《Bad Humors》 Prologue Sommer Steppe, The Garden. The year without a summer. - October 12, 1777. Viscount Frederick Grace stood beneath the shelter of a tall apple tree, rain bleeding through the leaves above him while he watched and waited. The air was scented by rain, grass, and autumn wildflowers. He could feel the ground beneath him, sense something vibrant and rich leaching out of the soil. A mound of fresh earth in front of Frederick stirred. Fingers raw with blood and soil poked through first. Packed as fresh as new bread, she tore it apart easily; the rain spilling over her hand, then arm and elbow, made quick work of the mud in thick rivulets over her flesh. This was how Victoria Moore climbed, mindless, from her week-old grave in the garden. Later, she would not remember stumbling in the soiled rags of her nightgown through the night towards the man awaiting her. Only a vague shadow of something would prod at her mind; the image of a pale wrist offered and taken greedily. A sharp and self-satisfied smile. A soothing word or two that did little if anything to quell the aching pain in her body and stomach.This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it. That same night, a storm the likes of which hadn¡¯t been seen in nine years tore the roof from the stable. The cook muttered prayers over a bowl of scalding soup. Perhaps most curious of all, every leaf on that apple tree withered and died. Every apple fell, empty and darkened husks. Life for life. Death reborn came at a cost. The very soil surrounding her grave would be poison to anything that dwelled within it now. Even the earthworms and insects below were now desiccated remnants. ¡°You will come to enjoy this life, dear,¡± her maker and her monster told her, tilting his head just so to watch the feral young woman feed from him. He was unphased by the rain soaking the both of them through, plastering fabric and hair to flesh. He didn¡¯t flinch when her teeth bit deeper, grinding into muscle and bone. They were harbingers of death for the sleeping residents of Sommer Steppe. He would see to it. Perhaps, he admitted to himself, he¡¯d been a little impatient, but he was anxious to lay claim to his new home and he needed to work quickly. It was with no small effort that the Viscount managed to pry his arm from the newly-made creature¡¯s grasp. The astonishing strength of a newborn would never cease to amuse and amaze him. ¡°Now, now,¡± he chided, taking Victoria¡¯s arm into his and pulling her along through the gardens, ¡°save some room for supper, love.¡± His pace was a leisurely one, while hers was more of a shamble, but her body had no other options but to be led by him. Soon she would regain her senses, but it would take blood. Lots of it. Chapter 1 Sommer Steppe - October 9, 1777. Not a single draft filtered through the bedchamber. Any cold spot that could be found was thoroughly dampened by the heat emanating from Lady Elmira Sommer¡¯s grand fireplace. The only room in Sommer Steppe amply supplied with wood and coal as it was needed. They couldn¡¯t risk her catching a chill. ¡°My lady, you really mustn¡¯t do that,¡± Victoria chided her young mistress, not for the first time as she set aside the gloves she¡¯d been embroidering on the windowsill. ¡°I¡¯m old enough to know when it¡¯s too hot,¡± Lady Elmira complained, shoving her bedding down once more and tugging restlessly at her nightgown to let some fresh air hit her skin. Victoria didn¡¯t blame her. The doctor¡¯s orders to keep her room as warm as possible seemed absolutely mad. Still, he must know what he was doing. She¡¯d have a word with him later, once her lady retired for the evening. ¡°I don¡¯t wish to argue,¡± Victoria repeated, ¡°not tonight.¡± She was happy to be a lady¡¯s maid, truly. She was not, however, fond of acting the part of her mistress¡¯s mother. Lady Elmira was far too old for a nanny. Victoria was constantly reminding her to act her age as politely and firmly as she could, because she was the only person in the girl¡¯s life who would even bother. ¡°Victoria,¡± Lady Elmira protested, when Victoria stood up from her chair and quickly came to her side to rearrange the bedding once more. Exasperated, the lady¡¯s maid firmly pressed thick blankets into her mistress¡¯s sides, ¡°please, my lady, do not make me the villain tonight.¡± ¡°You make yourself the villain!¡± Lady Elmira snapped, banging her fists on her elegantly embroidered quilt, but allowing it to remain snugly over her chest. ¡°You are eighteen,¡± Victoria pointed out, ¡°nearly nineteen. You would have had your debut this season, had you listened to Doctor Prattel. Now you are here in bed, and instead of enjoying the refreshments offered to lady¡¯s maids at the ball, I am keeping you company. I hardly think I deserve this treatment.¡± Lady Elmira worried at her bottom lip, fingers twisting around the edge of her quilt. ¡°You know that isn¡¯t true,¡± she murmured, turning her head to look towards the shuttered bedroom windows, ¡°I can¡¯t even walk. Father would never let me go.¡± A pang of guilt stabbed at Victoria¡¯s chest, ¡°I wish you would stop claiming such things. His lordship cares for you very much and would like to see you happy, just as the rest of us would. Now,¡± she said, more gently, ¡°if you can try to rest, I will remain here at your side. My lady, the sooner you are well, the sooner we can allow the room to cool. The sooner we can go outside and enjoy the gardens. Wouldn¡¯t you like that?¡± Victoria left the bed and sat back down at the wooden chair she¡¯d placed beside the grand window of Lady Elmira¡¯s chambers, less than a few feet away. ¡°By then,¡± Victoria continued, snatching up her embroidery, ¡°these gloves will be done. Wouldn¡¯t you like to wear them on our next visit to the city?