"Bloody piece of shoe," swearing malevolently, she trudged, pulling leg after leg towards the dampened hearth.
Lady Sarah Jane's mind was a mix of vicious intent and guilt as she realized that she ought to bite her tongue lest she be cast out of society for letting such words pass her mouth.
But it had rained; she thought with a frown, it had rained for the bloody third time today! Surely it was not much to ask to be able to walk through the strawberry fields of Thurstason, toil and garden peacefully, pick some berries and arrive home, dry as a bone, and without destroying another pair of perfectly good boots.
It had only come to her attention that the clouds were not in her favor when they darkened on her hike back home. She had ruined five—Yes, five—Five perfectly decent pairs of boots on her travels on that month alone.
Muttering more indecent words under her breath as she stepped on the front step of Regalia House.
She pulled her boots off and heavily shook as they were drenched foully with grime, dirt, and rain. She rubbed a wet palm on her equally drenched daily frock in a sad attempt to dry it, but failed miserably.
Her hand reached out for the door jamb, it's metal finish slippery beneath her damp fingers.
Surely, no one would begrudge her of being able to splutter one solitary innocent swear that—
There was a female shriek coming from the nearby window, and instantly she dreaded the scolding that was to befall her.
Her fingers grappled the door jamb more fiercely and ferociously wrenched the door open, its hinges protesting as the wood slammed to the wall behind it.
"Oh, dear child!" An old portly woman heavily wielded her way through the end tables of the hall and approached Lady Sarah Jane as she burst forth from the main door.
"What in heaven's name compelled you to venture outside in this weather," the old matronly woman asked while she plucked the blasted shoes from the lady's freezing hands.
They had been damaged beyond repair. She would need to go into town, a half-an-hour ride in a bumpy carriage, just to get to a perfectly respectable and decent shoemaker.
"I am worried about you dear girl," the old woman shrieked again, smudging off dirt and mud from her cheek vigorously, causing the skin to turn pink from the friction.
"Wherever could you have gone in such weather?"
She sighed, the feeling was all too familiar. Nurse Harpers had become her companion, lady's maid, and mother figure when her father had passed. She can't very well call her Nurse Harpers any more than she could call herself a green girl of six.
"It wasn't this weather this morning, Mathilda," she said with obvious exasperation, allowing a proud tilt of her chin to show that she did not at the least bit appreciate being talked to like a child.
"It had been bright, crisp and—"
A low gasp interrupted her, scolded her with a "My lady!"
A tall gangly man scowled at the sight of her dripping with rainwater on the priceless floor runner from India. His hands had dropped the empty buckets that were brought surely for the leaking rooms. It was a pity that the house, which was rumored to be as grand as any house of a king's relation, had crumbled to waste.
"You mustn't remain soaked in rainwater, my lady. One sick person in this home is already too much. We mustn't tempt the fates and make it two!"
Oh, she had heard this many times before. Old Robinson had a flair for exaggerating things.
The lord of the house had been sick for two days, it's hardly anything to worry about. He had been sick before and recuperated without an alarm. Besides, she was, in her opinion, the picture of health aside from being dripping wet and freezing, that's all.
With an impatient sigh, she opened her mouth, "I..."
There was a heavy shove at her shoulders.
"Hurry now, child." Mathilda pushed her, all of her soaking dress and dripping hair, up the wide staircase.
Mathilda pulled her skirts up, her head violently turning as her lips pursed—the telltale sign of—
"You!" Shooting a rounded arm as her finger pointed to a young maid who had positioned herself in the corner of the hallway.
"And you!" Mathilda pointed to the other one who was merely an inch away from the scared little thing. "Bathwater now," she demanded and the females scrambled to work while Mathilda kept pushing the wet Lady Sarah Jane up to her room.
It took several minutes before the bath was readied with fragrant oil and lots of bubbling soap. In the vast lands of Thurstason, she had been accustomed to rising early and visiting the strawberry fields to inspect new fruits. She had been here for six months and as she had usually felt quite comfortable in Regalia House, it was only during these types of days that had her reeling.
The types where nothing was going according to plan.
Rain and too much of the blasted thing prevented her from doing her activities and that was enough to put her into a very sour mood.
The lord of the house was a kind man, albeit very aging and very incapable of holding himself awake for more than 3 consecutive hours. The house was crumbling, and details such as poor plumbing and faulty woodwork were seen to by the lady of the house, herself, since no one else was at residence.
While it is true that she was young and probably incapable and unworldly enough to become responsible for these things, she couldn't very well watch and cry and fret while the house wasted away. She needed to do something, and as far as she was concerned, the old lord had been very appreciative of all her efforts.
Her eyes blinked away the threatening sleep. Today was the day she had scheduled to satisfy her fanciful side. She had decided to take a break from discussing crop problems with the tenants, and conversing with footmen regarding the house plumbing, which truthfully she didn't know a farthing about. Most of these conversations had resulted in her smiling and nodding when appropriate. The footmen and tenants had seemed to be grateful for her attention even if she didn't have the answers. Anyway, it only had been a matter of time before they would discover these answers themselves.
