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

To Walk in the Sun

By: Jane Charles

Copyright © 2011 by Jane Charles

Smashwords Edition

Cover Design by Lily Smith

This book is a work of fiction. Names,
characters, locations and events are either a product of the
author’s imagination, fictitious or used fictitiously. Any
resemblance to any event, locale or person, living or dead, is
purely coincidental.

This ebook is licensed for your personal
enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to
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of this author.

Dedicated

Deb Payton, for listening, proofing and
allowing me to bounce ideas off of her

Frequently of a night, instead of retiring to
his

consort's chamber, he repaired to Brunhilda's
grave,

where he murmured forth his discontent,

saying: "Wilt thou sleep for ever?"

Wake Not the Dead

Johann Ludwig Tieck

Chapter 1

Cornwall England, 1802

Lightening flashed in the distance and Tess
Crawford gripped the ladder tight. The wind whipped hair across her
face and skirts against her legs. This was a perfect night. She
looked up toward the open window. It was past ten and her students
should have been asleep by now. At the very least, all lights
should be extinguished, but candles flickered in Rosemary’s
room.

With slow deliberation, Tess inched her way
to the destination. Upon reaching the top, she ducked to the side
and listened. It would do no good for the girls to catch her.

“
At length Walter, heated with wine and
love, conducted his bride into the nuptial chamber:
”

Yes, that was Eliza reading. Why wasn’t she
surprised?

“…
but, oh! horror! scarcely had he clasped
her in his arms ere she transformed herself into a monstrous
serpent, which entwining him in its horrid folds, crushed him to
death.”
The voice rose with further anticipated horror.

Tess peeked around the corner of the window
frame. One candle sat on the table and flickered with the breeze.
Further into the room, three girls sat huddled together, their
robes wrapped around their legs. A lamp burned brightly behind
Eliza’s shoulder, casting a halo around her red curls. Tess
grinned. Her timing could not have been more perfect.

“
Flames crackled on every side of the
apartment;
” Eliza continued. “
in a few minutes after, the
whole castle was enveloped in a blaze that consumed it entirely:
while, as the walls fell in with a tremendous crash, a voice
exclaimed aloud -- "Wake not the dead!
"

Tess blew out the candle by the bed and
ducked out of sight. In her most dramatic voice, she moaned, “Not
the dead.”

Screams erupted from inside the room. One of
the girls slammed the window shut, apparently too frightened to
notice the ladder or Tess, and yanked the curtains closed. Tess bit
her lip to keep her laughter inside. She edged down the ladder when
pounding erupted on the door. “Girls, is everything all right?”
Natalie, her friend and also a teacher, called.

The wind grew stronger as Tess hastened her
decent before Mother Nature helped her to the ground in a most
unpleasant manner. She tipped the ladder so it lay on the ground
and raced to the door. She could not wait to hear the explanation
the girls offered for their screams.

* * *

Sophia sighed and shot an irritated look at
her cohorts. “They thought the monster was at the window.”

“Monster?” Tess tried to hold back her
laughter as she walked into Rosemary’s room.

“Yes. The creature that lives in that old
manor.” Eliza explained. Tess knew exactly which one she meant.
Lord Atwood’s house must date back at least a century or more, and
it did look a bit spooky with its gabled windows and grey stone
exterior with dark ivy creeping up the side and the gargoyle
overlooking the portico entrance. Of course, she would never admit
such a thing to her students.

“It’s just like
Wake Not the Dead
,”
Rosemary whispered.

This time Tess couldn’t help but laugh. “Are
you saying a vampire lives in Atwood Manor and he came here?”

“Yes,” Eliza insisted and the other two girls
vigorously nodded their heads in agreement. Their curls bounced in
rhythm to the movement.

“Whatever gave you that idea?” Natalie asked
and settled onto the bed. If Tess didn’t know better, she would
think her friend was giving some credence to the girl’s irrational
fears.

“Lord Atwood never goes out during the day,”
Eliza answered, all knowing.

“Is that all the evidence you have?” Tess
crossed her arms over her chest and tilted her head, eyebrows
raised waiting for the girl to continue.

“No,” Eliza retorted. “He died only to return
from the grave after his wife willed him to. Just like Walter did.
Except Lady Atwood perished upon his return and now Lord Atwood is
doomed to be alone on this earth.” Eliza sighed, placed a hand over
her heart and glanced toward the window. She returned her focus to
Tess; color high in her cheeks and eyes lit with excitement. Eliza
continued the tale, or rumor rather, that circulated around their
small village. “Everyone knows he visits her grave every midnight
because there are fresh flowers every morning. Lord Atwood has not
been able to bring his beloved back from the dead,
yet
.”

Too bad Eliza was the daughter of a viscount.
Had she been common-born, no doubt she would make a nice living
trodding the boards on Drury Lane.

Tess leaned down and whispered, “But why
would he come here?”

Eliza glanced toward the window. “Because he
is hungry.”

Rosemary turned alarmingly pale.

Tess bit her lip. Perhaps she had taken this
too far?
No
, she argued with herself. They were being
ridiculous and the girls should know better. Still, Tess made a
mental note to once again go through the library and remove any
book that could possibly resemble a horrid novel. She thought she
had found and hidden them all a week ago, but apparently
Wake
Not the Dead
had been overlooked.