¡± She smoothed her fingers over the delicate green linework she¡¯d woven expertly into white. Fresh rose vines. She¡¯d save the flowers for last. The thorns were almost real enough to prick skin. Victoria rather admired her own skill. Of course, it would never compare to her mother¡¯s. It was difficult to bite back those bitter thoughts when they surfaced. ¡°Yes,¡± Lady Elmira replied, then paused thoughtfully. She turned on her side with some effort to face Victoria, and reached out with one delicate hand, ¡°I want them now, actually.¡± ¡°They aren¡¯t done.¡±This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there. ¡°Well, let me see them.¡± ¡°Not yet. You know the rule,¡± Victoria told her with a firm tone, though a soft smile played on her lips. ¡°Victoria.¡± ¡°No.¡± ¡°Victoria.¡± ¡°Absolutely not.¡± ¡°Victoria,¡± Lady Elmira drew out her name, fully reverting to the age of nine or maybe ten. Victoria lowered the gloves to her lap, attempting a very firm expression. It was hard to play the stalwart lady¡¯s maid at all hours of the day. She was human too. ¡°My lady,¡± she said, very calmly, ¡°if I hand you these gloves, I will never touch them again. You will wear an unfinished work of art. You may very well spend the rest of your days longing to see what they may have become. My needle will never again touch this fabric. Are you prepared for that consequence?¡± She was being just a tad dramatic, but the exchange between had become a bit of a game now. Lady Elmira nodded resolutely ¡°Yes,¡± she insisted, the fingers of her outstretched hand wiggling emphatically. ¡°Truly?¡± Victoria asked. ¡°Give!¡± Victoria tugged her needle and thread through one last loop on the gloves, reaching towards the windowsill to snatch up a pair of scissors, ¡°are you sure? You wouldn¡¯t like perhaps one or two more roses or vines, maybe beneath the wrist?¡± She hovered with the scissors in her hand, allowing her lady one last chance. ¡°Enough talk, I order you to tie it off and hand me my gift!¡± Lady Elmira commanded. ¡°Really, my lady,¡± Victoria said, feigning disappointment as she wrapped up the last knot and cleanly cut the thread. ¡°I can¡¯t say I recall one thing I¡¯ve been able to finish for you.¡± ¡°They¡¯re all finished,¡± Lady Elmira replied haughtily. She snatched the gloves from Victoria¡¯s grasp. ¡°You just never know when to quit,¡± she added, ¡°you don¡¯t have my discerning eye.¡± Casting her gaze towards the window, Victoria peered into the dying light of the early evening. This was the absolute best view in the entire manor. The lady¡¯s bedroom looked right out into the gardens, which may not have been as impressive as a larger estate, but were lovingly tended to and cared for in such a way that one couldn¡¯t help but find joy in the sight. Beyond the gardens, she could see the estate¡¯s sparse cobblestone path that hadn¡¯t been properly covered in several years. At the very edge of that path, the gates of Sommer Steppe stood. If she squinted, she could make out a glimmering ember of the lanterns where Thomas, the stableboy, likely stood. Waiting for their master, The Baron, Lord Albert Sommer. More and more these days, he kept later hours. It was a good hour or so before Lady Elmira tired of admiring her new gloves, gushing over how pretty the vines were, and how it would complement her eyes. Her beautiful eyes, which all the ton would likely comment on once she properly debuted, she added. Though Victoria did not entirely disagree that her lady had lovely green eyes, she bemoaned the fact that very few of the girl¡¯s etiquette lessons seemed to have been taken very well. Humility was not a virtue she had ever demonstrated. In Lady Elmira¡¯s eyes, denying her own beauty was in fact the gravest sin. ¡°Not to mention my honey blonde hair,¡± the lady added drowsily, nestling her head into her pillow. ¡°Honey blonde?¡± Victoria asked in a soft tone, standing up from her chair and straightening her ash gray skirt, ¡°last week wasn¡¯t it golden blonde? Did it change?¡± Lady Elmira closed her eyes, waving an arm, ¡°no, I had some honey with my tea and realized that word was far more accurate. Honey blonde. Then there¡¯s my alabaster skin, of course.¡± She stifled a yawn, ¡°my dance card would have been too full to know where to begin if I hadn¡¯t gotten sick.¡± ¡°Yes, my lady,¡± Victoria agreed, smoothing out the quilt over Lady Elmira¡¯s bed, ¡°you¡¯d have been the cause of so many fights and broken hearts. Society is truly unfortunate today. Next season will be so much better.¡± There was no reply. She¡¯d finally fallen asleep, and so Victoria could at the very least stretch her legs and fetch something to eat. It had been a long day. Few candles had been lit in the hall sconces. They were rationing these days. One hardly noticed the tiny indulgences in life until they were gone. The head housekeeper, Mrs. Phillips, did what she could to ensure their nights were not entirely dark. Chapter 2 Gathering her skirt in one hand, Victoria made her way down the hall. She didn¡¯t enjoy the way the painted faces of portraits she passed in her journey towards the stairs. There was a sinister quality to them. It was the sparse candles, she knew. Happier times would have lit them more fully, turned darkened smiles into bright grins of joy. Perhaps it was just her mood tonight, and not the candles at all. As of late, she¡¯d been quite maudlin. This month was the anniversary of her family¡¯s passing. Her mother. Her father. Her siblings. All of them, so quickly, without so much as a warning. Lost in thought, she lingered in front of a particularly memorable portrait. The late baroness, holding a cherubic Lady Elmira in her arms while her older