Miss Charlotte had said not to lose sight of her tonight.
Or so Emma reassured herself.
It wasn't natural, all this sneaking about. Perhaps she had been reading too many of Charlotte's fiction novels. Yet Emma had known that something was wrong since the minute the photographer had begun leading the Winchesters to the library.
She had been in the library that very morning, and she knew there was no way the mistress would have allowed the photographer there. Alonso and Sam had been re-papering walls all week, and many of the bookshelves were still covered in a protective layer of sheets. It wasn't exactly the most picturesque setting at the moment.
Emma had intended to follow the Winchesters discreetly, but was immediately stopped by another black-suited gentleman. He stood at the library entrance like a sentinel.
"No kitchen staff, please," he said distantly, in a surprisingly mellow baritone for a tall man.
"I beg your pardon, sir, but Miss Winchester asked—"
He frowned down at her, as though he hadn't expected her to reply. "I requested that no servants enter. Photography is a delicate and highly sophisticated business. We require no interruptions."
"It will not be an interruption, I assure you," Emma said quickly. "If you please, sir, I could—"
Again the man cut her off. "I do not expect a kitchen girl to understand. There is to be no one in the library excepting the family and the photographers. I must insist that you leave now."
Surprised at his harsh tone, Emma hesitated before dipping into a curtsy. "Yes, sir." Casting a last glance back, she hurried down the hall and around a corner. There was more than one entrance to the library. And she was familiar with all of them.
Emma hated the idea of eavesdropping. Her former mistress had taught her much about etiquette and virtue, so she had rather prided herself on her good conduct. Yet with a girl like Charlotte Winchester in the household, one could hardly expect to carry on a quiet and unexciting life.
Emma had been appalled at first by Charlotte's rebellious ways, but in working so closely with the young heiress, had grown fond of her. Charlotte had no lack of social graces; she could be quite charming in the right company. And yet she had such outlandish ideas. Her mother had sent her off to France to get an education, and she had come home with a bit more than that. Women voting, earning wages, wearing trousers - Emma was certain the girl only spoke of such campaigns to annoy her traditionalist parents.
Still, Charlotte's singular habits had their advantages. Among other things, she actually encouraged Emma to frequent the library. That was how she found herself on the second floor, approaching the French doors to the upper level of the library.
A catwalk circled the upper half of the room, carpeted, and sided by a polished railing of dark wood. The railing curved away from the balcony, a spiral staircase connecting it to the floor below. From the balcony, Emma could easily see and hear what was taking place beneath.
Charlotte was unmistakable in her red party gown, seated demurely in one of the two chairs facing the cloth-draped camera. Her brother stood behind her, and a dark-suited gentleman was next to them, speaking in low tones. Lord Henry bent to consult with a small man in a brown coat, whose head was largely obscured by the black cloth over the tripod. Various cases and camera parts littered the carpet around the two men.
Emma felt strangely relieved. She hadn't seen many photographers setting up before, but this looked perfectly ordinary. She was still not entirely certain why so many men were needed to capture a simple photograph - at least four men in dark suits were standing about, not counting the one she had seen at the door earlier.
One she recognized as the short blond man that had led them from the ballroom. He was attempting to speak to the mistress, as she stood next to the other chair. Louise Winchester was fussing about several things at once, it seemed.
"I thought we had arranged to have it done in the study," she was saying. "We were simply not prepared for this change, and I am not in possession of my hat at the moment. I cannot be photographed without a hat, it really isn't proper."
"Madame, I beg you to be seated." The young man broke in the moment she paused for breath. "It has been arranged, we must—"
Emma could tell, even from this distance, that Louise was bestowing on him one of her most severe frowns. "What a great hurry you seem to be in, sir. Charlotte, whatever became of that maid of yours? She could have been sent to fetch—"
"Enough," he said, a harsh accent slipping into his speech. "Lady Winchester, I must insist that you sit."
She opened her mouth, but the only thing to escape was a cry of outrage as the dark-suited man gripped her arm, pushing her into the chair. Charlotte started up immediately, but the man on the other side held her back. Henry Winchester turned at the sudden burst of female exclamations from behind him.
"Take your hands off my wife," he demanded, his moustache bristling in anger. "Sir, I protest—"
There was a click, the faintest of sounds, yet it emanated throughout the silence in the library. At first, Emma could not comprehend. Lord Henry stood stock-still, a cocked revolver pressed into his temple. A third man had come up behind him, speaking softly and authoritatively into his ear.
"You are not in a position to protest, my good man," the gentleman said. "Kindly remain silent until we have occasion for you to speak."
"What is the meaning of this?" the master hissed through gritted teeth. He appeared to be on the verge of an outburst, but thought better of it.
"We will be asking the questions, if you don't mind." He nudged Lord Henry toward his family with the barrel of the gun.
Emma's heart was in her mouth. She had been so focused on what was happening below that she had forgotten what she was doing up there.
Don't lose sight of me, Emma, Charlotte had said.
She was quite sure the young lady hadn't expected something like this to happen, but now more than ever the words were appropriate. What could she do? Up here, she was powerless. No one would hear a cry for help except the men with the guns, and that was certainly not an option. She remembered the cold, distant eyes of the man at the door, and realized he had been there to ensure no one would interrupt. Had this all been planned?
Emma knew she ought to run for help. If she slipped away quietly, she could find the steward, or use the telephone to call the police - but her feet were rooted to the spot. Charlotte's words echoed in her mind.
I may need you tonight.
*****
Hello, friends!
*ducks in case of flying objects*
It's, um, it's been a while, huh? I'm going to apologize because this isn't even the end of the chapter. I broke this section in half because it was taking me too long to write. *ducks again*
But I'm hoping to get back into it! If I've got any readers left... thanks, guys. I'm a terrible person. Oh, and in case everyone deleted me from their libraries (I don't blame you) -
FrankPettingill AinFaiz melanniejt adamaelovelace burnedoubt floyderoo silentgalaxies greatbluewhale
~ kaciam❤️