Chapter 1 #2
“But how,” she said bitterly, as though continuing an earlier conversation, “can you even consider marriage to a man who has friends like Ramsbottom!”
Rebecca’s dark eyes twinkled as she said in a mock serious tone, “Well, you know, I do love him. That has something to do with it.”
Chloe rolled her eyes. “Men that arrogant are disgusting – they should be repellent to all who meet them!”
“Your temper will one day get the better of you,” Rebecca warned.
Chloe sighed, stopped in her tracks, and nodded. “I know. But I just cannot seem to help it. It is so unfair that our dreams must make way for men of lesser brains simply due to an accident of birth.”
Her eyes looked over the lake once more. It was broad, with just a hint of green trees on the other side. Explorers and natural philosophers through the ages had asked the questions how, and why, and why not another way – and those men had searched for answers. Why not her?
“Take some time on your own,” Rebecca said quietly. “Why not meet us back at the house in an hour?”
Despite herself, Chloe grinned. “Do I look that angry?”
“Furious,” smiled her friend. “And I know you. There is nothing more you like to do when all riled up, than to be alone.”
Chloe watched her friend return to her mother and fiancé, and she sighed.
At twenty two, she had hoped – and her mother had certainly hoped – that she would have her emotions under control by now.
And yet it seemed to get more and more difficult, not easier, as she got older.
The injustices of the world seemed to mount up rather than fall away.
But a few minutes on her own walking around the lake lessened the pressure on her heart.
A boathouse, slightly uncared for with peeling paint on its walls, came into view, and Chloe was filled with a sense of irritation once more.
It had been her brother who was allowed in a boat on his own when they had been children; their father had not believed that she could manage a boat alone.
It hadn’t stopped her stealing one on a regular basis, though…
A swell of mischief broke over her, and Chloe smiled. Walking off the path, she quickly found the door to the boathouse and discovered that it was unlocked – barely shut, in fact, with rust stretching down the side.
Inside was a small rowing boat, perfectly designed for one.
Any other day, it would have taken her three minutes of indecision to eventually conclude that it was better for her not to take the risk – but not today.
In those three minutes she was out sculling across the water, watching the way the water moved in waves.
Another small dark shape darted to her left, and the sense of injustice that she would never be able to study the effects of freshwater on saltwater fish at a college welled up in her again.
The sunshine was beating down on her, and she lay back in the boat to stare at the clouds scudding past in the sky.
Hot from anger, tired from rebellion, unable to fight it, Chloe was asleep within five minutes.
It was a jolt that woke her, but in those frantic first moments of waking, Chloe was unsure what kind of jolt. It was then that she realised that she was freezing, and then the darkness of the day overwhelmed her.
The sun had gone down, the lake was a mass of swirling dark waters, and she was cold because rain was lashing down.
She sat up, shivering, and it was then that she noticed what had awoken her: the boat had hit the edge of the lake beaching itself onto the side – which was a mercy when she noticed that one oar must have fallen into the lake while she had been sleeping.
Gown plastered to her body and teeth now chattering, Chloe looked around. Lady Kathryn, Rebecca, Sir Kyle, Mr Ramsbottom: none were to be seen. They must have left hours ago, assumed that she had walked to the village perhaps and taken a coach back to The Beeches.
She was alone, soaking wet, in the dark. But not quite dark; there was a light coming from the Wandorne house. Swallowing and finding herself both hungry and thirsty, Chloe rose unsteadily in the boat, and almost toppled into a few inches of muddy water.
This was not a pleasant situation to be in, and Chloe could only imagine what her mother would say if she knew that she had managed to put herself in such a position.
With no other recourse but to go up to the house, Chloe wrapped her arms around herself trying to keep what little warmth she had, and wondered whether the light had come from a servant there, perhaps airing the house while their master was away.
Her pale blue gown was dripping, and she could feel the water seeping down her hair and into her corset. Stumbling slightly on her long skirts, now heavy with water, Chloe found the bell pull and tugged hard at the impressively large front door.
Nothing happened.
With a slight moan, the wind whipped her hair. Chloe pulled at the bell again, and this time she could hear the deep jangle that echoed deep within the house, but after waiting another minute, nothing at all happened.
The rain was coming down harder now, and the wind was rising. If someone did not come soon, she realised, the best place for her to be was back in the boathouse; it would not be warm, to be sure, but it would at least protect her from the rain.
The large door was made of oak, and it had darkened over what must have been decades, if not centuries. It barred her way to warmth and perhaps food, and Chloe’s chilly irritation broke as she banged on the door.
“Anyone there?” She cried out, against all the evidence before her. “Hie there, is anyone there?”
Just as before, nothing happened. Her hands dropped sadly to her side, water pooling around her now. There was nothing for it.
Chloe turned to face the storm, and shivered in the expectation of the freezing wind that would soon be blowing her about as soon as she left the comfort of the doorway. There was nothing for it; no amount of bracing would keep her warmer in the wind. She would have to look elsewhere for shelter.
It was only after several steps into the gale that she realised what the thin line of light that had appeared just to her left actually meant.
Spinning around, she saw that the front door of Wandorne had opened slightly. There in the gap stood a man – a butler, by the looks of him. Running forward, Chloe pushed past him and into a large echoing hall.
“But – but what are you…who are you?” The man stood aghast, staring at her as though she were an evil spirit come to claim his soul – and Chloe had to admit, as she caught sight of herself in a looking glass hanging on the wall, that she was indeed rather frightening to behold.
Long white dripping dress, hair hanging loose and sodden, with wide startled dark eyes.
“I apologise for my appearance,” she said in an undertone – the large hall seemed to demand silence, “but I had nowhere else to go this night, and with the storm there is of course no possibility of staying outside.”
The butler closed the door and was now facing her in shock, as though he had never seen a woman before.
“I…I will not be too much trouble,” Chloe said quietly, almost hesitating thanks to his complete lack of reaction to her. “A little food and drink, and a bedroom to rest is all I ask.”
The butler blinked at her, as though attempting to remember how she had got there.
“My name,” she said, with a little edge in her tone now, “is Miss Chloe Vaughn. And you are?”
A frown now appeared on the butler’s face, but he did not seem to have heard her. “You will need to meet the master, then,” he said quietly. “Follow me.”
Without waiting for her agreement, or any sound from her whatsoever, the butler started to trudge down the hallway and towards a corridor, picking up a candle as he passed one. It was the only one in the hallway, and Chloe moved forwards quickly to ensure that she could stay in the light.
It was a strange house. No candles were lit in the corridor which she walked down behind the strangely silent butler, and cobwebs covered the empty candle brackets and paintings which adorned the walls.
She was so focused on watching her feet in the gloom, to prevent herself from falling over, that she almost walked into the butler when he stopped outside a door.
He nodded, muttered something that sounded an awful lot like, “Good luck, miss,” and opened the door.
Chloe swallowed. She was a woman of science, not of mystery.
Whatever waited for her in that room could hardly be worse than the storm that raged around the house.
Throwing back her shoulders and telling herself that there was absolutely nothing to be afraid of, she walked through the doorway and into a large and equally unkempt room where a tall man was standing by the window in gloomy darkness.