brother stood with his hands fisted in her vast skirts. The baron was at her side, his face glowing with a healthy and sober joy the household had long forgotten. What a difference seven years could make. A beautiful family. Just like hers had been. She wished she even had a simple sketch to remind herself what they looked like. It was only in her washing mirror that she sometimes remembered that the arch of her dark eyebrows perfectly matched her mother¡¯s, or that her pinched frown was something she¡¯d seen whenever she¡¯d crossed her father on a particularly challenging day. Her brothers and sisters shared the same eye color. The same freckles. The only memory of them she could cherish was her own reflection. ¡°Miss Moore,¡± a breathless, tired voice interrupted her train of thought, drawing her attention. Stalking swiftly down the corridor, Mister Reeve, the Baron¡¯s Valet, gestured at her with white gloved hands. His steel gray moustache and eyebrows twitched, albeit stiffly. She had never seen the stiff old man in such a state. ¡°I see the lady has kept you up once more,¡± he remarked, ¡°which is just as well. The Baron has returned with a guest. They are in the parlor, and the fire is nearly out. Please, come.¡± Victoria curtsied briefly, ¡°yes, Mister Reeve, of course.¡± The slim members of staff often were forced to wear multiple roles. She didn¡¯t doubt her bedmate who normally attended to the fires, Philomena, was already fast asleep. She hoped there was enough water for extra washing tonight. Tending to the fireplace was rarely clean work. In fact, it was the single chore she hated the most. A guest at this hour with no warning was peculiar, but it wasn¡¯t their place to remark on it. Quietly, Victoria followed Mister Reeve to the living room. There was a time when she was just a little younger that she might protest, but she knew better now. The guest must be quite important. They were rationing the coal and wood as best they could for the harsher weather to come, and sparing any extra with the larder in its current state was foolhardy. Only a few embers burned now in the once-grand fireplace. The metal work around it needed polishing, the interiors of the large brick structure needed scrubbing, and when there was time one of them might eventually see to it. For now the household would simply have to be embarrassed to entertain on short notice. The Baron, Lord Albert Sommer¡¯s financial state was no secret to his many debtors and friends. She tried to keep her eyes downcast as best she could, remaining silent. Lord Albert was already seated in his large wing-back chair facing the sofa where his guest sat across from him. He was a far cry from the stout and paunchy Baron, whose red hair was rarely tied back properly. Nor did it seem like the powder Mister Reeve painstakingly tried to spread about his hair ever managed to stick properly, preferring to cling in clumps and dampened spots where he¡¯d patted excessively with his handkerchief. A wig might have served him better in his advancing age. His brown suit was at the very least well-maintained, though shabby from constant wear. Their guest, however¡­ Victoria hadn¡¯t seen the likes since her master had fallen into gambling and drinking. He had the stiff confidence and air of a man of class, his dark hair unpowdered and pulled back in a simple but elegant black bow. The coat and breeches of his three piece suit were black, with rich gold embroidery, while his vest beneath was pure shining gold. He dripped wealth. It practically seeped into the sofa, making the room look that much dingier in comparison. She tried to focus on the fireplace, ducking her head to gather some wood laid over the brickwork around it. There was still enough of a fire that it would only take a little stoking and effort to get the room to some semblance of cozy.Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. ¡°I must admit, your home has magnificent charm,¡± the guest remarked. Could Victoria be held responsible for listening? She couldn¡¯t help it, she reasoned, tossing a log into the embers and arching back to snatch up an iron poker set into a rack by the wall. ¡°I assure you, sir, the charm is entirely coincidental. I appreciate the courtesy all the same,¡± Lord Albert replied, chuckling to himself. ¡°Now, let¡¯s have some brandy and tea. Perhaps some biscuits to soak up that ale we shared earlier, too. Miles, fetch it for us, and bring the good stuff!¡± ¡°Yes, my lord,¡± Mister Reeve replied, and Victoria heard the sound of shoes smartly clicking against wood as the valet quickly departed the room. The entire staff knew there was only one variety of brandy in the house, so the ¡®good stuff¡¯ merely meant that tonight it was not to be watered down. Victoria prodded and poked at the fire, flinching as fright orange sparks flew into the air. How she detested this chore. It was not her strong suit. On more than a handful of occasions she¡¯s nearly caught her skirt on fire, which made her all the more nervous. ¡°I was here once,¡± the guest remarked, ¡°some years ago. Not on your beautiful estate, of course, but in a small village herabouts. I believe at the time there¡¯d been some sort of illness in the area, so we were forced to ride through. Dreadful affair, I understand.¡± Victoria¡¯s spine stiffened. There was no mistaking the illness he was referring to. It was the same one that had taken her whole family, and several neighbors too. She chewed anxiously on her bottom lip. Nobody spoke of those days anymore. Nearly half the staff were survivors of that dreadful plague. Whatever it had been. ¡°Ah,¡± Lord Albert said, his jovial tone wavering just a little, ¡°you are fortunate, then. Yes. That was nine years ago, Lord Grace. Such a long time ago for a man as young as you must be!