Warmer, yes, but not safer. She’d taken to sleeping in this room after one of their creditors in the village had appeared on their doorstep in a rage, demanding payment and making all manner of unpleasant threats. Fortunately, she’d managed to intercept him before he broke the door down, but he wouldn’t be the last of them.
They had a great many creditors, and all of them as angry as spitting cats. She didn’t fancy being caught unawares again. This bedchamber looked down onto the front drive, and so here she would stay. “I like this room. It’s, er . . . cozy.”
Abby snorted. “Cozy, is it?”
“Quite so, yes.” The lie slipped easily enough from her tongue, but Rose took care not to meet Abby’s eyes. Abby could always tell when she was lying, and she didn’t fancy a blistering scold just now.
“Cozy, my eye.” Abby turned on her heel and disappeared through the bedchamber door, her slow, heavy tread echoing down the hallway. When she returned she was carrying a bundle of dark red cloth in her arms. “Here, help me with these.”
Rose skirted the puddle and crossed the bedchamber, taking up a fold of the cloth from the bundle, but she paused with it clutched in her hands. “This isn’t a rag. It looks like—”
“It’s one of the silk panels from Mr. St. Claire’s bed hangings.” Abby thrust her chin into the air. “Now, don’t fuss, pet. We’re nearly out of rags, and anyway, the silk is thicker. This will keep the draughts out much better than some old kitchen scrap.”
“But it’ssilk.” It was a ridiculous objection, of course. What use did they have for silk bed hangings? It was too old and worn to be of any value, and yet . . .
These had belonged to Ambrose, once. She resisted the urge to bury her face in it, knowing she’d get nothing but a nose full of dust for her troubles, but it seemed wrong that a person should leave so many odds and ends behind when they died—wrong, that all these things that had been so secondary to Ambrose during his lifetime, mere afterthoughts, should have somehow outlived him, and be all that remained of a once-vibrant man.
She expected Abby to scold, but when she looked up, Abby was staring down at the red silk panel, her faded blue eyes damp with tears. “Curse him, anyway,” she whispered, dragging the back of her hand over her eyes. “I can’t think why I miss him so much, the troublesome old villain.”
“He was troublesome, wasn’t he? And it’s just like him to go off and die right before the weather turned foul. I daresay he planned it out that way. It’s the sort of thing he’d do.”
Abby gave a shaky laugh. “I daresay he did.” She grabbed the other silk panel from the pile and made her way to the window.
“Mind the puddle there. Don’t get your stockings wet.” Rose trudged across the bedchamber and got down on her hands and knees to wipe up the puddle. The icy water soaked through the silk, turning her fingers numb.
Perhaps this would be the last of the snow for a while. Perhaps she’d wake tomorrow to find the sun had emerged from behind the clouds. It would warm up a touch then, just enough to take the bitterest edge off the cold. Perhaps good fortune was just around the corner. Perhaps it would find them today, even, and then—
“My goodness, who can that be?”
Rose stilled, the dripping silk panel clutched in her hands. “What?” But she could already hear the carriage wheels rattling up the drive.
“There’s a carriage.” Abby peered through the glass, her brow creased. “How strange. It’s not yet seven o’clock in the morning. Who would be coming here so early?”
Who, indeed? No one they wished to see, that was certain. Rose leaped to her feet, the puddle forgotten. “Come away from the window, Abby.”
But Abby didn’t come away from the window. She remained where she was, in plain sight of anyone who happened to look up at the house, staring down at the drive as the grind of the carriage wheels over the ruts grew louder. “Heavens. That’s no ordinary carriage, but a right fancy one, and I think . . . Rose, come and look! Is that a crest on the door?”
A crest? Good Lord, she hoped not. Nothing good ever came in a crested carriage.
“We can finish this later.” Rose took the silk panel from Abby’s hand, then herded her away from the window toward the door. “Go on back to your bedchamber now and let me take care of our visitors. No doubt they’ve come to offer their condolences and will be gone again in a trice.”
Condolences, indeed. No one came to offer condolences at seven o’clock in the morning. No, they’d come for something else entirely.
Whatever it was, they’d almost certainly be obliged to leave without it.
“Did Ambrose know any lords?” Abby peered over Rose’s shoulder, trying to see out the window. “Because I’m certain I saw a crest—”
“I daresay he must have known a lord or two. Ambrose knew everyone.” More to the point, they knewhim. “I’ll come and tell you all about them once they’ve left. Go to your bedchamber until then, and stay there until I come and fetch you, all right?”
Abby gave her a worried look, but she shuffled toward the bedchamber door. “Yes, all right, but come up as soon as they’re gone.”
“I will, but promise me you won’t venture out of the bedchamber until I come for you.” Rose hesitated, then added, “No matter what you hear.”
Abby’s eyes widened. “My goodness. I don’t like the sound of that.”
No, but whatever was about to unfold downstairs, odds were she’d like the look of it even less. “Promise me, Abby.”
“I promise, but you be careful, pet. You hear me?”