Tess clapped her hands to get their
attention. “Enough of this nonsense. Lord Atwood is not a vampire,
nor did he come here tonight.”

“But, who was at the window?” Sophia asked,
her big blue eyes round with fear.

“The wind,” Tess said dismissively, not about
to reveal the truth. “That will teach you to read horrid novels
when you should be asleep.” Tess tapped her finger against her
chin. “This gives me an excellent topic for our literature lesson
tomorrow.”

“Are we going to discuss
Wake Not the
Dead
?” Eliza bobbed with excitement.

“No. We are going to discuss the difference
between
fiction
and non-fiction.”

* * *

Vincent Latimer, Earl of Atwood, pulled the
collar up to his ears. Wind whipped the greatcoat out from his
body. He grasped the front and buttoned it in haste while he
glanced up to the overcast sky. Not even one star could be seen,
but he knew they lay just beyond. Lightning flashed. There would be
a wicked storm tonight. He grinned and stepped onto the road and
turned toward the cemetery.

The walk was not long but he was glad he did
not bring his hat. It would have blown off his head as soon as he
stepped out from the protection of the front portico. Thunder
rumbled behind him. No doubt he would be soaked with rain by the
time he left the cemetery.

Nearing the church, he stopped and looked
around. The houses were closer here and each held well-tended
gardens. Who should he steal from tonight?

A grin pulled at his lips. Mrs. Harpy had a
lovely selection. He hopped the low fence and strode into the back
garden. However, since he was taking a bouquet from the woman’s
gardens, he should at least think of her by her proper name, Mrs.
Harper.

He shook his head and withdrew the scissors
from his deep pocket. No, Harper was too kind of a name for her.
After all, Harpy was the one who first fueled the gossip when his
wife died. The flame ignited, and ever since he had been deemed the
most feared monster of history and lore. On the other hand, it did
benefit him. Everyone knew he took the bouquets from the gardens in
the neighborhood, yet no one would ever reproach him. They were too
afraid.

It also served his lifestyle well. By using
the gardens owned by his neighbors, he did not have to employ a
gardener for his own. The less people who lived on his estate the
better. Besides, what would the neighbors think if he did not visit
his wife’s grave at midnight? What else would they have to talk
about?

The hairs stood up on the back of his neck.
He glanced toward the house. Harpy stood in the upstairs window
watching him. She stepped back into the shadows, but he knew she
could still see him. Vincent flashed his teeth at her and growled.
Her silhouette disappeared. The woman was probably cowering in her
bed, or her husband’s. He doubted Mr. Harper would thank him.

Vincent turned back to study the garden.
There was little to choose from as fall was descending and many of
the fragrant summer flowers he preferred were long dead. He
selected mums, asters and late blooming roses. From his pocket he
withdrew a pink ribbon and tied it to hold the arrangement
together.

* * *

Tess paced in the front parlor, too on-edge
to sleep. It was easier to control her anxiety over the storm
brewing in the distances when she was focused on the student or
conversing over tea with the other teachers in the school, as she
had done tonight. However, everyone retired a short time ago but
she knew she would not find rest tonight, not when she was now
alone with her thoughts. She grabbed her cloak and stepped out on
to the porch. Leaves flew, carried by the fierce winds. Energy
surrounded her and she could not stay inside. She glanced up at the
house. The lamp still burned in Rosemary’s room. She would need to
speak to the girls about their late hours, but knew she had brought
on their fright tonight.

With a shake of her head, she started down
the road. Tonight was no different from the night her life
irrevocably changed.

No, she would not think about that now. If
she did, she would never sleep.What she needed was a walk. The
storm was a little ways off to the southwest, coming in off the
Channel, and she had only the wind to contend with at the moment.
Once she strolled the area, she would be able to retire.

Tess pulled the hood of her cloak over her
head and walked down the lane toward the village. Nobody was out at
night and she preferred it this way. The others did not understand
her need for these evening strolls nor did she wish to explain.
They each had their own secrets that brought them back to the
school where they met, to become teachers.

In truth, Tess did not go out at night all
that often. Only when there was a storm brewing. It helped to chase
her demons away. The demons that only visited her on nights such as
this.

All of the houses were dark, for which she
was grateful. Her cloak was black so if someone peered out a
window, they might not even see her. If they did, the hood covered
her head and hid her face. It would not serve the school well if
someone reported that she was seen out and about alone so close to
midnight. If someone did catch her, would she be labeled a monster
as well? A smile pulled at her lips at the ridiculous thought.

She started to pass the cemetery, but did not
glance in that direction. Tess did not want to know if Lord Atwood
actually visited there each night and she refused to give credence
to the rumors. Besides, if the man had any intelligence, he
wouldn’t be walking around on a night like this anyway.

Thunder rumbled and the wind picked up and
whipped around her, blowing the hood off of her head. Perhaps she
should return home. It appeared the storm was much closer than she
realized.

An ominous crack, sharper than thunder,
sounded overhead. Tess looked up but before she could determine the
source a large body flattened her.