¡± ¡°Not so young. I may look youthful, but I¡¯m all of thirty-nine. I¡¯d been traveling to London, I believe.¡± ¡°Thirty-nine indeed! You¡¯re thirty if you¡¯re a day, sir,¡± Lord Albert argued, giving a sharp and loud laugh. Rather like a bark, Victoria thought. She couldn¡¯t say she wasn¡¯t inclined to agree with him. The man looked as old as Lord Albert¡¯s son, Richard. Hardly a year or so older than Victoria herself. ¡°Believe what you will,¡± Lord Grace said softly. Victoria couldn¡¯t help but glance behind her at the man. The only hint at his age was the air with which he held himself. Confident and mature. If she ever allowed herself to indulge in fantasies of men above her station, she¡¯d even go so far as to say he was handsome. At the very thought, she blushed. Worse, his eyes flickered in her direction even as she bit back the thought. Shadows licked over his face, giving his pleasant smile an eerie quality. Victoria curtsied, stepping away from the fireplace and quickly spinning towards Lord Albert, ¡°will there be anything else you may need this evening, my lord?¡± She asked, embarrassed at the sound of her own country brogue all of a sudden. She was sure their guest thought very little of her, which was as it should be. Even if she could read, Victoria reasoned with herself, men of his obvious wealth and¨C There she went again! Practically fantasizing. Silly. She¡¯d been reading too many romantic love stories to Lady Elmira. Tomorrow, they¡¯d focus on letter writing. Something a little more useful. ¡°That will be all, thank you Victoria,¡± Lord Albert told her, cutting her nervous thoughts short. He was likely the only nobleman in the county who¡¯d actually bothered to memorize the names of everyone who served him. It must look rather strange. ¡°A pleasure to serve you, my lord,¡± she curtsied once more. Was that too many curtsies? She tried to rush out of the room without actually rushing, hands clasped tightly together. Passing Mister Reeve in the door, Victoria lingered for just a moment. ¡°Now, Lord Grace, I should very much like to get back to why you wanted to join me tonight. I hardly think a Viscount would have much reason to brighten the life of a humble Baron,¡± Lord Albert continued talking, directing his attention to their guest. A viscount! Goodness, she¡¯d never seen a viscount before. At Sommer Steppe of all places, too. ¡°As I was saying earlier, Lord Sommer, your estate has so much promise. I¡¯ve been looking for investment opportunities, and as your father was once friends with my own, I¡¯d rather like to help bring this place back to its former glory, as it were, and in exchange I¡¯d only ask for payment from the seasonal profits¡­¡± The rest of the conversation seemed rather dull. Victoria supposed it was just as well, and she shuffled down the corridor, and towards the servant¡¯s stairs that were hidden behind a slim door near the stairs that led to the second floor. She wondered as she descended the stairs whether it was time she took Landon up on his offer to have a picnic when the weather improved. He was one of Mrs. Pragajh, the cook¡¯s assistants, and while she didn¡¯t have much interest in him as anything other than a friend - - Victoria wondered if it might not be good for her to at least try. She¡¯d ask Philomena first. Chapter 3 ¡°Oh, coming to bed, are we?¡± A bleary-eyed Philomena asked, slowly sitting up in bed and pushing the blankets down over her linen shift. She¡¯d kept a meager candle stub lit beside their bed, a luxury they rarely allowed themselves unless they absolutely needed the light for dressing or undressing. Though the servants quarters were dark, cold, and inescapably damp at certain times of the year, they were fortunate that the rooms below the ground floor were properly walled off from each other. That meant Victoria was not at risk of disturbing anyone else as long as she spoke quietly with her bedmate and closest friend. The only other maid in the house who came close to her age. Besides Constance, who had only just turned sixteen, if that even counted. At twenty-six, Victoria wasn¡¯t sure she could handle sharing a room with a teenager. Philomena was at least twenty. So Victoria knew she could talk about their guest without being put at risk that Philomena would tell someone else or get her in trouble. ¡°I thought we used the last of the candle on saturday,¡± Victoria remarked, reaching up to untie her kerchief. In the process, a few pins clattered to the floor. She knelt to pick them up with one hand, while using the other to slowly release a few more that held her black braids fastened into a smart but loosening coil. Her scalp sang with the gradual release of tension when she set the pins aside on a small corner table and began to untie the braid. ¡°Thomas gave it to me,¡± Philomena lied. She was a miserable liar. Sometimes, Victoria thought, she would come up with lies for no reason at all. It wouldn¡¯t be as bad if she was a little better at it, but her eyes always had a funny tell when she made things up. They traveled everywhere about the room but directly at the person she was talking to. Victoria let out a deep sigh, shaking her hair free over her shoulders. ¡°So you took it,¡± she said simply, ¡°from where?¡± ¡°Oh fine. I took it from Lord Albert¡¯s study,¡± Philomena immediately relented, ¡°he had a couple tucked into the writing desk. He hasn¡¯t gone in there for three years, I didn¡¯t think he¡¯d miss it. Would you rather undress in the dark?¡± ¡°I would if it meant I wasn¡¯t at risk of losing a roof over my head!