Lady Deception

Chapter Two

I poked the fire with the fire poker, watching the warm flames flicker and snap. I was on night watch–waiting for some illusive ally to knock on the door, looking for a place to stay for a night or two. It was my usual job, considering I rarely slept at night.

Tearmann cottage was usually quiet and peaceful in this hour of darkness. Mrs. Chadwick and Cora slept soundly in their respective rooms, while I tended to the fireplace and read books in solitude. Most would find comfort in such an environment, but if I was honest with myself, each night drove me a little closer to madness. Solitude and silence were my two worst enemies. There were times I considered purposely awaking Cora, if only so I might endure her rage of fury against me. It would have been better than being alone. Better than this.

Of course, this is what I wanted. To live a quiet life of solitude, helping the war effort where I could. But then, I had imagined less waiting for something to happen, and more–happening.

Tonight, at least, I was not left alone in silence. A storm had started in the early hours of the morning, and I concentrated on the rhythmic yet violent sounds of the rain pouring down upon the roof. Lightning flashed, cracking the sky, and illuminating the drawing room if only for a moment. I reckoned it would be another lonely night, with nothing but the storm to keep me company. No one would dare travel in this weather.

Thunder rumbled in the distance, like an angry growl, and I startled when a loud knock fell upon the front door. It was less of a knock, and more like an aggressive pounding.

Someone was at the door!

It took me a moment to collect myself enough to rise from my comfortable place by the fire and scurry to the door. To be safe, I grabbed one of the many knives hidden away in a dark crevice of the cottage, and gripped it behind my back. Then, slowly, I opened the door. My efforts to retrieve a weapon were in vain, however. When my eyes laid upon who stood on the other side of the door, my knife immediately clattered to the floor.

It–it was–

"Lady Luciana," he uttered, eyes filled with surprise. James Beckwith–the man whom my father had entrusted to kill me. Though only a year had passed since I had last seen him, Mr. Beckwith looked different. He had and would always be a tall, broad-shouldered, handsome man. But the dark circles under his eyes and weathered skin made him appear worn out. His wet dark hair stuck to his forehead in curls, and much of his face was now covered in the beginning stages of a beard. Still, despite these differences, he was still the same man.

It took much too long for my brain to register the name he spoke. It had been a long time since anyone had called me that. I stiffened at the sound of my old name on his lips. "It has been a long time."

All I could manage to say was, "I am called Ms. Lucie Tarrent, now." Mr. Beckwith nodded in silent understanding.

"Forgive me, Ms. Tarrent." Mr. Beckwith said. We stood there, staring at each other at two o'clock in the morning, bewildered into silence. Another moment passed before I realized he was still standing in the pouring rain. Yes, he was soaked to the bone by now, wasn't he?

"Are you in need of a place to stay?" I managed to ask.

"If you have room, that would be lovely."

I nodded and stepped aside, letting Mr. Beckwith enter the cottage. He took one step inside, rain dripping off his wool coat, and bent down to pick up the knife I had dropped. He held the knife out to me, which somehow managed to shine in the light of the candles.

"I believe you dropped this," he said matter-of-factly. The sight of a knife in his hand pulled me back through time, to memories I'd rather forget. I remember the sharp edge of a similar blade piercing my left palm, and how quickly my crimson blood bubbled to the surface, dripping all over the ground. All over his hands.