To Walk in the Sun (Wiggons' School for Elegant Young Ladies - Book 1) (5 page)

Mrs. Zobard jerked her head to the side and
cast Tess an irritated look. Gone was any humor or pleasantry.
Instead, her lips were pressed together in a firm line and her eyes
narrowed on Tess. With the light casting shadows on the hollow of
her cheeks, circles beneath her eyes and grey hair in disarray,
Tess wondered if the friendliness displayed by the housekeeper in
the foyer was all an act. Perhaps they needed to be cautious of
this woman instead of Lord Atwood. Tess took a step back and shook
the thoughts from her mind. She was getting to be as bad as the
girls. Her over-reactive imagination was simply brought on by the
storm, the girl’s fear and this old, spooky manor. She was sure by
that in the light of the day she will laugh at her silliness.

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 almost 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.