The Ghost of Winn Peterson

24. Winn

Cont'd

Our mysterious guest was both delighted and intimidated by the grim decorations Dr. Radcliffe had installed in his home. As I guided him around the dark and poorly-lit property (indeed, I learned too well how little a candle actually lights with black curtains up at every window), I found myself not with some sense of satisfaction at hearing every exclamation of admirable disgust from the guest.

He had introduced himself as a Sir Carroway deCourt, a sort of lower-standing nobleman, but he carried himself with as much grace and refinement as any proud lord of the upper crust of English society. He wore all white, and carried a cane with him, a cane which I could not easily discern the purpose for - was he struck with an illness that prevented his walking about without the elegant stick, or was it merely that, an elegant prop? I had never been around royalty or noblemen in my life, and so found myself rather flustered at the sight of it. Should I offer him a seat to rest his legs, or would the implications of attending to a nonexistent injury be considered rude?

After some time of watching me stammer and cast many a worried glance at his cane, the gentleman gave me a reassuring smile and bowed his head a little. "You needn't trouble yourself with my injury, my lady. I quite enjoy walking despite it, though I appreciate your concern." Relieved that I no longer had to strain over the safety or comfort of Lord deCourt (what a curious sound of letters, though it did sound better in his accent), I sighed heavily.

"You must forgive my hesitance to approach the subject," I said hurriedly, patting the snarling but stuffed head Pyotr. "As you can no doubt tell, I am as much a stranger to this country as you are to this house, and rather lacking in my ability to discern what might be appropriate to bring up in conversation!"

Pale eyes crinkled as he smiled. He was rather handsome, for a man of his age (I felt keenly the desire not to ask, but did note the greying of the hair by the sides of his head, and the development of lines across his forehead and under his eyes). The crinkling of a smile, though showing his age, somehow did not contribute to him looking the part of an elderly, cantankerous sort. My father possessed eyes like this. If my father spent his days at the sea, squinting into the sun, or home with my mother and I, attempting to bring laughter to us always, then I deduced this white-clad stranger was either a sailor or a man of exceptional humour. Given the cane, I was inclined towards the latter. 

Reaching his hand out, the Lord inclined his head as much as he could and begged my forgiveness for not having asked my name. The movement was stiff, and I felt at once for the visible pain this caused him. 

"I am Winnifred Peterson, and shall implore you to call me Winn, if only you'll pull your head back up!" He complied rather easily, but took one of my hands in his and smiled. 

"A pleasure to meet then, Ms. Peterson." He patted my captive hand. "You will have to forgive my use of your surname, but a gentleman must never call a lady by her Christian name outside of the bonds of marriage."

I blinked in surprise before nodding. "That may be very well, but I am no lady." At this, Lord deCourt blinked in astonishment before swivelling his gaze at the house around him. I could see it plainly before he asked - what was a young woman, free of the class of nobility, doing in the home of an esteemed doctor, if I was not a lady and assuredly not of the doctor's family? The brief flash of fear in having engaged with a maid or a serving lady passed his face, but was gone so quickly, I assumed I had quite imagined it. 

"May I..."

"Of course, but let us get on with the tour you wished for, and I shall explain as we stumble over the cobwebs."

We had already exhausted the ground floor, and so made our way slowly up the stairs, a pair of the slowest and most faint people in all of England, no doubt. Indeed, so slowly did the Lord wobble up each step, his cane shaking dangerously whenever he put weight on it, I was able to describe to him all the details that foresaw my coming to this loathsome house. For all of my tellings, the Lord only gave an absent, stern look that could very well have been storing information away for a time when he wasn't perilously close to breaking his neck. Fortunately for the both of us (I would no doubt be imprisoned for being complicit in the death of a nobleman), we arrived on the second floor with no injuries and a sense of having earned the views that awaited us. As my chambers were further down the hall, I neglected to take him towards the room. Doctor Radcliffe and Evie's barred doors were even further than mine, and I wished in no way to introduce myself to the terrifying figure that was my angry friend. I only cast the hallway a sad glance before taking one of the Lord's arms in my own and guiding him gently past the walls of paintings and macabre decorations.