The Forbidden Room

Once back inside the manor, I am still cross with Sam and his lack of answers, and I resolve to spend the rest of the day showing that I'm the lady of the house despite appearances. I start walking through the house with my husband's bunch of keys in hand, unlocking doors, opening curtains, removing cloths from the furniture and lifting a lot of dust in the process.

Soon enough, Mrs. Edwards is chasing after me through the rooms and making all sorts of disapproving noises.

In the music room, I stop by the abandoned piano and face her.

"What is it, Mrs. Edwards? Do you disagree with my handling of things, here?"

She grunts. "I just thought Lord Ashton explained to you that we don't use the rooms on the ground floor and--"

"Yes," I interrupt her, my temper rising as all the servants of this house seem keen on contradicting me. "Well, I think it's a shame these rooms are left unused. I'm planning on changing that."

A frown creases her forehead. "Shouldn't you ask Lord Ashton first?"

I press my lips together and manage to keep from telling her to mind her own business. Instead, I reply, "He did give me the keys to this house, didn't he? I take that as an invitation to go where and do as I please."

"You're in a mood!" Her eyebrows rise in genuine surprise. "What's wrong?"

Underneath her insolence, I catch a glimpse of maternal concern and willingness to listen. I can't resist it.

"I just had the most unnerving conversation with Sam," I explain with a sigh.

Mrs. Edwards shakes her head and tuts. "That boy don't belong here. I keep telling Lord Ashton but he don't listen to me."

She dusts off the piano with her apron as she goes on, "Lord Ashton, he thinks everyone deserves to be saved... Hired the boy even though he's a foundling and a thief..." I frown but I let her speak. "You can't teach them anything..." she adds. "Should be sent back to the gaol if you ask me... Wasn't there in the first place for nothing..."

"You mean he is a convict?"

That explains his lack of education. But why on earth would my husband hire such a man? And leave me alone in the house with him? I try to remember everything Sam told me down at the chapel, to make sense of all this.

"Don't get me wrong," Mrs Edwards says as she makes her way out of the music room, "he works hard and he's eager to please Lord Ashton. Knows he owes him. And it's not like we get visitors here." She stops on the threshold, a foot already in the corridor. "Still, I wouldn't trust him with the silverware if you catch my meaning. Or a knife, for that matter."

Then she's gone.

I look around the empty room, uneasy. Somewhere in the manor a wooden beam creaks loudly and outside, the wind is howling again, bringing snow in its stead. I wish my husband were back. I don't like the idea of being here alone with an insolent middle-aged cook and an ex-convict.

I gaze down at the bunch of keys in my hand, considering whether I should lock all the rooms again or not before nightfall. A small key catches my attention, and I play with it as I try to remember which door it opens.

I slowly walk out of the room and my gaze travels up and down the corridor, before settling on the last door at the end of the hall. My heartbeat racing, I realise that the key I'm holding must be the one that opens this door. The door to the one room I didn't get to see yesterday.

Curiosity wins me over as I can't recall why my husband wouldn't let me enter this room before.

I make my way to the door and, as expected, the small key fits in the keyhole. I turn it once before the door swings open with a grating noise. A cold draught engulfs me when I step inside, and dust fills my nostrils. A rusty smell I can't recognise wafts towards me.

Once my eyes have adjusted to the dimness, I take a few steps inside in order to find my bearings.

I'm in a former bedroom, of that I am certain. A large poster bed, stripped bare, takes up most of the space. A cabinet stands by the window, an African figurine on it. The heels of my boots sink in the stained carpet. The mark is large and for a moment I stare at it without comprehending it. More stains spot the wooden floor and the wallpaper.

I drop the bunch of keys on the floor.

It's blood.

The room swings before my eyes and my breath catches in my throat. Dark, misty shapes appear around me and I fear I'm about to faint. I pull at my corset and bend down to retrieve the keys. It takes all my willpower to grab them and walk back to the door.

With shaking hands, I lock the door again. The keys are stained with dried blood and I rub them in my handkerchief. For some reason I cannot clean them.

My heartbeat still frantic, I put the bunch of keys back on the pedestal table in the main corridor and go up to my room to attempt to make myself presentable for dinner.

***

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