To Walk in the Sun (Wiggons' School for Elegant Young Ladies - Book 1)

by Charles, Jane

  The housekeeper stopped at the end of the hall. This was truly a large house, or perhaps it only appeared that way due to the inky blackness of this hall that the meager light could not penetrate. Mrs. Zobard opened the first door on the end and entered. She took one candle from the candelabra and began lighting others. The room was bathed in a warm glow, and Tess could see that it was decorated in colors of warm green and cream. Though the wood was heavy and dark, it was not an unpleasant chamber. Mrs. Zobard went to the fireplace and lit the kindling. Who knows how long the room had been waiting for guests. Wasn’t Lady Atwood dead over a year?

  “Rosemary, this shall be your room,” Tess announced.

  The girl’s eyes grew wide as she looked around the chamber then glanced at the door. Perhaps Rosemary shouldn’t be the first to be left alone. “On second thought, Sophia, I think this room would suit you best.”

  Rosemary sighed and her shoulders drooped. Sophia, on the other hand, stiffened and bit her upper lip.

  Mrs. Zobard exited the room, Tess and the remaining two girls followed as she crossed the hall. Once again she lit the candles to bring brightness to the room. This one was decorated in rose and white. It also held the same type of heavy, dark furniture that was only in style decades ago.

  “Yes, Rosemary, this one does suit you better,” Tess said in the brightest voice she could muster.

  The girl nodded her head, walked to the bed and sank down. Tess wondered if any of the girls would find sleep tonight.

  She, Mrs. Zobard and Eliza left. Eliza was given the room next to Sophias’s. Like the former two, the furnishings were of dark heavy wood. However, the bed was covered in the softest light blue.

  As Tess and Mrs. Zobard exited into the hall, they found Sophia and Rosemary standing there.

  “Is something amiss?” Mrs. Zobard asked.

  “No.” Sophia shook her head.

  “We were just curious as to Eliza’s room,” Rosemary quickly explained.

  “It is late girls. I’d like you in bed shortly,” Tess insisted as she followed Mrs. Zobard into the room she assumed would be hers. Once the candles were lit, it revealed a room of soft lavender and cream. Very relaxing and more feminine than those the students had been given, as if it had been designed for a lady. The bed was more delicate and the wood of a lighter quality. Cherry, Tess guessed, but she would be able to tell better in the light of day.

  Mrs. Zobard turned on her the moment the door closed. “So, you are like them.”

  “Them?”

  “The ones that think the worst of Lord Atwood.” The housekeeper stood stiff and peered down her nose at Tess.

  “No. I’m not. I swear.”

  Mrs. Zobard snorted. “Then why did you snort as if disbelieving in the hall then?”

  Tess knew she blushed at the reminder. “It is not me, I promise. The girls, they have rather fanciful imaginations.”

  The woman’s eyebrows arched, as if waiting for further explanation.

  “I knew as soon as you explained Lord Atwood’s reaction to having guests they were thinking the real reason was more horrid. That is why I reacted and I apologize.”

  The woman tilted her head, as if weighing Tess’ words.

  “Truly. I teach these girls literature and I have battled the influence of ‘Wake Not the Dead’ probably almost as much as poor Lord Atwood has.”

  “There is nothing poor about Lord Atwood,” the housekeeper insisted, lifting her stubborn chin in defiance.

  Goodness, is there a way out of this without insulting anyone? “I did not mean it in that manner.” Tess insisted. “I am speaking about the rumors in town, the girl’s imaginations, and such. That is all.”

  The woman relaxed after a moment. “Then you don’t believe the nonsense?”

  “Of course not,” Tess scoffed.

  “Very well, then. Call if you need anything.” The woman turned to leave.

  “Thank you for your kindness and assistance,” Tess called after her but Mrs. Zobard was already gone, having shut the door behind her.

  “So much for a first impression,” she sighed out loud. Darn, she forgot to ask for a gown. She did not relish sleeping in her dress. Her chemise would have to do, she supposed. But first, she needed to check on the girls. If she was correct, they would be in Rosemary’s, next to her own.

  Tess left her chamber and went to Rosemary’s and entered without knocking. Just as she suspected, all three girls were tucked into bed, clinging to each other.

  “I trust you will not disturb anyone this evening?” It would do no good to chastise them and make Sophia and Eliza return to their rooms. They would only sneak back to Rosemary’s chamber as soon as they thought she was asleep.

  “We will be as quiet and as good as possible,” Sophia assured.

  “Sleep would not be remiss either,” Tess reminded them.

  “Oh, I don’t think we will sleep at all,” Rosemary insisted.

  Tess simply rolled her eyes and left the room. She could argue, consol, or try any manner of convincing, but the girls were simply too frightened. Hopefully, tomorrow all would be well again.

  She had just put her hand on her own doorknob when Wesley approached. “Miss Crawford, if it is not too inconvenient, Lord Atwood would like a word with you in his library.”

  All Tess really wanted to do was sleep, but she could not ignore the request of her host. She turned and followed Wesley back down the hall, the dark stairs and into the room Atwood had disappeared into earlier.

