“Nae, let us continue. It looks as if I will be returning tae Oxford sooner than I had originally planned.”
“Nothing serious, I hope, My Lord.”
“Time will tell.”
* * *
Cleo stepped down from the carriage into the light of the street lantern in front of the Earl of Dustshore’s townhouse and walked through the front doors. The Earl, his Lady Mother, and Aunt Caroline had entered before her and the house was abuzz with activity as the servants scurried about to see to their master’s comfort and that of his guests. A footman bowed to Cleo and took her valise. “If you will follow me, Miss, I will show you to your room.”
“Thank you…”
“Stephen, Miss.”
“Thank you, Stephen. My name is Cleo Wallace.”
“If you would follow me, Miss Wallace.”
Cleo followed the footman up the stairs and he led her to a room about halfway to the end. Entering, he set her valise upon the bed, then bowed before backing to the doorway. “A maid will be with you presently to aid in unpacking and to bring you some warm water to wash the dust of the road away. I will bring you a tray of food from the kitchen. His Lordship felt that you might be fatigued after your long journey and would wish to eat in your room, but he would like to invite you to breakfast.”
“Please tell His Lordship that I would be pleased to do so.”
“Very well, Miss Wallace. His Lordship will be most pleased.” The footman bowed and exited the room.
Cleo sat down on the edge of the bed with a sigh as she removed her bonnet and cloak. The Earl was right about her being tired. One would think after spending all of that time rolling about in a carriage that she would wish to walk about a bit, but she was so tired that she could barely stand.
The maid entered as promised carrying a pitcher of steaming hot water and cloths for washing. Cleo accepted them with gratitude and washed the dust from the road away behind the screen in the corner, while the maid unpacked her valise and laid out her nightdress over the back of the screen. By the time that Cleo emerged and had slipped beneath the covers, the footman had returned with a tray of fruit, cheese, cold meats, and bread. A glass of spiced wine finished the ensemble.
Cleo ate ravenously, reveling in the feel of luxurious comfort. She was greatly relieved not to be bumping along dirt roads and cobblestone streets. When she had finished eating, the maid took the tray and left her to rest in peace. Grateful to be alone for the first time all day, Cleo burrowed down underneath the covers. Spying a stack of books on the bedside table, she reached over and grabbed the first one on the pile. To Cleo’s surprise it wasThe Lady of the Lakeby Sir Walter Scott.
Cleo ran her fingers over the gilt blue Morocco style spine labels and across the light-colored vellum Georgian binding. It was a fine first printing of the second edition. It was her father’s favorite, even more so than the first edition, because Sir Walter Scott had undergone extensive revisions to his notes on the narrative poem. She had actually met the Baron once when she was visiting Edinburgh with her father and he had told them the story of how his famous work had come to be while on a trip to the Trossachs of Scotland with his family.
Her father had been quite fond of many aspects of the text, but there was a particular quote from the poem that he had recited often when thinking of his dearly departed wife.“My hope, my heaven, my trust must be, My gentle guide, in following thee.”He would recite with a wistful, faraway expression upon his face, then would return to the present as if he had not been in another place far removed from the one that they inhabited.
When Cleo had asked him about it, he would simply quote another section of the poem as an excuse,“…so wondrous wild, the whole might seem the scenery of a fairy dream…”and wave her concerns away as if he had been naught but daydreaming of the fairylands.
Cleo smiled at the memory, tears filling her eyes.Oh, Father, how I miss you so.She opened the cover and began to read. She lay there reading for some time engrossed in the story until her eyes finally gave out and she was forced to lay it down. Closing her eyes, Cleo allowed herself to drift toward sleep.
Just before falling to sleep, a passage from the poem floated through her mind.“Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking, Morn of toil nor night of waking.”The thought of death as someone simply sleeping caused Cleo to open her eyes and roll over onto her side to stare at the stars outside of her window. She found the brightest one sparkling in the pitch black of night and sent her thoughts and prayers upward.Sleep well, Father. May you and Mother find eternal happiness in your blessed rest. Rest in peace, assured in your love for one another.
Sighing, Cleo sat up, the sorrow of her prayers causing her to feel weighted and alone. She thought of the riddle that her father had entrusted her to unravel and felt a flare of anger that she had been left alone to suffer without her family. She was not sure whether to blame God or the man who had robbed her of her father more. Rising, she walked over to the screen where she had bathed with the intention of retrieving the sheet of paper concealed within her dress.
When she reached the screen, she stepped behind it only to find that her clothing was not there. A moment of panic shot through her being and she grasped around in the darkness to ensure that she had not overlooked them somehow, but they were nowhere to be found. “The maid,” she gasped, realizing that the maid must have taken her clothing to be washed. Fear seizing her heart, Cleo rushed from the bedchamber without thinking to grab anything to cover her nightdress clad body.
Cleo rushed out into the hall, heading toward the kitchens below stairs when she ran smack into the muscle hardened chest of the Earl of Dustshore. “My Lord,” she gasped, the air having fled her lungs in a rush.
“Miss Wallace is something amiss?” he had grabbed hold of her arms to keep her from falling back onto her rear from the impact of their collision. His face searched hers in the dim light of the candelabra, concern etching his features in a dance of light and shadow.
“Yes, I…” Cleo stopped. What was she supposed to say? Could she admit to the Earl what she was really doing? She did not think that it was a good idea to tell anyone else about the riddle as the more people who knew, the higher the level of danger to them all. “I was searching for the maid that took my clothing. I did not realize that she had taken them, and I wished to have them back.”
“Ah, my apologies. I am certain that she did not mean harm. It was under my instructions that she was to treat you as she would have My Lady Mother.”
“Yes, thank you. Your hospitality has been quite wonderful. I was simply missing my father and he gave me that dress, you see…” It was not a lie, her father had given her the dress, but it was not the reason that she wanted it back. She prayed that the Earl would accept her excuse without further question.
“I see,” Dustshore answered, studying her face. Cleo knew that there were very real tears in her eyes, and she hoped that it would be enough to convince him of her story. “I will ring for the butler and have the maid return your clothing forthwith.”
“Nay, I do not wish to cause trouble. I will simply go down and retrieve them myself.”
“If you insist, but I will go with you to show you the way. I would not wish for you to become lost along the way,” he smiled gently. He fell in step beside her and they walked the distance to the kitchen. “How are your rooms? Are they to your liking?”
