afterward, they enjoyed afternoon tea at the teashop on Richmond’s High Street.
A wind sprang up in the night. It howled through the trees and sent fluttery gusts of leaves against the windows. Sleep did not come easily. Prue heard the clock in the downstairs hall strike midnight before slumber claimed her.
A noise awakened her from her restless sleep. Her heart beating fast, she stared into the dark and listened. A muffled sound came from somewhere within the house. Was it mice? It came again, a louder noise than any rodent could make.
Prue threw back the covers and jumped out of bed. She stood, deliberating whether or not to light the candle. Would she be safer in the dark? Her instinct was to run to Gramma’s bedchamber down the hall, but she feared coming across an intruder. And what if she was being fanciful? She would upset Gramma for no reason. A footfall somewhere nearby sent her rushing to the big Cedar wardrobe. She climbed inside and crouched down, the stuffy interior smelling of wool and linen and cloying camphor.
The bedchamber door opened with a squeak. Through a narrow gap in the wardrobe door, Prue made out a dark form creeping toward the bed. Her heart beating fast, she put her hand over her mouth to stop herself from crying out.
The clock in the downstairs hall struck three. The man seemed to stop and listen. The staff would be up at first light to see to the fires and begin their chores.
He whirled around and ran to the door. A moment later, the bedroom door clicked shut behind him. Prue felt sick. She stayed crouched in the wardrobe until she was quite sure he was gone.
Minutes passed. When nothing stirred, Prue opened the wardrobe door cautiously and tiptoed to the window. A waning moon cast its light over the garden. Shadows leaped, but whether it was the wind blowing the trees about or the intruder, she couldn’t tell. She lit acandle with shaky hands, shrugged on her dressing gown, and rushed from her room, darting along the corridor to Gramma’s chamber.
Gramma didn’t answer her knock. Prue opened the door and crept into the room. A small oil lamp burned on the mantelpiece, throwing a dim light into the dark recesses. Her heart still pounding, she sagged with relief that no dark figure lurked there.
“Gramma?”
Prue crept toward the enormous, carved oak fourposter. The crimson bedcurtains were closed against any drafts. She peeped inside. Gramma slept deeply. Reaching out, Prue gently shook her arm. “Gramma?”
Startled, Gramma bolted upright and pushed back her lace cap, which had fallen over her one eye. “Prudence? Good heavens, child. What is it? Is the house on fire?”
“No, Gramma.” Prue tried to steady her shaky voice. “I’m sorry to wake you, but there was a man in my room.”
“A man? Are you sure you weren’t dreaming, child?” Gramma threw back the covers and slid her legs over the side of the bed. She climbed down the steps and reached for her slippers. Prue helped her into her robe, which had been thrown over the bedside chair.
“I definitely saw him. Some noise unnerved him, and he ran out of my bedchamber. I hope he left the house.”
“One would certainly hope he did.” Gramma tightened her belt. “Ring the bell. Barnes must wake the footmen and a kitchen maid. We’ll go downstairs to the kitchen for a cup of tea. It’s warmer there.”
They sat at the kitchen table while Milly prepared the tea with shaky hands. The household woke and staff rushed around, the kitchen maids whispering together in the scullery.
“Who could the man be? A thief? That seems unlikely,” Gramma said. “Barnes tells me there’s no sign of theft. Everything is undisturbed. Why choose your small bedchamber when all the silver and crystal is to be found downstairs? And why notmybedchamber,should he be after my jewelry? He would be disappointed. I keep the most valuable pieces at the bank.”
Prue shivered and held the hot cup snuggly, warming her cold hands. “Might he have been after me?”
