Chapter 1 #2
Victoria’s entire body shook. “No need to worry anymore,” Joan murmured, wrapping her arms tightly around her sister.
The carriage lurched into motion. Through the window, Joan could see the magnificent black carriage slowly reversing, its matched bays stepping backward.
As they passed, she caught one final glimpse of the tall man standing beside his vehicle.
Then they rolled past, and he disappeared from view.
Joan exhaled shakily and closed her eyes, resting her cheek against Victoria’s hair. Her headache had intensified to a blinding crescendo, and her hands would not stop trembling.
The carriage rolled to a stop before the front entrance of the manor where a single lantern had been lit against the encroaching darkness. Peters climbed down from his perch with visible relief, no doubt grateful to have reached their destination without further incident.
Joan descended first, not waiting for assistance, and turned to help Victoria down. Her sister’s hand trembled in hers, cold despite the leather of her gloves.
“Come,” Joan said gently. “Let us get you inside and warm.”
The front door stood slightly ajar. Joan pushed it open wider and stepped into the entrance hall.
The interior was scarcely more encouraging than the exterior. Holland covers draped the furniture like shrouds. Cobwebs festooned the corners of the ceiling, and Joan could see water stains spreading across the plaster in ominous patterns.
But it was voices that captured Joan’s attention.
“—certain it was the eldest Miss Sinclair that took ill,” a woman was saying from somewhere down the corridor to the left. “Cook’s sister works for the apothecary in London, and she said there was a servant who came round buying herbs for a fever.”
“That’s not what I heard.” A second voice, said.
“My cousin’s husband’s sister works in a great house near the Sinclair townhouse, and she said it was the younger miss what caused all the trouble.
Some scandal with her betrothed, though she couldn’t say exactly what.
Only that the wedding was called off and she left London in disgrace. ”
Joan felt Victoria stiffen beside her. Her sister’s fingers dug into Joan’s arm with bruising force.
“Scandal?” The first voice sounded intrigued. “What manner of scandal?”
“Well, I couldn’t say for certain, could I? But weddings don’t get called off the very morning they’re to take place unless something terrible’s happened. Perhaps she was caught in a compromising position with another gentleman. Or perhaps she—”
Joan strode forward, pulling Victoria with her. Their footsteps echoed on the floor, announcing their presence.
The voices cut off abruptly.
Two maids stood in the doorway of what had once been the morning room, their faces flushed with the guilty knowledge of having been overheard. Both wore plain gray dresses and white aprons that had seen better days.
Joan stopped directly in front of the two maids, who immediately dropped into hasty curtsies. Joan kept one arm firmly around Victoria’s shoulders, holding her sister upright through sheer force of will.
“Good evening,” Joan said, her voice cool and measured. She paused, then allowed her expression to shift into one of delicate concern. “Oh dear. I do apologize. I fear I should have sent word ahead more clearly about my… condition.”
Before either maid could respond, Joan raised her free hand to her mouth and coughed a deep, rattling sound that she had been plagued with during a bout of genuine illness several years prior. She coughed again, bending slightly at the waist as though the force of it pained her.
The maids stumbled backward, their eyes widening in alarm.
“Miss!” the younger one squeaked. “Are you well?”
Joan straightened slowly, pressing her hand dramatically to her chest. “Forgive me. This fever has left me terribly weak. The physician in London was most concerned. He said—” She paused to cough again, this time directly in the direction of the two maids.
“—he said it was highly contagious. I confess I did not entirely follow his explanation, but he was most insistent that I avoid close contact with others for at least a fortnight.”
She took a step closer to the maids, who scrambled backward so quickly that the younger one nearly tripped over her own feet.
“Contagious!” the older maid gasped, one hand flying to her throat. “Miss Sinclair, you should have said! We would have prepared—that is, we would have taken precautions—”
“Indeed,” Joan said, her voice dropping to a tone of cold steel.
She fixed both maids with a look that had once reduced a presumptuous suitor to stammering incoherence.
“I do hope you will take appropriate precautions now. I should hate for my illness to spread through the household because of… carelessness.”
“Yes, Miss. Of course, Miss,” they chorused, backing away with such haste that they collided with each other in the doorway.
Joan maintained her icy stare until both maids had disappeared down the corridor toward what she assumed were the servants’ quarters. Only when their footsteps had faded entirely did she allow herself to release the breath she had been holding.
“You are quite terrifying when you wish to be,” Victoria said softly.
“I have had considerable practice,” Joan replied. She pressed a kiss to Victoria’s temple. “Come. Let us find our rooms and get you settled.”
They made their way up the grand staircase, which creaked alarmingly with each step. Joan tried door after door along the corridor, finding each room in a worse state than the last. Furniture lay broken and scattered. Wallpaper peeled from the walls in long, curling strips.
Dear God, she thought.
Finally, at the very end of the corridor, Joan found a room that appeared to be at least partially habitable.
It was smaller than the others likely intended as a guest chamber rather than one of the principal bedrooms but the furniture was intact and someone had made an effort to dust and air it.
Two narrow beds stood against opposite walls, their mattresses lumpy but serviceable.
A washstand occupied one corner, and a small fireplace promised warmth once they could get a fire lit.
“Here,” Joan said, guiding Victoria inside. “This will serve us well enough.”
Victoria sank onto the nearest bed without protest, her earlier moment of levity already fading. She needs water, Joan thought. And time alone to compose herself.
“Let me fetch you some water,” Joan said, striving to keep her voice light. “You must be parched after our journey.”
Victoria nodded without looking up, and Joan slipped from the room before her sister could see the worry etched into her own features.
Joan made her way back down the stairs, one hand trailing along the banister for support. Her headache had finally begun to recede, leaving behind a bone-deep exhaustion that made each step feel like wading through honey.
The kitchens lay at the back of the house, down a narrow servants’ corridor that Joan remembered from childhood visits. She pushed through the door to find the room empty save for the glow of a single lamp on the scarred wooden table.
Through the window above the sink, Joan could see movement in the yard beyond. She drew closer and peered out to find both maids frantically scrubbing their hands and arms in a bucket of water, their faces twisted with anxiety.
She found a pitcher on the shelf and filled it from the pump, then located two reasonably clean glasses. The water ran rust-colored at first, then cleared, and Joan allowed herself a small sigh of relief. At least they would not die of thirst in this forsaken place.
Pitcher and glasses in hand, she made her way back through the darkened corridors to the stairs.
She reached the top of the stairs and started down the corridor toward their room. The door stood slightly ajar, just as she had left it, a sliver of lamplight spilling across the worn carpet.
Joan was reaching for the handle when she heard it.
Sobbing.
“How could he?” Victoria sobbed. “How could he do this to me? How could he?”
Joan’s hand trembled on the pitcher handle.
It is all my fault, Joan thought. The tears she had been holding back all day suddenly burned behind her eyes. This is my fault. I failed to protect her.