The Lord of Bryn Du

Chapter 9

Although Helga was grateful for the meal Wynn had prepared for her, her appetite was actually nowhere to be found. She was lucky Wynn had left to prepare dinner for Alys and lord Thorne, so that after a few bites she could leave the leftovers in the fridge and rush back up to her room. The meeting with the Lord had apparently not changed anything about his desire to get to know her, or even share dinner with her.

Part of her was tempted to return to the old salon, still able to feel the cold keys of the piano beneath her fingers. It was an odd longing, but one she managed to shake quickly upon hearing Alys' high pitched voice resound through the hallway. She turned herself around, half a mind to wish the girl a good night's sleep. However, it was not Wynn she was clinging to. It was lord Thorne whose hand she was holding.

Helga caught herself staring from the dimly lit hallway, not even sure if either of them noticed her presence.

Thorne looked peaceful, and surprisingly interested listening to what Alys had to tell him. Today's stories, Helga could see the drawing she had been working on clutched in Alys' free hand.

He was smiling, actually smiling.

It was a look that suited him a lot better than the grim, mysterious expression he had worn before, Helga decided, and again chided herself for staring at them without making her presence known.

"I will see you tomorrow, Helga!"

Busted.

Quickly forcing a soft smile onto her lips Helga pretended only just having noticed them. Apparently not convincing enough by the small, but knowing grin finding its way up all the way to the Lord's eyes. There was mischief in them, and Helga involuntarily shuddered. She had come here to get away from men with knowing, hidden smiles, not to be trapped in a mansion with one.

"Sweet dreams Alys, I will see you again tomorrow for our classes," she managed to say. Classes she still had to prepare, she reminded herself. It was probably a good idea to take her laptop into Grenlae sometime soon so she could steal some internet from the local coffee shop - if they would let her. While she had access to the same books she was already familiar with because of her former workplace, the lack of internet was truly something that bothered her around here. She hadn't thought it possible that there was a single household that was still without internet at all. How did they do their taxes? Online banking? Keeping track of the news.

Alys gave her another gleeful wave before dragging the lord along who did not seem to protest at all.

"Good night," Helga quickly said, but received no answer. Thorne's attention was again on Alys, and Helga could not blame him either. They were close, that much was obvious. Distant relatives or not, they shared a bond that looked not much different than father and daughter. She once again reminded herself that children were the best judges of character, and if Alys loved him so, she should probably give him the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps he was one of those men that found handling adults - and then especially adult women - complicated. Perhaps he was awkward, and that was where his rudeness had stemmed from. She didn't know, she might find out, but she told herself to keep hope. It had only been a week.

A week. It felt like months.

She sighed, and did not wait for them to disappear into the west wing of the house, quickly locking the door to her own room behind her.

Helga had grown to like this room, even though it still needed her own personal touch. A few plants, maybe she could order some decorations for on the walls when she would get her first paycheck. Make it more homely. Right now it just felt like a fancy hotel room to her.

It was only eight thirty, giving her plenty of times to look through the materials she would go over with Alys this week. She was a clever girl, a fast learner. Eager as well, qualities Helga really appreciated when it came to her students. Yes, she was still young, a child, often distracted quickly, but these one on one lessons really helped with that.

It was eleven when Helga finally noticed the skies had already grown dark, her bed beckoning her to go to sleep. Probably a good idea too. It had been a long, confusing weekend. Taking a warm shower always relaxed her, and it made her even more drowsy than she had been before.. Only wearing a towel she let herself fall back against the white linen on her bed. She had always avoided using whites at home, too prone to spill drinks or snacks when lounging on her bed.

Without even noticing she had dozed off, only waking up around two, cold due to the lack of sheets keeping her warm. Groaning Helga pushed herself up. Curses immediately fled her lips upon feeling how stiff her neck felt when trying to turn around to put on a light. The towel was wrapped around her, ensnaring her, and she struggled to get it off before she managed to twist onto her stomach and reach the switch. The room flooded with light.

"Great," she muttered, her fingers slowly massaging the skin on the back of her neck. That was something she would be feeling for another day or two, in the worst case.

Slowly she pushed herself up towards the bathroom. Blow drying her hair now would not make much difference, but she quickly grabbed her pyjamas from the bathroom floor. All the warmth she could get now was welcome. Five minutes later she was back in her bed, light turned off and her alarm set. A few more hours of sleep, she could give herself that. Wynn often woke her for breakfast around seven thirty, a little early for Helga's liking, but at least she could start the day with fresh toast and eggs.

Five more hours, she could have that. Pulling her sheets all the way up to under her chin to cover her neck she closed her eyes.

Sleep would not come to claim her, however.

Her whole body remained restless, forcing her to twist and turn. In any other situation she would just grab her phone and scroll through some news websites until she could no longer keep her eyes open. No such luck here without any proper reception. Nonetheless she grabbed her phone. One bar, it was worth the try.

Nothing.

Another groan fled past her lips, dropping her arm in a way so her lower arm laid draped across her eyes. Again she tried to close them, almost praying that sleep would grasp her, but again to no avail.

With a sigh she pushed herself up, feet dangling down the left side of the bed. It was too damned quiet, here. She was used to London, to the bustling streets, to the sound of traffic speeding underneath her window. Here, there was nothing but the occasional outside call of an animal she couldn't place. There were no cars, no roads, there were no drunkards singing. The house was quiet.

But not entirely so.

Perhaps this was why so many people hated silence, she thought, as her hearing focused itself on the tiniest creak and sigh of floorboards, somewhere above her, shifting underneath weight. Perhaps people did not dislike the absence of sound but rather the space it left for mystery. With London traffic in the background, there was no way she would have heard someone move through the old mansion.

But now she did.

Had the footsteps she heard been the light pitter-patter of Alys moving through the hallways, she wouldn't have bothered getting up, but she knew they weren't. Something about them was different, more even, a deliberate move of feet trying to avoid the creaking floorboards above her. She knew there was another hallway above hers, but she had not yet found the stairs that led to them, nor the time to look.

Creak, creak, the steps moved to the left, to the right, she heard the shuffle of what she hoped was a chair being dragged, slowly, and then the opening of a door. The footsteps moved to the center of the room, disappearing into nothingness. For a moment, Helga laid, quietly, only hearing the sound of her own breathing, and then she heard something else.

The music was low, drifting, soft, not meant to disturb. She recognised the strokes of a bow on strings, the low vibrato of the darker, more earthy tones that a cello could produce. She thought of the salon, she thought of lord Thorne, his hand resting on top of the Cello case. It had to be him, playing. But why now, at this ungodly hour in the middle of the night, and why here, right above her rooms where she was bound to hear? She wondered if she should get up, find the stairs, and tell the Lord that he could practice during a more reasonable hour, and yet she found herself not wanting to. The slow lull of the music pulled her into something that was not quite sleep, but at least it was comfortable. Rather than pushing from the bed, she curled up, huddled in a nest of blankets and pyjamas. She breathed, in and out, with the movement of the bow, like the rise and fall of the ocean.

The cello played a slow, repetitive motion, cycling through comfortable notes again and again, and then Helga was asleep.