Castle, the Lady Marianne, lay late abed on this glorious May morning. In her hand she held the disquieting letter from Sir Claudius Potter. It had been delivered to her a few moments earlier by Mrs. Greenbell, who was now fussing with the grate in the fireplace.
Considerate of the old woman, Marianne lifted her head. "The chill will be dissipated shortly, Mrs. Greenbell. Don't bother with a fire."
The portly woman raised up from her labors and looked puzzled toward the bed. Once the children's nursemaid, she had stayed on at Eden Castle and now served more as Marianne's companion than servant. Marianne looked lovingly in her direction. They shared the same birth year and now at sixty-seven they were well into old age together, both widowed. Although Mrs. Greenbell had had children, they were all dead, and Marianne was more than willing to share her own unruly brood.
"You said you were cold," Mrs. Greenbell stated, still looking confused.
"I'm always cold," Marianne laughed. "You should know that by now."
The two women exchanged a glance. Mrs. Greenbell moved closer with a lecture. "Some extra flesh wouldn't hurt, you know," she said, critically eyeing Marianne's frail frame.
Marianne waited out the lecture, as she'd waited them out for the last thirty years. She'd never carried much weight, saw no reason to start now. With the exception of the continuous chills, which she could date from that cold winter night nine years ago when Thomas had slipped from her, she was hale enough. That had been the day the sun had disappeared, and the nights had become merely unbearable hours to get through.
As though aware of the mood into which Marianne was slipping, Mrs. Greenbell stepped closer. "Will you be getting up and about this morning, milady? And what of breakfast. Miss Cranford is waiting—"
At the mention of the name, Marianne looked up. She disliked the thought of Miss Cranford waiting on her for anything, that officious female who had moved into the castle years ago in the company of her brother, Caleb. From Yorkshire they had come, both as hard and as cold as the moors of their birthplace. Caleb had served as tutor to the boys, and Sophia Cranford had taken over the duties of head house warden after the death of dear old Dolly Wisdom. Now that the boys were grown and Caleb's tutorial services were no longer needed, he had assumed the role of companion and business adviser to James. As though pondering an ancient mystery, Marianne brooded, on whose authority? How had the Cranfords managed such a discreet and skillful climb?
Out of the habit of honesty, Marianne was incapable of repressing her feelings. "The hag," she now muttered.
Mrs. Greenbell smiled. "You should see her this morning," she gossiped. "In a gown of lavender taffeta." She leaned closer. "With paint on her face."
Marianne shook her head. "Just coffee, Mrs. Greenbell, please." She looked up, almost pleading. "And would you fetch it yourself? Bring two cups, one for you." Marianne disliked asking the old woman to perform servant duties. It was a long climb four floors down to the kitchen. She might have used the bell cord beside her bed, an elaborate system of signals installed several years ago at Caleb Cranford's insistence. But if she pulled the bell cord, she knew who would appear. And she wasn't up to it. Not this morning.
Uncomplaining, Mrs. Greenbell started for the door. Again Marianne stopped her. "Was this all the post?" she inquired. "No word from Jennifer?"
Mrs. Greenbell shook her head. "There were other letters, a few for the Cranfords, two for Lord Eden—"
Marianne looked sharply up. "Lord—" She caught herself. Embar-
rassed, she shook her head and turned her eyes toward the morning sun spilHng in through the windows. Incredibly she felt the beginning of tears. When would the name cease to have power to stir her? "Lord Eden" no longer meant Thomas. Lord Eden meant James, her younger son.
Aware of Mrs. Greenbell's close scrutiny
Considerate of the old woman, Marianne lifted her head. "The chill will be dissipated shortly, Mrs. Greenbell. Don't bother with a fire."
The portly woman raised up from her labors and looked puzzled toward the bed. Once the children's nursemaid, she had stayed on at Eden Castle and now served more as Marianne's companion than servant. Marianne looked lovingly in her direction. They shared the same birth year and now at sixty-seven they were well into old age together, both widowed. Although Mrs. Greenbell had had children, they were all dead, and Marianne was more than willing to share her own unruly brood.
"You said you were cold," Mrs. Greenbell stated, still looking confused.
"I'm always cold," Marianne laughed. "You should know that by now."
The two women exchanged a glance. Mrs. Greenbell moved closer with a lecture. "Some extra flesh wouldn't hurt, you know," she said, critically eyeing Marianne's frail frame.
Marianne waited out the lecture, as she'd waited them out for the last thirty years. She'd never carried much weight, saw no reason to start now. With the exception of the continuous chills, which she could date from that cold winter night nine years ago when Thomas had slipped from her, she was hale enough. That had been the day the sun had disappeared, and the nights had become merely unbearable hours to get through.
As though aware of the mood into which Marianne was slipping, Mrs. Greenbell stepped closer. "Will you be getting up and about this morning, milady? And what of breakfast. Miss Cranford is waiting—"
At the mention of the name, Marianne looked up. She disliked the thought of Miss Cranford waiting on her for anything, that officious female who had moved into the castle years ago in the company of her brother, Caleb. From Yorkshire they had come, both as hard and as cold as the moors of their birthplace. Caleb had served as tutor to the boys, and Sophia Cranford had taken over the duties of head house warden after the death of dear old Dolly Wisdom. Now that the boys were grown and Caleb's tutorial services were no longer needed, he had assumed the role of companion and business adviser to James. As though pondering an ancient mystery, Marianne brooded, on whose authority? How had the Cranfords managed such a discreet and skillful climb?
Out of the habit of honesty, Marianne was incapable of repressing her feelings. "The hag," she now muttered.
Mrs. Greenbell smiled. "You should see her this morning," she gossiped. "In a gown of lavender taffeta." She leaned closer. "With paint on her face."
Marianne shook her head. "Just coffee, Mrs. Greenbell, please." She looked up, almost pleading. "And would you fetch it yourself? Bring two cups, one for you." Marianne disliked asking the old woman to perform servant duties. It was a long climb four floors down to the kitchen. She might have used the bell cord beside her bed, an elaborate system of signals installed several years ago at Caleb Cranford's insistence. But if she pulled the bell cord, she knew who would appear. And she wasn't up to it. Not this morning.
Uncomplaining, Mrs. Greenbell started for the door. Again Marianne stopped her. "Was this all the post?" she inquired. "No word from Jennifer?"
Mrs. Greenbell shook her head. "There were other letters, a few for the Cranfords, two for Lord Eden—"
Marianne looked sharply up. "Lord—" She caught herself. Embar-
rassed, she shook her head and turned her eyes toward the morning sun spilHng in through the windows. Incredibly she felt the beginning of tears. When would the name cease to have power to stir her? "Lord Eden" no longer meant Thomas. Lord Eden meant James, her younger son.
Aware of Mrs. Greenbell's close scrutiny
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