In his left hand he held up the little brass bell. The firelight flickered and ricocheted against both the bell and the diamond ring on Julian’s index finger. One pleased Julian, the other did not. Julian tinkled the little bell. The motion sent flashes of color darting from the diamond. Julian remembered his lost dream. Not too much time had passed since he had been seated at his table in his townhouse in Belgrave Square—diamonds, all shapes and sizes, spread out in front of him on an aubergine velvet cloth. Perhaps again…one day…
Julian let his hand fall into his lap—the sound of the bell muffled in the folds of his sapphire blue silk dressing gown.
“Punch, old friend, how did you do it?” Julian mumbled. “How did you find the courage to be free?”
Julian chuckled to himself. A puppet—cloth and papier mache and wax, legless, no breath, no heart, no…
“No.” Julian shook his head. “Yet, it is far freer than I.”
Julian felt dizzy. He knew he’d best change for dinner. The Duchess of Fallbridge would not look kindly on tardiness to yet another meal. Besides, she’d expect an update on the search for Barbara. Would she be pleased that he had already planned to sail for America? No doubt she already knew of his intentions. If Jackson hadn’t mentioned that Julian had requested the schedule for RMS Hyperion—the new Cunard ship—then certainly Arthur had already reported all that they’d discovered.
Julian was startled by the chiming of the clock on the mantle. He had an hour before dinner. He rose and walked into his bedroom. Pausing in front of the gilt pier mirror he studied himself, using his fingers to brush his chestnut hair over the welt on his forehead. He tilted his head upward to study his throat. Two small plum-sized bruises were beginning to rise on either side of his neck, bruises the size of punch’s club-like, cold, little hands.
Walking to his wardrobe to select a cravat, an idea settled in Julian’s brain and he turned quickly on his heel. Walking quickly, his dressing gown fluttering around the legs of his trousers, Julian hurried into the passage and stealthily made his way toward his sister’s room. He entered without knocking, thinking that surely the room would be empty.
It, however, wasn’t.
“Mary,” Julian began, “I’m terribly sorry.”
“S’all right, Sir.” Mary answered quickly, rising from where she sat on Barbara’s bed. The young housemaid—who also served as Barbara’s lady’s maid—swiped at her face with her pink hands, leaving shining wet patches on her ruddy skin where just seconds before tears had stung her young expression.
“Please don’t tell Her Grace you caught me here. No use having her think me idle, if you’ll pardon my asking, Sir.” Mary said in a whisper.
“No matter, Mary.” Julian responded gently.
“We’re all, I think, quite distraught at Lady Barbara’s unexpected departure.”
“Yes, Sir.” Mary said.
“It was unexpected, wasn’t it?” Julian asked softly.
“Yes.”
“She didn’t mention her plans to you?” Julian asked.
“No, Sir. Only…”
“Only?”
“Well, sir, she did tell me not to lay out her tea dress for her and she dismissed me ever so…” The girl’s voice trailed off.
“I understand.” Julian said. “Listen, Mary, perhaps you can assist me. I came here hoping to get a sense of what Barbara might have taken with her.”
“Nothing is out of place, Sir.” Mary said. “I was just looking myself. All her clothes and things are just where they ought to be.”
“Peculiar.” Julian nodded. “Though I’m sure she’s made arrangements for other articles. I can’t imagine my sister not having a full wardrobe at her disposal. I can’t imagine that she’d have been able to carry a trunk and baggage out of the Hall on her own especially with any discretion.”
“No, Sir.” Mary sniffed.
“So, you say nothing is missing?”
“Well, Sir…your Lordship…” The tears began to swell in Mary’s eyes again.
“Her jewel casket…”
“I see.” Julian nodded.
“I didn’t take it, Sir.” Mary sobbed.
“No one said you did.” Julian answered soothingly.
“Only Her Grace will think that maybe I…”
“No.” Julian shook his head. “Don’t fret, girl. The Duchess will think no such thing. It only makes sense that Lady Barbara would take her jewels.”
Mary sighed. “I’d best go tend to the grates in Her Grace’s chambers less Mrs. Foster find out that I’m not keeping to the schedule, Sir.”
“We wouldn’t want that. Run along and don’t worry about a thing. We’ll find Lady Barbara and bring her home.” Julian smiled.
“Thank you ever so much, Lord Fallbridge. I suspect you’re about the only person in the ‘ouse who’s so understanding, Sir.”
“Not at all.”
Mary flitted toward the chamber door.
“Sir,” She paused, “You won’t mention to Mrs. Foster, either?”
“No, Mary.” Julian shook his head.
“Oh, thank you, Sir.” Mary bowed her head, and, then, exited quickly.
“I have no more desire to speak to Mrs. Foster than I do anyone else.” Julian muttered to himself.
In fact, he could only think of two occasions in the last year that he’d said a word to the Mrs. Foster, the Housekeeper. She was nearly, but not quite, as disagreeable as his mother. Perhaps that’s why the two got along so well. They shared some mutual dyspepsia that knew no borders of class or station.
Julian spent a good quarter of an hour looking around his sister’s room. He found nothing out of the ordinary except, as Mary had reported, Barbara’s jewel case had been removed.
As he exited his sister’s chamber, he was not surprised to find Arthur lurking outside the door.
“Lord Fallbridge,” Arthur grinned.
“Her Grace wishes to see me before dinner. Isn’t that right, Arthur?” Julian said with no expression.
Arthur smiled broadly. “Yes, sir. And, Jackson left the schedule for the Hyperion on your desk.”
“Thank you.” Julian nodded, heading up the passage.
“I’ll help you dress, Sir.” Arthur followed.
“Not necessary.” Julian shook his head as he walked. “Thank you.”
Once inside his study, Julian leaned against the door for a moment and breathed deeply to try to calm the racing of his heart.
On his desk, he saw papers that hadn’t been there when he left. Most likely, Jackson’s report on the sailing of the Hyperion, Julian thought.
He was partially correct. There was one other page…a pink-hued leaf. A bold, deliberate hand of blood-red ink which made Julian gulp.
Master,
Bells sound out her pain.
Find me now or I’ll be lost,
In the sugar cane.
--Punch
“Perhaps, you’re not as free as I thought,” Julian mumbled, his hand shaking. “Perhaps no one really is…”
Did you miss Chapters 1-6? If so, you can read them here.
5 comments:
It is sad to think that a long voyage at sea is probably safer for Julian than a continued existence in that conspiratorial house. Never really considered how little real privacy the supposedly priveleged could enjoy. Very interesting insight into life in a manor house.
This is really good.
You're right Dashwood, we don't really think about it, but the people in those great houses had very little privacy. Some of them just ignored the staff as if they were simply tools or pieces of furniture. However, I think I'd have a hard time with that and would feel as if I always had someone's eyes on me. Julian, on the other hand, seems to feel that way all the time. And, with good reason...
Thank you, Fran!
On the subject of great houses and privacy, it depends on what calibre staff/servants one has. As you're already showing with Mary, a good (or at least I assume she is; you hint that she is) staffer may (at least) someone one can confide in. Not that Julian is, but... Good staff can be more like family than family.
Also - I imagine that you chose the ship's name 'Hyperion' deliberately. Not 'just a name I pulled out of the air' but as something which enhances the story. Hyperion was a figure of Greek myth who fell partly through presumption and partly through the jealousy of others. And that 'rings' perfectly with what you are showing so far of this conspiratorial house (as Dashwood puts it).
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