“Yes, yes.” Elsie struggled out of the sheets and bedding as the bedroom door opened, and Samson pushed it wide. Her maid slipped into the chamber with a tray balanced in her hands. Elsie fully expected the girl to be as scared as she had been the previous day, but surprisingly Samson smiled broadly as she set the tray down.
“Isn’t it a strange little place?” She asked as she looked over the bedspread at Elsie.
“I would hardly call it little,” Elsie said. There was an awful lot of bizarreness about the manor. “I do hope we will be able to depart back to London shortly.”
“Oh no miss, I heard them talking in the kitchen that the weather is dreadful. That’s why there’s that crying noise—it is the wind. Doesn’t echo so? One of the footmen said, the main road is even flooded and all the side ones too, no one could get through. He was amazed we managed it.” Samson almost looked impressed at the sheer scale of the problem. “He said it would take days to clear. It happened before, in November…” Here Samson stopped. She looked as if she wished to add something else but couldn’t find the right words.
Elsie smoothed down her nightdress and then set about righting her hair. Everything it seemed was going to annoy her—whether it was the frightful house, the unpredictable weather, herhost. Wholeheartedly she wished her mind did not keep snagging on him. Turning a forced smile to Samson, she looked down at the tray the girl had brought up.
“Thank you for seeing to my comfort with the breakfast.”
“Of course, miss.” In a confiding manner, she leant closer and said, “I hear the duke’s sister… that she’s mad. Is it true that you saw her?”
Moving closer to the tray as the sweet scent of the chocolate wafted over to her, Elsie took hold of the cup and sank into the nearest available chair, which happened to be a rather moth-eaten but comfortable red velvet. As she sipped the drink, she dwelt on what to say… or even whether it were her place to comment. She certainly didn’t want to stir any rumours, or gossip about poor Lady Flora. Yes, the girl had seemed very unpredictable, but perhaps with the right care and attention she might recover. Lifting her gaze up, Elsie said, “I did not see Lady Flora for very long. She is a young girl. Perhaps she has read too many gothic novels. I would imagine she has been isolated, perhaps between us we can talk to her about London and encourage her to journey to Town with us.”
To this suggestion, Samson did not look remotely convinced. “Clary—that is our driver—he overheard one of the maids saying the lady hasn’t been the same since last year after the accident. He told me that the servants here say before the crash she was…”
What accident, Elsie wondered. Could it be recent? Where did His Grace’s injured arm come from? As much as Elsie would love to know what rumours the servants had overheard, as in her experience the staff were normally the ones who had the right to it. “We must endeavour to care for her ladyship.”
With a slight gesture of annoyance, Samson pulled the cover off the tray and Elsie was rather pleased at the array of sweet pastries that lay before her. Thick round white rolls, yellow butter, and colourful marmalade would make for a deliciousbreakfast. Even if the manor was cut off, at least the food left nothing to be desired.
“Oh,” Samson said, her attention snagged by Lancelot. She bent down and ruffled his ears affectionately, any of her fear of what he might be gone now that she could make out his shiny eyes and some of his coat. “Who’s a good boy?”
“Indeed,” Elsie said, both annoyed and relieved at the change of conversation. “This is Lancelot. I thought if you could this morning, we might try to give him a proper wash.” Elsie had patted the dog down, and presumably rather a lot of his muck had ended up on the bedding last night, but at least this task would give her something to occupy her time.
“Certainly miss, although a lot of the staff have been called away.”
“All of them?”
“Well, Clary and all the men, they’ve gone with the master—His Grace, I should say—to see what can be done about the roads.”
The idea of staying cooped up in the lonely house, with only Samson and Lancelot for company, did not strike Elsie as especially enjoyable. She lowered her cup and said, “Perhaps we can take the puppy down to the stable and find some way of cleaning him ourselves?”
A bit reluctantly, Samson agreed and set about getting Elsie ready and into one of her two day dresses, this one was her favourite, a cheerful buttercup yellow. Then the two of them made their way, with Lancelot in their wake downstairs and towards the stable.
The journey through the house reminded Elsie of all her original discomfort in this place. For whilst it was a touch brighter now, and it was daytime, there lingered throughout the place the heavy unpleasant smell of dust, and even through the parted curtains, the light hung in a dull quiet haze. She was grateful when all three of them stepped outside.
“Here, miss.” Samson snatched up an umbrella, a rather faded old looking one, and lifted it over both their heads. “You think we’ll have a tub outside?”
It had been Elsie’s hope, and besides, she reasoned if it wasn’t, then at least she was outside. Despite her uncertainty about the place and the heavy wave of rain, there was a crispness to the air, a familiar saltiness that reminded Elsie of home. “We can but look. Besides”—she pointed towards Lancelot who was frolicking about in the puddles nearby, —“we may not even need it.”
Happily, Lancelot pranced this way and that, hopping and splashing his way through the small pools of water. His brown fur was soon wet, and Elsie noticed there was some white fur mixed in there too. Whilst she watched the dog Elsie did her best to ignore how quiet the stable were, and yet there was the feeling from somewhere close by that they were being watched. When she raised her eyes, she scouted along the windows, looking for who was following them. Yet she could see no sign of a person despite the hair raising on the back of her neck, which made her want to run.
A desperation took hold of Elsie. She couldn’t linger here; she needed to move. “I swear I can smell the sea. Can’t you, Samson?”
Her maid seemed confused, her wide-eyed, perplexed expression was no help. “I’ve never been to the sea before, miss. But,” she added helpfully, “the butler said there was a sea cove close by, and one of the maids said…” She giggled at the mention of it.
“What is so humorous?”
“I don’t have the right of it, miss, but they were saying there’s a cottage in the cove or by it, I think, that apparently affairs… or assignations used to occur in.”
A vivid image of the new duke leading some willing lady, or tavern wench to this forbidden cottage flared through Elsie’s mind… Did His Grace indulge in such affairs?
“Isn’t it amusing being here,” Samson added, her face bright in heavy contrast to the previous night.
“I would have thought you were keen to leave here?” Elsie asked her maid quickly.
“I don’t know what you mean.” Samson blushed, and Elsie had a sudden idea of what might have occurred that had softened her maid to their surroundings. Either she had met someone down here, or the driver had caught her fancy.
