Where There Is Nothing

I

With a respectful bow and having nothing else to say, Sister Olivia promptly retreated, and bound by her habitual obedience to the Reverent Father found her contemplating thoughts fading into insignificance.

In the dimly lit corridors of the East Wing's first floor, beneath the slumbering chambers of the children and facing the library-room, lay the drawing-room. It stood as an echo of faded grandeur in its decor and furnishings, and despite its vastness, the room felt hollow and desolate, as it was just another room in a house never made for the purpose of a home. Heavy brocade curtains, moth-eaten and frayed with age, hung like shrouds over the windows, obscuring the view of the terrace beyond. The fire in the hearth crackled with a forlorn sigh, casting eerie shadows that danced across the walls, yet failing to dispel the pervasive sense of gloom that permeated the space. And amidst the shadows, a figure reclined upon a window-seat, cloaked in garments that spoke of elegance and adorned with taste.

As the Reverent Father made his way down the long, winding corridor, a sense of foreboding gripped his heart, guiding him inexorably toward the drawing-room. Twice he hesitated, his steps faltering as a chill wind whispered through the drafty halls, but a morbid curiosity compelled him forward, despite the onset of a familiar fit of coughing that wracked his frail form. Now at the face of the door, the threshold, a subtle fluctuation of temperature attached to him like a second skin, like a sort of sixth sense he had learned to understand with unfaltering devotion, a gift from God's benevolent love. Upon opening the door, his gaze fell upon the figure, her back turned to him, seemingly lost in a reverie.

"Quite a chilly night," he said, as the candlelight illuminating his face, giving away his good looks; for a man his age.

The woman who lingered for a fleeting instant, then turned and locked onto him in a steady, unwavering gaze. Then, with a subtle expression of contempt, she rose and crossed the room to him. "Father Arthur Dolling?" she inquired, surprised, as she surveyed him by the light of the candelabra.

"Indeed," he replied, and with the elegance of a bygone era, he raised her hand to his lips and planted a respectful kiss upon her skin. His keen eyes roamed over every contour of her countenance, capturing the nuances of her expression. And in that suspended moment, he saw the contradictions that danced in her eyes —a mixture of vulnerability and fortitude.

"How extraordinary!" she breathed, her astonishment infusing her words as their gaze remained locked. Their connection unbroken, save for the intermittent flutter of an eyelash. "I have searched for you," she continued, her voice carrying a subtle yet distinct accent that hinted at her foreign nationality.

The Reverent Fathers eyebrow arched, intrigued by her proclamation. "Searched for me? Do, reveal just how you managed to locate me?"

A moment of hesitation preceded her response."Let's just say, Father, that I possess advantages that grant me insights into individuals like yourself."

True to his observation prowess, his analytical mind wove intricate threads, forming speculations. He observed an undeniable truth about her: that she was a foreigner of undeniable wealth. However, he held his deductions close, reluctant to easily give away his insights and risk spoiling the conversation. Instead, he offered a warm smile. "It is truly an honor to have captured the attention of anybody here alone in my hideaway retreat. If you would indulge my curiosity, my lady, may I know your name?"

"Of course," she replied, her voice tinged with a sorrow as deep as the abyss. "I am Elena Svensdotter."

The Reverent Father's gaze remained unflinching, his smile a mere suggestion as he weighed his response carefully. He recognized the implications of that name—that it was linked to a history of well-born, genteel and well-bred individuals of esteemed social stature. That if given the opportunity it could bring him closer to providence. Yet, he treaded with caution, for now, choosing to navigate this delicate terrain with some finesse. "While I have taken residence within these walls for many years, I must confess that my ties to high society have waned. I cannot claim to be intimately acquainted with the ways of that world any longer. Nonetheless, it is truly apparent that you hail from an illustrious lineage," he acknowledged, a subtle nod directed toward her elegant attire.