Chapter Four

There is a saying about minding one's business. I should have told myself, "Elizabeth, to bed with you before it is too late!" My conscience told me to… but I did not heed its warning. I wish I had!

Had I but known that "curiosity killed the cat" would come to fruition, I never would have pursued the matter. Now, I fear I am in too deep, for I have witnessed something I ought not to have seen, and my life is in danger.

I do not speak of my own death—at least, I do not think so. I am uncertain. Everything I have known, everything I have believed about my family, has been shaken. No, I speak of the death of another, of coldblooded murder. The act itself has been committed by the hands of someone I have deeply loved and respected since infancy, and it is what frightens me the most.

I have been suspicious of Lord Barclay's sporting with one of the maids for quite some time. Only a few months ago, before tonight, I saw Greta Henry—Anna's former chambermaid—bolt from his bedchamber wearing only her undergarments. I knew it was Greta, for I have always noted that her golden hair is so very much like Anna's that one might easily mistake them from behind. I never told a soul of my discovery, not even my sister, for I had no desire to cause her grief. One could not imagine my relief when I learnt that Greta had run away with one of the stable boys. I thought for certain then that Barclay's thirst for infidelity would be quenched… but I was wrong.

Until tonight, I could not prove the identity of his new mistress. She had gone to great lengths concealing her face, but a backward glimpse on a moonlit night revealed her at last; alas, bringing an end to my nightly surveillance from the end of the hall.

I was quite shocked when I discovered it was Penelope; indeed, I never would have suspected her capable of such a thing! She was no Aphrodite, being quite plain in looks with eyes entirely too large for her head, and she was a simpleton. I hardly believed it of her! One can only imagine my delight when my father caught her coming out of Barclay's room tonight. Naturally, I expected severe repercussions, and that this was, undoubtedly, Miss Williams' last night here at Wolbrighton. I assumed correctly… but not in a way I could ever imagine. What happened tonight… oh, how I wish I could forget what I've seen! It was absolutely horrendous! That poor girl! How could my father allow this to happen? How could Barclay? I never knew such cruelty existed—that either man was capable of it!

My world is spinning—I hardly know what's what!

Odd whisperings from the servants come to mind as I race through the dark halls of my home. They were utterances made in secret, after Greta supposedly ran away with the stable boy, Toby McKingsley, when the staff thought they were alone…

"I 'eard the Earl asked 'er to marry 'im, an' she fled so's to keep the master and the Missus from findin' out," said John Jones, one of the gardeners.

"I 'eard she was wi'f child," Nancy Taylor, the parlor maid, objected.

"Both o' ya's talkin' out yer arse!" growled Richard Smith, the cook. He and his wife, Tilley, were in charge of the kitchen staff. "That rich bugger done got her wi'f child so the master tossed 'er out on 'er arse fer not takin' treatment!"

"Lord Barclay is impotent," declared Sally Pole, Mrs. Elshire's daughter. She was Mama's chambermaid. "I used to work for a gentleman who was in his poker club. He told me the Earl can't have children."

"Sally! What a wretched thing to say! That is not true!" Mrs. Elshire cried.

"But 'tis true, Mama!" Sally refuted.

"It is not, and you know it's a lie. Shame on you, Sally," Elsie Gibbons, Anna's personal maid, scolded alongside Mrs. Elshire.

"Aye. How else could 'e get her wi'f child?" agreed Richard.

"None of ya know what's what!" boomed Thomas O'Brian the head groom. "Greta was with child, but it ain't the Earl's. It's Toby's. Told me 'imself…"

I am not in the habit of eavesdropping, especially when it comes to the servants. Theirs is a world in which I do not belong nor do I understand. Thus, I profess my innocence on the matter, as Mama had only sent meto fetch Mrs. Elshire the housekeeper, who was also her personal maid. I had heard quite enough at that point and promptly removed myself to the sitting room just as Mr. Jervis stepped in to issue a sharp reprimand for their idleness. I lied to Mama about being unable to find Mrs. Elshire.

I was determined to forget all that I had heard until I learnt that Toby and Greta had not run away together, but that he had up and quit us not long after she went missing. Thomas told me he'd gone to work in Derbyshire, but would say nothing more.

These past four months, I had not turn't my mind to it. Worrying about what had become of a servant girl does not exactly raise my curiosity, especially as I have my own matters of courtship to deal with.

But tonight… tonight… I am in tears just thinking about it!

As I said, I saw my father escorting Penelope from Barclay's quarters to his and Mama's room. I had followed her and remained hidden round the opposite corner of the corridor.

Barclay had slipped away during our reading hour. I had not thought a thing of it. I only supposed Barclay's unwillingness to participate was owing to Anna's absence, who could not be persuaded to leave her room for anything, despite our best efforts. I felt he quite fancied her—which is why I did not understand his infidelity with Penelope.

I often wonder if he knew of her promiscuity with James Norrington. I saw her sneak away with him on more than one occasion… but I know nothing of the physical relations between a man and a woman. I have not yet contrived to go that far, in spite of my own curiosity; nevermind that it is, quite frankly, not my business, and I am determined to wait until my wedding night.

But Penelope… how had she the mind for it?

