Glass: Reader Requests

The Single Word

A sequel to The Woman in the Window as highly requested. Thank you all so much for your support on that story, I was absolutely blown away by the response!

The Single Word

Alice Shaw arose from sleep to find her husband, Walter, was missing. She dallied along the landing, taking in the bluish hue of the cold morning through the windows that lined the far wall, and as she descended the stairs, she could not yet distinguish the whereabouts of her husband, and furthermore, had noticed her children too were seemingly gone.

She passed the housekeeper in the hall who gave a polite smile and a good morning, and further along towards the kitchen, another maid was beginning her daily duties.

"Where is the rest of my family?" asked Alice.

"I am not sure, ma'am," the young girl replied. "I have heard no noise from them this morning."

Just as she began to worry, the front door opened. Through which, Walter and the children returned to the house, cheeks blushing and carrying a beautiful health from the brisk morning air.

"Ah, good morning, dear," said Walter as he and the children began to remove their coats.

"Darling, the sun has barely risen. Where have you been?"

"Father took us on a walk to the creak," said their son Peter.

"Thought the fresh air would do them good," Walter added.

"I wish you would have woken me, or at least left a note. You know how I worry."

"I have told you not worry."

"But the letters-"

"Have seemingly stopped. It has been weeks since the last one."

As if his words had jinxed them, there the housekeeper appeared at Walter's side, and in her hand was the day's post. He took the small pile of letters and began to sift through them as his wife watched on with great concern.

And just as she had feared, there amongst the pile sat a yellowed envelope, inside of which she knew lay another sinister note.

~*~

The Smith family comprised of a long line of educators, Francis Smith, in particular, rising to such stature as to become chancellor, while his son Theodore taught at the college. They lived in a large manor home that sat proudly on a grassy estate near the institution, with stone walls and gravel pathways leading to well-kept flower gardens and thick-trunked oak trees.

Margaux Cave stood on a stool in the centre of one of the many rooms within the manor, a dressmaker wrapping her corseted frame in white silk and french lace. The Smith's servants struggled to hold each panel of fabric in place, their thimble-less fingers sore with the pricking of pins and tacks.

Mrs Smith observed the appointment quietly from the edge of the room, her stern face as cold and grey as her neatly preened hair, gloved hands clasped properly in front of her. She gave a subtle sneer as the servants giggled at another one of Miss Cave's jesting remarks. The young woman was all too affable with the help, Mrs Smith had noticed, too willing to slacken the boundaries of class, both above and below her own.