Pride of the King, The by Amanda Hughes

Lauren stopped in the middle of the road fighting the impulse to run but thought better of it. She made her choices, and they had led her here to the Illinois back country. She must carry on knowing she had nowhere else to go.
       It was easy to identify the Aberjon residence. Anne told her it was by far the grandest home in all of Kaskaskia and Lauren saw it standing proudly on a hill near a frozen stream, surrounded by trees. Every home in Kaskaskia had a fence around it, but this one had a grand, ornate enclosure made of iron. The house was the only structure in the village erected of stone, and it sported three stories and two galeries or porches, one on the main level wrapping around the house and the other attached to the second story.
       She made her way up the walkway to the front steps. She noticed the knocker on the door. The object seemed large and imposing in the cold afternoon sun. Reluctantly, she reached up and let it drop. Footsteps echoed from inside and an Indian girl answered the door. Without saying a word, she gestured for Lauren to step in and disappeared down the hall.
    Pulling her gloves off, Lauren looked around the entry. Across from the front door a set of stairs covered with patterned carpet led up to the second story and the bedrooms. She looked around to see if anyone was coming and stepped down the hall to peek. The main level had a library, sitting room, office and a large drawing room. Lauren thought the drawing room was the largest room she had ever seen. Long drapes hung in folds onto the floor, a cherry card table and chairs sat in front of the fireplace with wine glasses and two silver candlesticks. There were various armchairs around the room, and in one corner stood a harpsichord and bench. A rug was on the hardwood floor, the color of burgundy and cream. It was indeed a sumptuous room, thought Lauren.
    "You're Madame Heathstone?" she heard someone say.
    Lauren whirled around and faced Monsieur Aberjon, a man of middle years only slightly taller than herself. The Indian girl was behind him.
    "Yes, Monsieur, I have been sent by the Lupones."
    "We've been expecting you."
    Turning to the girl he said, "Eugenie, take her things upstairs immediately."
    Lauren scrutinized her new employer as he walked over to a cabinet, took out a crystal decanter and filled a glass with amber colored liquid. His clothing was of a fine cut, and the lace he wore at his neck was of a splendid quality. His boots were polished to a high shine, and his nails were impeccably clean. Yet despite this finery, Monsieur Aberjon had a coarse demeanor. It was apparent to Lauren that this man was not born to his present station in life and that he was not suited to this fancy dress. His skin was dark and leathery and his shoulders were rounded. He did not wear a wig and his bristly hair stood out straight in a pigtail at the back of his neck. His right eyelid drooped, and when he looked at Lauren, she felt a chill.
    "My wife is quite weak and bed ridden," he said turning around to face her. "You will find her unpredictable and subject to--shall we say--occasional outbursts. She has little interest in anything beyond her dogs and an occasional game of draughts." Monsieur Aberjon tossed his head back emptying the contents of the glass in one swallow, "Your duties will include round the clock care and companionship to Madame, some minor household duties and of course walking the dogs. In return you will receive your room and board." He walked to the doorway and before leaving stated, "I spend much of my time at the lead mine, so I am seldom home. We have two house slaves. Talk to Eugenie or Marianne if you need anything. You will find them most helpful. Now go and meet my wife, Josephine. Her room is up the stairs and on the left."
    Monsieur Aberjon left Lauren alone in the drawing room. Everyone had been cordial, the surroundings were luxurious and the arrangement agreeable, but a tiny voice whispered caution to her.