The Countess by Catherine Coulter

tired, why in heaven’s name would she decide to take a nap on the floor in an

empty room? Why would the candles all be out, like someone snuffed them out?” No

one said anything.

I didn’t like this at all. I looked from one face to the next, from Lawrence,

who looked faintly concerned, to John, who had the look of a dark angel who didn’t

know what was happening, to Flynt, Lawrence’s valet with his flat black eyes, a

bad man, I was sure of it. He looked at me like I was a liar, nothing more than

that, a liar and of no account at all. As for Boynton, John’s valet, there was a

deep frown on that brown leather forehead of his. He didn’t understand any of it,

just like his master, and I didn’t, either. I smiled at him again. This time he

didn’t smile back, his frown remaining firmly in place. As for Mrs. Redbreast,

she looked mildly alarmed. Was she afraid that her new mistress was a loon?

“I’m going to my room now,” I said. Dragging the beautiful cream throw behind me,

I walked from the drawing room, in my stockinged feet, since someone had removed

my shoes.

“Let her go,” I heard my husband tell one of them. “I will see to her later.”

I didn’t do anything but keep walking until I heard George barking his head off

through the closed door of The Blue Room.

Miss Crislock was walking down the corridor toward me, waving a delicate white

hand. “My dear, what are you doing? I was just coming down to see you. I heard

that you had fallen. What happened?”

“Just a small tumble down the stairs into the Old Hall. I’m quite all right now,

Milly. Everything is just fine. I am just here to get George.”

“I suppose George must have sensed that you were near?you know how acute his

hearing is?and so he will raise the dead if you don’t open that door quickly.”

I opened the door to see George standing right in front of me, and in his mouth

he held a small yellow mitten.

I went down on my knees in front of him, the beautiful cream throw falling to

the floor around me, and began the game of “give it to Mama,” to which George

locked his little teeth firmly around the object. In this instance, I was afraid

he would tear the glove, which looked quite well made and expensive. I cajoled

and offered him more bacon for his breakfast tomorrow morning if only he would

give me that glove. Finally, I managed to distract him, clicking my fingers

together over his head, and he unlocked his jaws. I got the glove. It wasn’t an

adult glove. It belonged to a girl.

But who? There were no children here, were there?

I said over my shoulder to Miss Crislock, “Milly, I am truly all right. Why don’t

you find Mrs. Redbreast? Tell her that I am not mad. Yes, convince her that I am

quite harmless. I have this feeling that she and Brantley run things around here.”

“Certainly, dear. It’s true, isn’t it?” Miss Crislock patted my shoulder and

left me, her lovely pale blue eyes narrowed. What else could I tell her?

Reassure her? I couldn’t even reassure myself.

Once in my bedchamber, I realized the last thing I wanted to do was leave it. I

felt safe in here, even with all those bar holes in the window casements. I

thought and thought about what had happened. I couldn’t think of a single thing

to explain it. When Amelia awoke, I would snag her. Surely she would recall

something.

I stayed in my bedchamber for the next hour, until George jumped on the bed and

sat himself right down on my chest, his nose an inch from mine. He wuffed.

“You need to go outside, don’t you? Well, I feel more alive than otherwise, so

let me put some shoes on and we’ll be off.”

Thankfully, I saw no member of the family as I let myself out of the drawing

room French doors that gave on to a small back garden whose brick walls were