¡± Victoria hissed. She could be overly-cautious at times, but really. Her friend could be so irresponsible. ¡°Vikki, you have such lovely hair,¡± Philomena remarked, watching her as she knelt at the foot of their bed to open the chest they stored all of their clothing and toiletries in. She retrieved a hairbrush and began to brush it gently through her hair to find any more stray pins she¡¯d missed. One or two slipped and clattered into the chest. ¡°I won¡¯t have much of it for long,¡± Victoria replied with a soft smile, chiding her friend, ¡°and you¡¯re part of the reason.¡± She tossed her brush to the foot of the bed so she could get to work unfastening her dark woolen gown, once a finer black and now washed ashen from several years of use. One of her three dresses, this was the one she wore the most. A good work gown, thick enough to keep the cold out. The pins fastening the gown were discarded on the table alongside her hair pins. Philomena scooped up the brush, climbing towards the bottom of the bed and perching on her knees with a bright smile, ¡°I could braid it tonight for you. We¡¯ve got enough light, and I could even do it in the dark¨C¡± ¡°--maybe before we break our fast,¡± Victoria said wearily, folding her gown and placing it in the chest, then making fast work of her quilted red petticoat, and the linen one beneath it. She untied the pockets fastened about her waist, and removed her busk that kept her posture stiff and elegant throughout the day. Each layer removed was a relief on her sore muscles and body. ¡°Would you help?¡± Victoria gestured to the back of her stays. Philomena obliged, reaching forward to deftly unfasten the strings holding it together. She tossed the brush casually into the chest before doing so. This garment was the last scrap of the day holding Victoria together, and once she¡¯d managed to pack everything away into the chest, Victoria practically melted onto the mattress beside her friend. She flung her arms wide, nearly smacking Philomena in the process. ¡°Vikki!¡± The other girl protested, ¡°mind your hands. You nearly broke my nose.¡±This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it. Victoria rolled her eyes, ¡°I hardly think you¡¯re quite that fragile, Philley.¡± Philomena nudged Victoria¡¯s shoulder, laying down beside her and reaching over to grasp at the stub of their burning candle on the side table. ¡°You know I don¡¯t like that nickname. Thomas calls me that, too, and he knows I hate it. I¡¯m not a horse!¡± She complained, blowing out the candle. The scent of smoke reminded Victoria of her earlier chore tending the fire with Lord Albert¡¯s guest. ¡°We have a Viscount in the house,¡± she whispered to her friend, tucking the thin sheet under her neck and allowing Philomena to pull their quilt over them. There was something about the comfortable darkness of their narrow space that made the tongue looser. Gossip seemed to be a lesser sin in their private confessional. ¡°Really!¡± Philomena whispered back excitedly, then she paused and added a follow-up, ¡°why?¡± ¡°Do you think I asked?¡± Victoria replied in kind with her own rhetorical question. She stared up at the admittedly low ceiling, squinting in the dark. ¡°He was talking about investing. That¡¯s the sum of what I heard.¡± ¡°Investing.¡± Philomena repeated. Their thin mattress shifted under her weight as she turned to her side to face Victoria, ¡°then he¡¯s likely very slow or very desperate. There¡¯s not one debtor in this county or the next who doesn¡¯t know Lord Albert¡¯s got nothing to his name but this house and the little bit we gather for the yearly harvests. Even most of that goes to patching the roof when it leaks, then maybe food and wages.¡± She stifled a yawn, ¡°I use the word ¡®wages¡¯ lightly, too. We live on scraps, Vikki.¡± ¡°Maybe,¡± Victoria admitted, closing her eyes, ¡°but better here than a workhouse.¡± ¡°What did he look like?¡± Philomena swiftly changed the subject, drawing a slight smile to Victoria¡¯s lips. ¡°Why do you ask? Thinking of trading Thomas off for a title?¡± She teased. Philomena huffed, giving Victoria a sharp poke in the shoulder, ¡°just tell me!¡± ¡°He dressed quite fashionably,¡± Victoria admitted, thinking back on the Viscount. Philomena responded with a flat, unimpressed tone, ¡°really? Do you mean to tell me a man just shy of being an earl would dress well? I am in deep shock. I fear I shall never recover from this news. Vikki, if you wake to find me a corpse tomorrow, I insist you take my best hair ribbons and give them to my mother.¡± Victoria laughed, ¡°I would, but those hair ribbons are mine, you grubby thief. She¡¯ll get your second best brush, and that¡¯s it.¡± ¡°Vikki, I will strangle you. Tell me more about him, you snake! Tell me about his eyes. His hair. His voice. Paint me a portrait I can keep close to my heart to stave off the cold this winter.¡± Philomena proceeded to poke and prod her shoulder even more, giggling mischievously. ¡°Fine, fine!¡± Victoria shrugged her away, rubbing at the spot that was swiftly growing more tender, ¡°you really should cut your nails,¡± she added. He really had been very handsome, Victoria allowed herself that. How best to put it to words, though, she wondered? ¡°He was tall,¡± she began, keeping her hand over her shoulder to protect it just in case she raised her friend¡¯s ire again, ¡°he had dark hair. Not black, like mine. More brown.¡± She paused, nibbling at her bottom lip as she tried to summon more details. It had been hard to capture much, given how much she¡¯d been trying to do the exact opposite. ¡°His eyes were blue. A very pretty shade of blue, like the lace on Mrs. Pragajh¡¯s apron. The good apron.¡± ¡°The good apron?¡± Philomena asked, though somehow Victoria suspected there was just a hint of sarcasm hiding under her sweet voice. ¡°The good apron, yes, the one she uses on Sundays. With the little flowers.¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t ask about the apron, Vikki. I asked about the Viscount!¡± ¡°That¡¯s all I remember!¡± Victoria insisted. ¡°He was handsome, Philley, but I didn¡¯t sit with him for a painting. You¡¯ll just have to see him for yourself.¡± They fell into a sleepy silence, Victoria moreso. She could feel the anxious energy Philomena held back in the way her friend shifted in bed, but there wasn¡¯t much she could do about that. ¡°I guess I will,¡± Philomena said with a deep yawn, ¡°we¡¯ll find his room and peep in the keyhole tomorrow after supper.¡± ¡°Absolutely not!¡± Victoria snapped shrewishly. She somehow doubted she was going to be able to keep her word, however. Guiltily, she realized, she rather liked the idea of doing just that. Philley, Victoria thought to herself, not entirely sure if she was more annoyed at her friend or herself, you really are the devil on my shoulder! Chapter 4 Before morning light, hardly a few hours after they¡¯d retired, Philomena, Victoria, and Constance drew water from a well at the edge of the garden. Victoria would turn the crank to bring the bucket to the surface, Philomena would pour it into one of many basins, and Constance would carry them to the house. It was a routine they all found they enjoyed together, while the rest of the house were busy inside cleaning what they could and preparing for the day. They had an unusual arrangement, some might say. There simply weren¡¯t enough people to go around, so even the head gardener, Mister Wilferd, and the stableboy, Thomas, would lend a hand with chores another maid or steward might assist with. ¡°My arms hurt,¡± Constance whined, returning to the garden for her fourth basin of the morning. Being sixteen, and the newest member of the staff, she also tended to feign a fragility even crystal glassware couldn¡¯t compete with. It was almost impressive. Philomena hefted the bucket from the well and poured it into another basin, giving Constance a withering glance. ¡°You¡¯re not wearing your kerchief, Connie. If you¡¯re so tired, you may as well tie it on and go about cleaning the fires. I¡¯m sure Mrs. Pragajh and Mister Grady wouldn¡¯t mind,¡± she said in a sickly sweet voice. There was a rule in the house that one had to be ¡®done up proper¡¯ if their morning outdoor chores were done. Constance¡¯s fiery red mane was a mess of unkempt curls. It was a luxury all three of them enjoyed, letting their hair breathe before getting to work. Self consciously, Constance put a hand to her head, ¡°I never said I was done helping, I just said my arms hurt. There¡¯s no need to be mean about it.¡± ¡°You¡¯ve got the easiest job!¡± Philomena snapped. Of course, she was lying. She only had to walk a few feet with the bucket from the well to pour it, but she enjoyed a good morning fight. Victoria tried to ignore the pair, instead choosing to focus on turning the crank of the well again once her friend had allowed the bucket to slip back in. This well was one of the most beautiful parts of Sommer Steppe, she often thought. The Baron¡¯s great grandfather was so fond of gardens, he¡¯d specially imported a french artist to design it. That was what Mister Wilferd had told her once, anyway. It was made of stone, and rather than a simple round wall, it had a lower lip resembling a doorstep, and a lovely saddleback roof with four columns supporting it. Above the roof was the shape of a vase. Sometimes, Victoria liked to imagine a fairy coming out of the well from some mystical land beyond the veil. Silly, she supposed, but a little imagination made the morning hours a little easier. ¡°Do you know, Philomena,¡± Constance began, preparing for what would likely be an exceedingly sharp barb, ¡°a woman of your age should be married by now. Perhaps you should focus more on courting a husband and less on lecturing.¡± Philomena gave an unladylike squeak of rage, slamming an empty basin on the ground. Victoria was careful to keep her feet safe from her friend¡¯s impotent rage. ¡°I am all of twenty, you nasty little shrew!¡± She snapped. Constance hefted up a full basin and smiled sweetly, saying nothing and haughtily marching back into the house. Smart enough to hide her smile over her shoulder, Victoria leaned against the side of the well and braced her hands against the stone behind her back. It wasn¡¯t entirely easy to manage, as stiff as her stays forced her to be, but she managed the artform of sloth well when she¡¯d a mind to. ¡°I¡¯m astonished,¡± Victoria began, carefully choosing her words, ¡°if twenty is old, I must be standing in my grave. I¡¯m twenty-six.¡± Philomena smiled thinly, selecting one of the larger basins to fill next. She did not look back at her as she spoke, ¡°well. Time is growing short.¡± ¡°You are so very lucky I don¡¯t have your temper,¡± Victoria replied, drawing one hand through her hair, which fell halfway to her waist. ¡°Come,¡± she nodded to Philomena, ¡°I brought the brush and pins in my pockets. You can braid my hair before we get back to work.¡± Her friend positively squealed with delight, bobbing on her heels and reaching forward, ¡°let¡¯s have it, then. I¡¯ve a mind to do something a little different today. I heard there¡¯s this wonderful sort of twist that¡¯s become quite fashionable in the ton.¡±Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more. ¡°Where on earth did you hear anything about the ton? Save your fairy tales for Constance and get to work,¡± Victoria directed impatiently, shaking her head in disbelief even as she turned back so that Philomena could have access to her hair while she reached under her quilted petticoat to grasp at her pockets. She retrieved the brush and several pins, alongside a ribbon to hand over to Philomena in one disorganized lump. ¡°At market,¡± Philomena retorted, ¡°there¡¯s a girl or two with family in London. Then there¡¯s the gossip papers they¡¯re always banding about.