  The room was dark, not unlike the rest of the house. Did Atwood have an aversion to candles? She had never been in such a bleak place. He sat in a chair, far from the fire. Enough light reflected on him that she noted he had removed his coat and jacket. His cravat was loosened and he held a glass of amber liquid in his hand. Atwood stood when she came into the room.

  “Brandy?”

  “Yes, please.” A nice glass of, preferably French, Brandy was what she needed to help her find her sleep.

  Wesley poured and handed her a tumbler. “Will that be all, Lord Atwood?”

  “Yes.”

  The valet exited and closed the door behind him.

  “Please have a seat, Miss Crawford.”

  Tess chose one closer to the fire and wished she could see his face better. If only he would move into the light. Unfortunately, he settled back into the chair he had been sitting in when she arrived.

  * * *

  What was he thinking inviting her here? He could have apologized on the morrow, but his terse comments and distance bothered him as soon as they were no longer in each other’s company. How could he explain that he dreaded the thought of the four females being in his house? It was obvious the students feared him and probably believed in their heart of hearts that he was a vampire. They were probably equally thankful that the nightrails young women wore these days covered them from ankle to chin, with no opportunity to suck their blood. Yes, he had read the insipid horror story of Walter longing for his first wife and bringing her back from the dead and how she turned out to be a vampire, preying on children and young maidens, sucking their life’s blood from their bosom.

  “I wish to apologize for my cold behavior earlier.”

  Miss Crawford relaxed back in the seat. “There is no need, Lord Atwood. It has been an eventful evening and you were not prepared for guests.” She took a sip of the brandy and sighed.

  “The girls, they believe I am a vampire?”

  She choked on the liquid. “I’ve tried to convince them otherwise.”

  He chuckled. “I am sure you have, but they are young girls and must be allowed their imaginations.”

  Miss Crawford seemed to relax a bit more. Still, he could not trust that she did not believe the same. People could fool you at any turn and he knew nothing at all about her.

  “My question to you, Miss Crawford, is, do you believe I am a vampire?”

  She straightened and looked him directly in the eye. “Of course not.” She alm
ost seemed affronted that he would even make such a suggestion.

  He lifted the brandy snifter to his lips as he contemplated his next question. Miss Crawford was a very lovely lady, with her midnight hair and pewter eyes. He wondered if she could hide anything from him.

  Of course she could. Anyone could hide who they truly were, given the right amount of motivation.

  “Are you saying you don’t believe in evil?”

  Her brows creased, as if she were thinking the question through. “Lord Atwood,” she began. “While I don’t believe in vampires, I do believe in evil and know it exists.”

  Her response surprised him. This was a gently bred woman, a teacher at a well respected finishing school. What would she know of evil? Perhaps she was as fanciful as her students.

  “What would you know of evil, Miss Crawford?”

  She turned away from him to look into the fire. “I would rather not speak of it.”

  That was not the answer he expected. Before she turned away, he saw a true haunting in her eyes, fear or horror, he was not sure.

  He studied her as she stared into the fire. What was she thinking?

  Miss Crawford drained the glass, stood and faced him. “Thank you for allowing us to rest here tonight. I promise that the girls will not disturb you and hopefully we will be back at the school by tomorrow afternoon.”

  She left before he had a chance to speak. What had he said that upset her so? What evil had she witnessed, or experienced?

  “Delusion! mere delusion of the brain,

  from heated blood, like to that which arises

  from the fumes of wine. It is not my wish to tempt thee; –

  to restore to thee thy dead; else wouldst thou soon

  feel that I have spoken truth.”

  Wake Not the Dead

  Johann Ludwig Tieck

  Chapter 6

  Vincent heard them, but did not bother to open his eyes. He knew he should have retired to his room last night, but after Miss Crawford left, he remained in the library, nursing his brandy. At one point he had moved to the couch, but couldn’t remember doing so. Her belief in evil bothered him. What did she consider to be evil? A simple disregard of someone, or a more immoral or wicked act? The question followed him into sleep, where he wished he still was. Unfortunately, he had guests and they were now in his library.

  He kept his eyes closed and feigned sleep. Hopefully they would see him and remove themselves. Then he could make his way to his own chamber and sleep for the remainder of the day. He couldn’t tell which ones spoke, for he didn’t know them well enough to recognize their voices. It did not matter, they would be gone soon and he would not see them again.

  “Look at all of the books.” The voice was full of awe.

  “There must be thousands.”

  “They are probably better books here than what the old library has in the school,” the third one commented.

  “We did find that back section though,” one of them giggled. “Do you think Miss Crawford knows we tried to read almost all of those novels?”

  “No doubt, which is why they are gone,” another snorted. “As soon as she found out about Wake Not the Dead, all the other horrid novels disappeared.”

  “Except for The Veiled Picture. Do you think Lord Atwood has any books written by Anne Radcliffe?”

  Just grab a book and be gone. The sooner the girls left the sooner he could return to slumber.

  “There are some books I have never heard of before,” one of them offered in a thoughtful tone. “Where to begin?”

  With the first one you touch. Take if off the shelf and go.

