A Servant's Security

Chapter 23

(John's POV)

John waited. Would Neville say what he was thinking or keep it to himself.

"Who is that young girl?"

"One of my servants. Isabel Smith."

"How did she start working for you?"

"An unpaid debt her family owed."

"Is she more than a servant to you?"

"No. Why would you ask such a question?"

"No reason."

"She grew up as a merchant's daughter, not a servant. And as her lord, I have a duty to protect her."

"As your duty is to provide for and protect your servant, my duty is to ask questions."

"Of course."

John tried to focus his thoughts and stay alert. Had he already revealed too much? He should've allowed Elizabeth to change his bandages instead of Isabel. Neville had taken the opportunity to read his thoughts. Instead of staring at her face, he should've stared at the floor.

"Tell me, what is Isabel's relationship with the bailiff?"

"Relationship? There wasn't any."

"Has either one of them talked to you about the other?"

John had no choice but to answer. "Yes. The bailiff asked to marry Isabel, but she didn't want to marry him."

"And when was this?"

"About two weeks ago."

"Did Isabel tell you why she didn't want to marry the bailiff?"

"She didn't like the bailiff."

"She said that?"

"Yes."

"And what did you say?"

"That she didn't have to marry anyone she didn't want to marry."

"And how did the bailiff take the news?"

"He didn't say that much."

"But his reaction was.... angry?"

"Yes."

Sir Neville sighed and took a sip of his drink. "I want to speak with the bailiff's family members tomorrow. And to the servant girl, Isabel."

John's heart skipped. "Of course."

John laid still as a woman leaned over him. Her face moved in and out of view. She came closer and her face came into focus.

"Jane."

She smiled. 

"I thought you were-"

"Shh." Her smile grew wider as she touched his face, and then she laughed. With a cackle she lifted something in her hand. A knife. Raising her arm, she laughed louder.

John tried to raise his arm to block her blow, but his arms seemed to be made of iron. 

She brought the knife to his chest, still cackling. She was killing him.

John woke up with a gasp then sat up and looked around. He panted like he just ran a marathon. The only light came from the barely lit fire in the fireplace.

It was only another dream, another nightmare. She had been dead for three years now. Dead. But her face seemed so real.

She was gone. Except in his dreams.