¡± ¡°You can¡¯t read,¡± Victoria pointed out. ¡°I can still listen,¡± she insisted, setting the pins and ribbon on the lip of a well wall so she could get to work brushing Victoria¡¯s hair. ¡°You ought to try your hand at it too,¡± she suggested. Victoria laughed, replying, ¡°reading? I already read.¡± Philomena sharply rapped her friend¡¯s shoulder with the wooden brush. ¡°Listening!¡± She scolded, ¡°you should try listening.¡± She made fast work of Victoria¡¯s hair, tying it smartly into two long but intricate braids, pinning them close so that they could be easily hidden by her kerchief. Then Victoria set to work on Philomena¡¯s finer locks, which were better suited to a simple bun atop her head. On their short days they were allotted apart from their tasks, they would take turns sharing an iron by one of the fires to experiment with curls. Philomena¡¯s rarely held for very long, but Victoria loved how her hair seemed to shine with so little effort. ¡°Am I next?¡± Constance chirped, returning for another basin just as Victoria finished. ¡°I don¡¯t know, my joints may be too stiff to help you,¡± Philomena replied with an arrogant turn of her head. Even as she did so, she still helped wrangle the younger girl¡¯s hair into an acceptable style. There was no real heat to their fights. They simply enjoyed having something to bicker about. To Victoria, it seemed almost like a routine. The morning dance between two sharp tongues that always ended before any real damage could be done to each other¡¯s pride. They resumed their morning chores, finishing up with gathering the water for the household as quickly as they could manage. Then they set about helping open the windows throughout the house to air it out for the morning, and both Constance and Philomena parted ways to tend to the fires while Victoria checked to see that Lady Elmira was still resting soundly. By the time they were ready to break their fasts, they were ravenous. ¡°You know,¡± Philomena remarked as they made their way together through the corridor that led to the kitchens, ¡°I could swear I felt someone watching us this morning.¡± ¡°You can¡¯t feel eyes, you ninny,¡± Constance retorted, rolling her eyes. Philomena scowled, clasping her hands in front of her, ¡°yes,¡± she insisted, ¡°you can. I swear, there was someone out there in the garden. I have a sense for these sorts of things.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t start on that again,¡± Victoria said with a long-suffering sigh, ¡°you don¡¯t see spirits, and you don¡¯t have any extra senses beyond an exceedingly tiresome imagination.¡± ¡°I do see spirits!¡± Philomena snapped, walking faster than the pair of them to stride swiftly through the kitchen door, ¡°how else do you think I found Mrs. Pragajh¡¯s in the larder when it went missing?¡± ¡°You¡¯re not on that old chestnut again, are you?¡± A snide voice interrupted them. Gordon, the steward, was seated at the large kitchen table already with his shoes propped up in front of him as he nursed a large mug of hot ale. He was a master of ruining anyone¡¯s good mood if he¡¯d a mind to it. ¡°Feet off the ruddy table!¡± Mrs. Pragajh bellowed, her back to the lot of them while she deftly handled a pot hanging over the cookfire. If anyone could feel eyes on them, Victoria had her money on the cook. Mrs. Pragajh was sturdy. Gordon, alternatively, was just a little too thin. One would hardly believe that the cook, a woman well into her late fifties by now, ate half of what Gordon might consume on any given day. Rarely had Victoria seen him without a bit of bread in hand or a drink when he wasn¡¯t fast at work painting himself the gentleman upstairs he most certainly was not downstairs. ¡°Mrs. Pragajh,¡± he very nearly cooed, placing a hand on his chest in mock offense as he lowered his feet to the ground as quietly as he could manage, ¡°I would never do something so ill-bred as soil your lovely table.¡± Lovely was certainly a word to describe the large ash-wood furniture. Years of surface had left it pockmarked, burnt, scratched, and scarred. ¡°You¡¯ve a nerve,¡± Mrs. Pragajh scolded him, hefting the cooking pot deftly with thick towels to support it so she could place it on the table. ¡°Porridge with a scrap of bacon for the lot of you,¡± she nodded towards the girls and Gordon, ¡°now eat fast before the rest of those lot come in to finish it off. Lot o¡¯ animals, they are.¡± She nodded at Gordon, ¡°and that¡¯s your drink for the morning. You¡¯ve already polished off twice your share.¡± She turned back to the cookfire to reach above it and snatch up a heavy serving spoon, side-eying Philomena, ¡°you see anything funny in the garden, girl? Cracked three eggs afore you lot showed up, all of them rotten. Bad luck, that. Best say our prayers tonight.