Where There Is Nothing

I

Father Dolling viewed his visitor thoughtfully, behind his glasses, then his inquisitive eyes swept over the room, a silence having abruptly descended upon them, leaving them both slightly embarrassed. "I beg your pardon if my words have unintentionally caused offense. I merely stated my perception of the truth," he added, his dark brows knitting together thoughtfully.

"Of course," she replied, a swift smile breaking through the lingering tension. "Your honesty is refreshing, Father. I have sought your counsel because of your reputation as an astute investigator."

The Reverent Father, appreciating her candor, offered a welcoming gesture, inviting her to take a seat. The rain drummed persistently against the windowpanes, and lighting followed as the storm rolled back in their direction, twice the thunder caused the windows rattling in response. With each flash that illuminated the room, he found himself ensnared by her presence. It was as if the confines of the room ceased to exist, leaving their gazes entwined in a silent exchange. The soft delicate contours of her youthful face, the intensity of brown in her eyes, and the scent of lilac flowers that enveloped her like a gossamer veil held him spellbound. Unbidden, a subtle smile curved his lips as she extended her hand towards him without hesitation. He grasped her slender fingers within his own, with a grip that was both respectful and firm. An enigmatic allure emanated from her, and her marbled eyes spoke of a profound melancholy, heightening the enigma surrounding her.

A fragment of the moon peeked behind gray clouds, through the chenille curtains, its crescent shape seemingly bestowing a benevolent side grin upon the manor, as flashes of lighting casted an ethereal luminescence into the room.

"You strike me as a man of learning, Father," she pressed on, her eyes aglow with genuine curiosity. "I wonder, what prompted you to estrange yourself from society?"

The Reverent Father leaned back against the plush cushion of his armchair, savoring its comfort. "Ah, society and I have simply grown apart, my lady," he responded with a sardonic twist of his lips. "It's a matter of mutual indifference, I assure you."

With a captivating intensity, she leaned forward. "But surely, you must feel a sense of loss," she persisted. "To be cut off from the world of art, literature, and music?"

The Reverent Father's chuckle emerged softly, an appreciation of her fervent curiosity. "You misconstrue me. I've not renounced those pleasures, rather, the superficial company that often accompanies them. I find greater solace in my work, in the pursuit of truth, than in the idle chatter of the upper echelons."

"Indeed, you posses a discerning palate," she remarked, a hint of playful banter dancing in her words. "Perhaps your discernment could be of service to me, Father."

Just as their conversation took an intriguing turn, a knock resounded at the door, followed by Sister Olivia's voice from behind the door. "Excuse me, Father. I have refreshments if you please?" she ventured, her tone carrying a note of uncertainty.

The Reverent Father shook his head, a fleeting look of annoyance flickering across his face momentarily before vanishing.

Unsure whether she should enter or leave, Sister Olivia found herself emboldened by the lack of immediate dismissal, and opted to open the door, holding a large tea-tray adorned with an assortment of refreshments and pastries on one hand. "Pardon the intrusion Father. Am I interrupting?" she ventured, kneeling before the party and carefully setting the platter on the table, the door gently falling shut behind her.

"Is your appetite awakened, miss?" she inquired, her tone carrying a touch of insistence.

"Not of want of food, though I would welcome a cup of tea," Lady Eliza responded, her gaze briefly scanning the assortment before her. "Something calming, perhaps chamomile, if you have it?"