Once Upon a Castle - Jill Gregory [69]
They passed through a long, dimly lit hallway where candles sputtered in pools of wax, casting grotesque shadows on the walls and ceilings. Felicity glanced up at the gargoyles glaring down from their perches along the gallery and found herself wondering at the prickly feeling along her spine. She felt as if she were being watched.
After climbing wide, curving stairs to the second floor, the housekeeper continued on to the third floor, holding her candle aloft as she led the way along a narrow, darkened hallway.
“This will have to do.” She entered a small, cramped room and set the candle on a chest beside a bed.
Across the room a servant huddled before a fireplace, coaxing a thin flame to life on the hearth. Felicity’s trunk and valise had been deposited beneath a window.
“Have you eaten?” the housekeeper asked.
“Not for many hours.”
Maud Atherton seemed annoyed at having to attend to one more chore. “I’ll see that a meal is sent up. But it will have to be a cold one. Most of the servants have retired for the night.”
“If it’s too much bother…”
Without waiting for her to finish, the woman strode across the room and signaled for the servant to follow.
When the door closed behind them, Felicity dragged a chair close to the fire and sank down wearily. Drawing her cloak around her for warmth, she struggled to hold back her simmering temper.
Fool, she berated herself. Why had she jumped at Lord Falcon’s invitation without first weighing the consequences?
Because, another part of her mind replied, she had seen it as a chance to recover from the shock of her father’s death. She’d leaped at this opportunity to withdraw to a place of safety and nurse her wounds. But she hadn’t anticipated such a cold reception.
Oh, what in the world had she gotten herself into?
Felicity dozed until a loud knock on the door snapped her awake. For one dizzying moment she had no idea where she was. Then it all came rushing back to her. Falcon’s Lair. The drafty room. The surly servant.
“Supper, ma’am.” The girl was young, no more than twelve or thirteen, and looked as though she’d been yanked out of her bed. Hair flying. Clothes in disarray. Eyes heavy with sleep.
Felicity could sympathize. She’d been awakened as well, from a dream that was sweet and soothing. Now she was forced back to stark, unwelcome reality.
“My name is Felicity Andrews,” she said. “What’s yours?”
“Bean, ma’am.”
“Bean?”
The little waif shot her a beguiling smile. “My real name’s Beatrice Nim. Bea Nim, you see. But everybody calls me Bean.”
Felicity couldn’t help but grin. “Hello, Bean. I’m sorry you had to miss your sleep.”
“No matter, ma’am. With all the chores I do here at Falcon’s Lair, I’ll be asleep again quick as a fox.”
Felicity rubbed her stiff neck and watched as the maid placed a tray on the table before crossing the room to pile more logs on the fire. That finished, she bowed her way from the room and hurried away, presumably to her bed.
It was simple fare. Simple but satisfying. Several thick slices of hard-crusted bread. Slabs of cold roast beef. A hunk of cheese. A mug of tea. And a tankard of ale.
Felicity ate the first slice of bread smothered with meat and cheese quickly and washed it down with ale. At once her spirits improved. Feeling warmer now, she removed her cloak and spread it before the fire to dry. Then she ate the rest of the meal slowly, while she removed her shoes and stockings and wiggled her toes in contentment.
As the ale and food slowly built a layer of warmth in her stomach, she felt her fears evaporating. A good night’s sleep was what she needed. She sipped her tea. By morning the worst would be behind her, and she could begin to enjoy this adventure for what it was. A chance to meet her father’s old friend. An opportunity to see England. A glimpse of her father’s past and perhaps her own future.
She rummaged through her valise and