¡± Victoria politely took her seat at the table, biting her tongue. Everything was bad luck in their cook¡¯s point of view. She was convinced the devil had come to the county years ago and never left. Sometimes it was best to just say nothing. Chapter 5 Lord Grace reclined in what must have once been a very grand wooden chair beside the window, graceful fingers toying with the golden ropes that tied the drapes back. His hair was washed and in an emerald silk head wrap that might very well have covered a years¡¯ wages for the measly staff of the crumbling manor he found himself in. His matching banyan robe and fine sleeping gown underneath would have covered ten times as much. His servant, Aldman, had just finished brushing out his coat from the day and was hanging it in a grand bureau against the wall, which faced a large bed that had seen better days. The sheets would need replacing, the blankets, perhaps even the mattress. The canopy was fine enough, Lord Grace supposed, but he didn¡¯t much like the faded burgundy color that matched the drapes of Lord Albert¡¯s quarters. ¡°We¡¯ll have to do a complete redesign of this place, my friend,¡± Lord Grace said, letting out what most would consider a theatrical sigh. Nearly comedic, in fact. Beside the door, Lord Albert remained standing ramrod straight, staring into the distance with a glazed look in his eyes. His jaw sagged just so, his hands trembling from too many hours without a drink for his constitution to abide. ¡°You will sleep like that today, I think. It will do you some good. Then you can report to that grubby little doctor in your employ and tell him you¡¯ve taken ill. Afterwards, sleep in the miserable excuse for a guest room your staff prepared for me. These will be my quarters for the foreseeable future,¡± Lord Grace explained to the man, his words imparting just enough power in them to force Lord Albert¡¯s hands to stop shaking. Before dawn, when he retired to bed, he¡¯d see to it that Aldman gave the man a dose of good brandy. ¡°Aldman,¡± the viscount called out to his servant, ¡°my nails have never shone so beautifully. Your skills are improving,¡± he complimented him, unconcerned by Aldman¡¯s silence. A man without a tongue had very little to say, after all. ¡°The body is to be discarded in the river. Further from the village this time. We don¡¯t want needless concerns or commoners getting superstitious. You may see to that once I am resting. As usual, once I retire at dawn, no one is to enter this room. Am I understood?¡± Aldman nodded curtly. He very rarely made mistakes, and the few he¡¯d made had cost him enough to warrant utmost care in following instructions to the letter. Lord Grace continued, ¡°I think in the evening, I¡¯ll wear the scarlet and gold number. Something for a real entrance when we dine. By tomorrow evening, I want the entire county to know of the fine guest Sommer Steppe has brought. Then we¡¯ll see about staffing. I can¡¯t abide how shabby this place looks. I¡¯ll need to send a letter to my solicitor, and perhaps summon several of the staff at the townhouse. Tomorrow I¡¯ll prepare a list of necessities, and I expect you to ensure they arrive promptly,¡± he peered through the window as he spoke, eyes fixed on a trio of girls down in the gardens fast at work by a well. Maids. He¡¯d seen one of them earlier that night, he realized. Quiet. A nervous creature, he mused. Rather like a small bird.If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. ¡°My, my,¡± he whispered to himself, ¡°such lovely hair.¡± Glancing back at his servant, Lord Grace smiled as warmly as he could - - which was to say very coolly, but without the promise of murder, ¡°Aldman. Prepare some letters for my tailor as well. The tight-lipped one in London. Have him bring along a modiste. Someone who doesn¡¯t talk too much.¡± Aldman bowed in ascent, kneeling at the foot of the bed to open a large trunk retrieved from their carriage. He pulled out several cotton sachets which he placed strategically about the bed. In them were mixtures of earth and flowers. Night-blooming jasmine and foxglove were some of Lord Grace¡¯s favorites. They allowed him to be more restful, while imparting a little strength. Or so he liked to believe. It was what his maker told him once, before the creature had shuffled off into the night and left him with few other scraps of knowledge to live off. Fortunately, he¡¯d always been a good study in life, and seventy years of death had served him well enough. Lord Grace had encountered few others of his kind in England, but he didn¡¯t hesitate to consider himself one of the smartest of the lot. Once the bed was properly made, Lord Grace gestured for his servant to leave without so much as another word. They¡¯d been together for nearly two decades. Some things simply didn¡¯t need to be said. Just to the side of the window, behind his chair, there was a small table with a try on it. He¡¯d placed a freshly-filled glass of blood and a half-finished book there to enjoy before retiring. Reaching behind him with elegant fingers, he snatched up both and looked back out the window. The girls were still there. Two of them, at any rate. He pondered how many maids he would need to fill the staff. There was so much dust caked into the very walls of this room alone, it might very well take an army to properly scrub the place clean top to bottom. ¡°Now, where was I,¡± he whispered, flipping through his book until he found the cloth ribbon marking his spot. ¡°Words cannot paint the horror of the Princess¡¯s situation. Alone in so dismal a place, her mind imprinted with all the terrible events of the day, hopeless of escaping, expecting every moment the arrival of Manfred¡­¡± He read aloud to himself. The Castle of Otranto. He¡¯d been meaning to finish the damned thing for some years now, perhaps this little visit to the countryside would be just the excuse he needed. A far cry from the religious and philosophical texts he voraciously consumed in life, these modern stories could be quite entertaining. At least one wasn¡¯t expected to believe what was written in them. He lowered the book into his lap and took a sip from his glass. Tepid, now, but good enough. It still suffused him with some sense of vitality. Life. ¡°Perhaps,¡± he mused to himself, ¡°it¡¯s time I finally tried something new.¡± He looked back out the window. Conversation with himself was becoming dull. Conversation with Aldman even worse. He had a mind to do something about that. He could do with the entertainment.