I could not answer this, until I realized a horrible truth: my father had known about her sporting with Barclay and had had a hand in it. I should have left well enough alone at that point. I overheard part of my parents' scolding of her—something about being tossed out into the streets—but it did not sound quite right. And it made me wonder: was that what they told Greta, too?

"Tossed out on her arse," is what Richard said, was it not?

I weep uncontrollably—I cannot stop the tears from falling! "Oh, Penelope! I'm so sorry!"

I saw it all through the keyhole: Papa's interrogation, a large, bearded figure slipping into the room from his private entrance—the one that leads to his own personal library, where he sometimes meets with his business partners from the East India Trading Company and other great men from London. I hear Papa issue a harsh reminder of the Rule of Letters: 'No letter is to reach our hands until it is approved by either him or Mama.' He asks her if she likes 'serving' Barclay… I do not understand what he means by this.

I saw that bearded monster strangle her—and then I heard the most sickening 'CRACK!' before she falls silent. I shall never forget that sound. I have heard it one other time, when Addison's horse—Addison is my older brother, the eldest of us—fell after taking a fence during the hunt last summer. The ending was just as horrible for the poor creature as it was for Penelope.

And my father merely stood there. He let that monster murder her!

"… Elizabeth? What are you doing out here?"

I was scared out of my wits by the sound of Barclay's voice. I spun round and begged his silence with a finger to my lips, struggling to even find the voice to reply. "Shh! It's Papa! He just-he just—!" I could not breathe. I choke on my own words! "He-he just, he-just—!"

Barclay clasps my shoulders to steady me, his face laced with concern. "What is it, Lizzy? Is your father alright?"

He's sporting with her! He must care for her! How am I to tell him!? The thoughts run together so rapidly in my head that I can hardly process them. But he must know! He must care for her, if he has just lain with her. He will be heartbroken! "It's Penelope!" I confess, trying my best to keep my quivering voice at a whisper so we are not discovered. "He just killed her!"

I cannot describe the look that comes upon the Earl's face. He glances at the door in silence… but there is no show of emotion present in his features. Or, rather, not what I would expect a man to exhibit upon being told his lover has just been murdered. His eyes are wide, and dark; I have never seen them so dark. There is not a trace of fear or sadness; no outrage or thirst for vengeance. There is only blackness, malice—evil! A chill races down my spine, and I am struck by another terrifying truth: he knew this was going to happen. How he knew, I do not know.

Unless…

"Lizzy, listen to me." His grip tightens on my shoulders. "Listen to me very carefully—"

"—Let me go!" I writhe in his grasp.

"Stop squirming, right now!"

I freeze, struggling to suppress my cries of pain. "You're hurting me!"

"Be quiet!" he growls. "Listen to me: whatever you've just witnessed tonight, whatever you've just seen… you must forget it! Do you understand?"

"You're a monster!" I cry hoarsely. "How can you be so unfeeling? So cold? He just murdered her!"

"It does not matter!" he barks in a harsh whisper. "You must forget it!"

"Barclay, let me go…please!" I whimper, feeling quite helpless.

He lowers his voice, his eyes locked on mine. "You must never speak of this, Elizabeth. If you value your life, you will forget all that you've seen tonight. For the sake of your father. Do you understand?"

I tremble violently. I do not doubt the viability of his threat.

"Do you understand, Elizabeth!?" he jerks me when I do not answer.

I can only think to nod. I am too terrified to say anything else.

He releases me. "Good."

The moment I am free, I brush past him and make a mad dash for my bedchamber. I do not stop for anything. The tears flow freely down my face burning from the horror of what I have just witnessed. My heart is racing wildly in my chest. I gasp for breath with every stride.

I desperately wanted to tell someone what happened. I could not tell Mama—how could I? She would be horrified if she knew what Papa has done! But I should, for that very reason! Yes, she will know what to do!

I stop at her door and raise my fist to knock… but I stop. Something within tells me to stop.

She would be horrified… but what if she knew? Why would Papa take Penelope into their room instead of straight to his office to discipline her for lying with Barclay? Or simply throw her out? What is this 'treatment' Richard spoke of? The one that Greta allegedly refused? She was with child when she ran away. Did she truly run away? I shake my head to quell my racing thoughts and back away from the door, feeling cold, and alone. Nothing makes sense… I do not know what to believe!

As I race past Anna's room, the urge to tell her the truth about her suitor crosses my mind, but I shove it away the instant it forms. It is replaced by Barlcay's threat. I cannot tell her; I cannot tell anyone! Not Mama, not Anna—certainly not Lydia! And if Bridgette or Addison were here, I would not tell them either!

"Oh, God! What do I do?!"

I burst into my room and slam the doors shut behind me, locking them. I wedge the chair from my dressing room between the floor and the handles, ensuring that they cannot be opened. I cannot stop trembling… Weapon, I need a weapon! I hurry to my vanity, plucking the candlesticks out of the holder. Something pops behind me, and I jump. Wheeling about, I realize it is only the tapping of tree branches against my window.

I close the curtains. The room is completely dark—it shall be easier for me to hide. I drag another chair from my vanity and place it against the wall so that nothing is behind me.

Here, I sit all night, clutching my brass candlestick holder… and I pray he does not come for me.