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“Welcome to Falcon’s Lair, m’lady,” he called.
“Thank you.”
“And beware.” His voice lowered conspiratorially. “‘Tis said there are things “He looked up as the scowling servant stepped between them.
There was no time to ask what he’d meant to say. With wind and rain pummeling her, Felicity followed the servant up the stairs and inside the open double doors.
The doors clanged hollowly as they were pulled shut behind her. The servant disappeared without a word, and Felicity was left standing alone and shivering.
She had a quick impression of towering walls hung with ancient tapestries and a stone floor gleaming in the light of masses of candles. The scent of beeswax and a faint fragrance of woodsmoke lingered in the air.
At the sound of footsteps drawing near, she turned expectantly. The woman coming toward her was tall, broad of shoulder, and thick in the middle. She wore a shapeless dark gown and heavy shoes. Dark, graying hair was pulled back into a tidy knot.
The woman peered at her, apparently annoyed at this untimely distraction and said accusingly, “The master is asleep.”
“I’m sorry it’s so late. My name is Felicity Andrews. My father, Robert, was a dear friend to Lord Falcon.”
Felicity saw the slight widening of the woman’s eyes, the only indication that she recognized the name. “I am Maud Atherton, housekeeper at Falcon’s Lair.”
“How do you do?” Felicity offered her hand, but the woman merely stared at her in disdain. She realized that only an American would make such a gesture to a servant. Embarrassed, she lowered her hand and clenched it into a fist at her side.
“I was not told to expect you.” The woman made no attempt to smile. Her eyes, small and dark, peered from behind thick spectacles.
“There was no time to write Lord Falcon of the news of my father’s death. I simply booked passage, trusting that Lord Falcon’s friendship would extend to Robert Andrews’ daughter as well.”
The housekeeper’s eyes narrowed in distrust. She turned to a hovering servant. “It is too late to wake the mistress. Take the lady’s bags to the east room and see that a fire is laid quickly.” To Felicity she said sternly, “Follow me.”
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.