She moved in the water, slicing against the bubbles as she found the best position to settle her aching body. Soaking herself in the best way possible as she washed her hair, the suds and the oil made her claim exhaustion and fall asleep in the pool of water.
And then there was silence.
And then there was none.
Only a few minutes after her mind had drifted to shallow sleep, heavy footfalls echoed in the hall adjacent to her room. Her ears stood in attention, and she felt as if the footfalls were coming for her.
Someone was coming, and they were coming fast.
Oh yes, those were definitely footfalls, and hearing them hit the floor slow and steady, she knew that they were getting nearer her room. The thuds became louder and louder.
And then it stopped as if to turn a corner.
She gasped. Her eyes followed the sound through the wall.
"Stupid, stupid Sarah Jane," she chided herself under her breath. She had once again left her bedchamber door open, as she always had.
If those footfalls belonged to a man, which from the heavy sound of the boot, she was most certain that they do; and if that man wasn't her uncle, which she was also most certain was not—since he would be old and weary to walk, then definitely, Sarah Jane would be in trouble—heaps and heaps of trouble.
The footfalls multiplied, and it was as if the person was joined by a much light-booted lady. Or was that a scrape of a slipper? She wasn't entirely sure.
She leaned towards the wall and strained to hear what the man was mumbling about.
It didn't take much of an effort since the crumbling Regalia House was wasting away of poor maintenance. The walls were, much to her dismay, thinning.
"I had fixed the documents a fortnight ago and I had sent them to the Viscount Killsworth. He is a terrible correspondent which is why I have to speak to your lord immediately," the man said. He sounded irritable and he was marching up awfully close to her bedchamber.
Her bedchamber is too near Lord Rosenberg's.
"But—But..." A woman's voice, who sounded like Mathilda, drifted towards the halls. It suspiciously sounded like she was also walking with the man. "But couldn't it wait until the Earl is quite awake? He has been ill and had thus—"
A low, loud, and very male grumble indicated annoyance at her ever-competent Mathilda.
"Nonsense! I am his solicitor and I have corresponded with him through letters. He has indicated that I may seek him in his bedchamber when I so needed." He paused then, his boot ceasing its assault in the halls, as his breathing grew loud to her ears. "Woman, you will show me to him at once."
There was a violent sound of swishing papers, and by the sound of it, there seemed to be quite a lot of papers.
His footfalls had returned, gaining speed as it drew closer to her room.
Lady Sarah Jane's fingers gripped the tub tightly, her knuckles becoming white from the exertion.
Maybe if she hid under the waters, even with the already disappearing bubbles, the lightly graying water might be able to shield her from any further embarrassment.
"Oh but you mustn't! The Earl is terribly old and—"
"Exactly," He said and barged into Sarah Jane's room.
Lady Sarah Jane stilled, blood draining from her face and leaving her cold. There was only another door left before that man would see her in all her shameful nakedness.
"I say, where is he," he wondered aloud upon seeing the empty bedchamber and irritated by the delay.
Lady Sarah Jane's flesh jumped under her skin, as a few gooseflesh bumps began to spread behind her neck.
Mathilda made a very audible and heavy sigh as she acquiesced to show the visitor to the Earl's bedchambers.
"Lord Rosenberg is this way."
Sarah Jane could almost imagine how Mathilda had said it. Her plucky hands on her hips and her chin jutting forward as her eyes narrowed into slits.
When the footfalls started to move farther away from her room, she relaxed back into the soapy water. Surely after this incident, she would remember to at least shut the door, if not lock her bedchamber, before taking a nap in the tub.
Flexing her toes, she sighed a happy and contented sigh thinking of her strawberries, mulberries, blackberries and all the other berries which she had picked from the field. Oh! they would make an excellent fruit jam or pudding! She smiled to herself, licking her lips at the thought.
Then there was an awful sound.
An awful sound that she knew all too well.
A high shrill female screech was heard coming from the end of the hall.
Sarah Jane froze. Oh, even if Mathilda who always had been a ball of nerves, she would only shriek like that if there was bad news. And because of the current Earl's state and age, the bad news could only mean one thing.
It meant somebody had died.
That somebody was important and his name would probably be on the solicitor's paper naming him as her guardian and her as his ward.
Sitting up in the tub, her attention heightened, as her mind began whirling.
All she could think of was not about how sad it must be to lose an uncle or how she would now fend for herself at another man's home, but the real words were loud and screaming at her,
"Not Again."
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A/N: Hi!!! Please leave me feedback on the comments! I would love to hear what you like or don't like about this chapter. Since I'm writing historical fiction, my concern is if what I'm trying to say is being communicated clearly as well as emotionally. If you're confused with any part at all, kindly let me know so I can clarify and yes, edit accordingly.
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