  It happened so quickly, he didn’t have time to prepare. The moment he heard the sound of his curtains slide along the rod his arm moved to shield the morning. He was too slow. Bright, sunlight hit his face. Even though his eyes were closed, the sudden, sharp pain was not lessened. With a roar and hiss, his arm came up to cover his eyes as he launched from the couch and into the corner of the room where the sun did not reach. The very side where two of the girls stood examining books.

  The blonde looked up him, her eyes wide and a book fell from her grasp. It hit the floor with a thud. A girl with chestnut hair stood next to her, screamed. She grabbed the blonde’s hand and pulled her toward the door. He turned and glared at the redhead. She shrieked and ran from the window and into the hall. He could hear their feet pound up the stairs.

  Vincent massages his temples with both hands. He needed a brandy to sooth his pain. But, the bottle and glass were on the other side of the room, being warmed by the sun. When was the last time he had felt it warm any part of his body? He couldn’t even remember the last time he even walked in the sun.

  For the moment he was trapped. The door leading to the hall was flooded with sunlight and he weighed his options of whether to remain in the darker corner of his library like a trapped animal, or risk further pain by racing for the door and into the hall.

  “Sir?” Wesley called as he entered the room. “Is anything amiss? Oh, dear,” he answered his own question and stalked toward the draperies to yank them closed.

  Vincent stepped further into the room. “Thank you.”

  “I am dreadfully sorry, sir. I did not know the girls were coming here.”

  “Remind me to keep the doors locked, so they don’t disturb me again.”

  “How could they know you would be in here?” Wesley questioned. “And, the door was open. I thought you had retired, since you had not called for me.”

  “I should have retreated to my room and will do so now.” Vincent turned and made his way to the door. His left hand continued to massage his temple, willing the pain away, though it had lessened a bit.

  “I shall be up in a moment, sir. Would you like something to help you sleep?”

  “Yes, bring the brandy,” Vincent called out as he turned toward the stairs.

  He looked up to find Miss Crawford descending. Her lips were pursed and her eyes held accusation. What have I done now?

  “Isn’t it a bit early for brandy, Lord Atwood.”

  He sneered at her. It was her charges who brought on this pain.

  She straightened and moved further away from him.

  “Had your students not awakened me, I would be in a better mood. It is because of them I need spirits,” he growled and marched past her up the stairs.

  * * *

  Goodness! Tess didn’t know what to think. The man became ruder each day. She had been ready to chastise him for frightening the girls so, but he even scared her now.

  Wesley exited the library when her foot touched the final step. “Please assure his lordship that I will have the girls removed from the premises as soon as physically possible.”

  The valet grimaced. “Please do not think too harshly of Lord Atwood. He was unexpectedly awakened and is not the most pleasant gentleman when he has not had enough sleep.”

  “It is far past morning, Wesley, and he had no cause to yell at the girls. Why would he be sleeping in the library when he has, what I assume, a perfectly good chamber?”

  “He accidently fell asleep in the library early this morning,” the valet explained. “And, this is very early for Lord Atwood as he sleeps most of the day and works in the evening.”

  She snorted. He probably got those habits from society and the life of the ton during the season. Not that she had ever experienced such, but she had heard.

  Wesley wasn’t the one to scare the girls or behave in a despicable manner and she should not take her irritation out on him. “I apologize. This is not your fault, but all of us are a bit on edge from the experiences of last night.”

  “It is quite understandable, Miss Crawford.”

  “I will be taking the girls to the school shortly to see how bad the damage is in the light of day.”

  “I shall go with you, after I have seen to Lord Atwood.” He held up the brandy and began to mount the stairs.

  “That will not be necessary, Wesley,”

&nb
sp; He turned to look at her. “His lordship will wish to know the details as well and I will be able to report them to him.”

  He probably wants to know how soon we will be departing. Well, he shouldn’t have invited us if he was going to make everyone’s life miserable.

  * * *

  Wesley helped Vincent out of his clothing, for which he was grateful. Normally he could undress himself without any help, but the pounding in his head was making him nauseous. All he wanted to do was lie down.

  “Sir, the laudanum would not be remiss, especially at a time like this,” Wesley insisted

  Vincent turned and glared at the man. “I will not rely on the fruit of the poppy. Ever again.”

  “But sir, you cannot continue to live in this manner.”

  Vincent shrugged off his trousers and handed them to his valet. “I have not exactly been given a choice, now have I?”

  Wesley folded his clothing, which always amazed Vincent since they would now be taken to be laundered. With a sigh, he settled into his dark cocoon of a bed. The entire room was dark, from the chestnut stained paneling, deep blue - almost black - carpet and draperies to the velvet, burgundy bed curtains, which would be closed before Wesley left his room. Only in his cool quiet cave did Vincent relax. Except for today.

  “Wesley, hand me the brandy.”

  As instructed, the servant placed the glass, filled with a generous amount of liquid, into his employer’s hand. “Will that be all?”

  “Yes. No. Find out how long they are going to be in residence.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  * * *

  It was much, much worse than she believed. The tree had not only fallen into the side of the house, but the school appeared to be leaning a bit. That could not be a good thing. Tess tilted her head to see if it helped straighten out the image. It didn’t.