Lord Vane

4. Loose Lips

Have you heard the saying that if you listen well enough, you can hear nature whispering tidbits of wisdom and warning? The soft chant of the grass, the sigh of the wind, the swish of tree limbs, all imparting ageless knowledge to those with a trained bent ear.

Yes...well...you do not have to strain your ears half as much to hear the whisperings of the inhabitants of a lord's manor.

It is morning. But I am still lost in the hours of the last night, trapped as I was, between my body's ache for sleep and my mind's propensity to hash a mystery to a pulp.

You cannot make much sense from pulp. But it never does stop me from trying.

A sliver of sunlight this morning was my mind's clue to finally be quiet. I slept some but am now awakened to the sounds of Ulra, the elderly maid that I met last night, and another, building a fire in the hearth.

The unknown maid whispers, "Is our new lady as beautiful as the rumors say?"

I was about to sit up, but this stills me. I clench the cover tighter to my chin, hoping she won't be so bold as to come peer at me. And it would hardly do well to rise and say in jest, "Well, am I?"

Though I smile a bit at the thought of startling them. Better to fake sleep, I decide.

"That she is," Ulra says. "Ready the kettle, Natli. I'll return to make her tea soon."

Water, from I assume a jug they brought with them, gently pours into another pot. I hear the kettle's handle clink on the hook above the fire. More water pours into the bowl by the window.

The whispers begin again.

"Ulra, what's to be done about the cook disappearing?"

"Lord Vane will likely promote the assistant cook. Leave a rag and a towel by the wash basin."

"Yes. But...his room...have you seen it? Everything's strewn about, like a horrible struggle took place." Natli's whisper rises a pitch, "Lem heard some awful sounds last night."

"Hush. Cook made himself some enemies and I suspect the master was near to firing him anyhow, but it won't do to entertain any silly notions. Let's be off," Ulra says, and I hear their dresses rustle as they rise and their boots scuffle across the stone floor.

The door latches shut and my room is silent once again. Except for my mind which is working furiously, though with difficultly, through the details of their odd exchange. If my brain could be heard I'm afraid it would sound like an old rusty cog on a forgotten well, screeching and clanking in turn to pull up nothing more than a paltry half pail of muddy water.

This much I know is true: Ulra's words hold much sense. My father always said loose lips are as useful as a dried up milking cow.

My unease comes from knowing something more than Ulra and Natli do. My unease comes from knowing what this Lem does.

Once again, I find myself wondering about the whimpers I heard. And just what was Lord Vane concealing in his cloak? A word almost takes shape but I push it hastily away. How ridiculous, I chide myself.

I remember the tales of cruelty that billowed and clung steadfast to the last lord of the manor, my Lord Vane's great uncle. Cruel lords are not uncommon.