helpless feeling that was overtaking her , where Byron was concerned, mean she was becoming one of those? She shuddered, and straightened her spine. No, never. No man would take her sense of self from her. No man would reduce her to a powerless, mindless chit, awaiting his favour.
But did that mean she had to go against his wishes now? She was hungry, now that he’d reminded her of the fact. And she hadn’t eaten breakfast. It would not be giving up her power to go and eat luncheon, as he suggested. There would be time for re-establishing control later. In this moment, she would eat.
With a determination that was only partially real, she strode off in the direction of the morning room.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The food set out on the buffet was warm and substantial. It was covered with silver domed lids, and was kept heated by warming coals in the cabinet beneath. With much relief, she selected a meat and vegetable stew and a thick slice of chunky bread. It was not the meal of the gentry, but it served her purpose. She needed hot, filling food that would sustain her after her nightmare morning.
As she chewed , she looked out the window at the garden. She could see Charlotte, a wide brimmed sun hat on her head, cutting roses from the bushes. For the first time, she looked like a normal lady of the house, busy about her tasks. No one would guess at the violence that lay just beneath the surface.
What had she said? It is unwise to cross us. We are dangerous . She had to assume the ‘we’ were the residents of the Keep. But how much danger could there be? The image of the claw marks flashed into her mind. No, they were not the work of a person. The longer her mind had to ruminate on them, the less like the work of a madman they seemed.
She was drawn from her thoughts by the arrival of the young lad, Jamey. He helped himself to the stew , and at her gesture, took a seat next to her. His pale cheeks flushed red with shy pleasure.
‘How is the patient?’ she asked , as she poured Jamey some fruit cordial from a stoneware jug in the centre of the table. Then she poured a glass for herself and sipped at it appreciatively. It tasted like dandelion and burdock.
‘Seems wel l enough, for now. He’s sleepin’.’ The boy seemed anxious to talk to her, unlike the other members of the household, and now he had calmed down, she had no problem understanding him. Maybe she could find out something of the mysteries by asking him.
‘Byron and Will have returned from their investigation. Did they find what they were looking for?’
‘Oh yes, Ma’am, shot dead by a farmer protecting his sheep. Luckily the farmer hadn’t gone out this morning to check on his kill. He’d have got a rude surprise, if he had, sure enough.’
‘Surprise?’
‘Well, he thought he shot himself a big wolf didn’t he, ma’am?’
‘And he didn’t?’
‘Cause he did, then. But that wouldn’t be what he found this morning, would it?’
The boy seemed to think she knew more than she did. She played along.
‘No, I suppose not. What did Byron find? I assume they reached the site early enough.’
‘An old lady. No one knows nout about her yet, but the constable will make more inquiries.’
‘Old lady? They found an old lady?’ She couldn’t stop the shiver that ran down her spine. The farmer shot an old lady he thought was a wolf attacking his sheep? How could that be? She had expected him to say a hound or a lion, or some other animal that would have looked like a wolf in the darkness. There was no way an old lady could have been mistaken for a wolf.
‘Yes Ma’am. Sad she had to die. But better that than her on the loose. She’s already turned one. And that may not be all. Some don’t report attacks. Don’t know what’s happened until it’s too late.’
‘Turned one?’ she asked, starting to feel as if she was drowning in slow motion. The pieces of the puzzle were coming together , and the picture they made
But did that mean she had to go against his wishes now? She was hungry, now that he’d reminded her of the fact. And she hadn’t eaten breakfast. It would not be giving up her power to go and eat luncheon, as he suggested. There would be time for re-establishing control later. In this moment, she would eat.
With a determination that was only partially real, she strode off in the direction of the morning room.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The food set out on the buffet was warm and substantial. It was covered with silver domed lids, and was kept heated by warming coals in the cabinet beneath. With much relief, she selected a meat and vegetable stew and a thick slice of chunky bread. It was not the meal of the gentry, but it served her purpose. She needed hot, filling food that would sustain her after her nightmare morning.
As she chewed , she looked out the window at the garden. She could see Charlotte, a wide brimmed sun hat on her head, cutting roses from the bushes. For the first time, she looked like a normal lady of the house, busy about her tasks. No one would guess at the violence that lay just beneath the surface.
What had she said? It is unwise to cross us. We are dangerous . She had to assume the ‘we’ were the residents of the Keep. But how much danger could there be? The image of the claw marks flashed into her mind. No, they were not the work of a person. The longer her mind had to ruminate on them, the less like the work of a madman they seemed.
She was drawn from her thoughts by the arrival of the young lad, Jamey. He helped himself to the stew , and at her gesture, took a seat next to her. His pale cheeks flushed red with shy pleasure.
‘How is the patient?’ she asked , as she poured Jamey some fruit cordial from a stoneware jug in the centre of the table. Then she poured a glass for herself and sipped at it appreciatively. It tasted like dandelion and burdock.
‘Seems wel l enough, for now. He’s sleepin’.’ The boy seemed anxious to talk to her, unlike the other members of the household, and now he had calmed down, she had no problem understanding him. Maybe she could find out something of the mysteries by asking him.
‘Byron and Will have returned from their investigation. Did they find what they were looking for?’
‘Oh yes, Ma’am, shot dead by a farmer protecting his sheep. Luckily the farmer hadn’t gone out this morning to check on his kill. He’d have got a rude surprise, if he had, sure enough.’
‘Surprise?’
‘Well, he thought he shot himself a big wolf didn’t he, ma’am?’
‘And he didn’t?’
‘Cause he did, then. But that wouldn’t be what he found this morning, would it?’
The boy seemed to think she knew more than she did. She played along.
‘No, I suppose not. What did Byron find? I assume they reached the site early enough.’
‘An old lady. No one knows nout about her yet, but the constable will make more inquiries.’
‘Old lady? They found an old lady?’ She couldn’t stop the shiver that ran down her spine. The farmer shot an old lady he thought was a wolf attacking his sheep? How could that be? She had expected him to say a hound or a lion, or some other animal that would have looked like a wolf in the darkness. There was no way an old lady could have been mistaken for a wolf.
‘Yes Ma’am. Sad she had to die. But better that than her on the loose. She’s already turned one. And that may not be all. Some don’t report attacks. Don’t know what’s happened until it’s too late.’
‘Turned one?’ she asked, starting to feel as if she was drowning in slow motion. The pieces of the puzzle were coming together , and the picture they made
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