When The Reign Stops

Chapter One

Rain fell in sharp shards against the widow, ricocheting off the ledge in sporadic motions. I matched my breathing to the hammering of the rain, leaning my forehead against the glass, resisting the urge to shiver. Faraway lights glared back at me, reaching through the trees and the buildings and the blackness of the night sky. That was one of the pleasures of having the room at the top of the house. That and the solidarity. Even as a child I had always been drawn to this room, and never objected when Grandmother ushered me up there for bedtime, leaving my sister the well-lit downstairs bedroom. Instead of fearing the faraway ceiling I'd fall asleep staring past it, admiring the possibilities it concealed, picturing the shape, size and shine of the moon on different each night I lay awake. It made perfect sense that after Grandmother's death, she left the house to me, for I was the only one who appreciated it the way she did. This surprised my other relatives who share the Westwick name, for I am not the only one with the generational ties to Westwick Manor.

My name is Jade Westwick, since my Grandmothers' death I've spent the last month moving into this new reality without her and I'm finding this reality is even bleaker than the last. At the age of twenty-six most women I know have dreamed all their dreams, are in a committed relationship, with a secure job, a mortgage and that time-given calmness. I am not like the other women my age. I live alone, in a mortgage-free mansion, spend my weekdays working as an accountant and wasting my weekends. I am calm but it's the restless type of calm, too comfortable to be acknowledged as boredom but too persistent for me to regard myself as being the textbook definition of calm. I often think wonder what makes me different to them and why I don't mind being different from them.

I feel the crunch of buttered toast in my mouth as I shut my eyes, an attempt to fight the sleep that I need so badly. As if sensing my presence, a melodic 'hoo' drifts through the open kitchen window. The barn owl. My wristwatch reads 4:26, which sounds about right. There isn't a sound to be heard other than my soft footsteps and the fading rain as I make my way to the door, leaving it open as I stand barefoot in the porch. Both the morning air and moonlight hit me in the face at the same time, frosty enough that I could see my chilled breath spiral around me, making my lips twitch in satisfaction. The gelidity slips through the door and the window and through my clothes alerting all my senses to the wintery waking hour.

"Miss Westwick?"

Came the voice of the housekeeper, Marie, from the stairs.

"Is someone at the door?"

I look up at the sky one last time through frozen eyelashes.

"No, no Marie. No one at all."

"Ah but Miss Westwick, if you don't me saying, it is too early for you to be awake like this. Are you having trouble sleeping again?"

I step over the dew-soaked threshold, firmly closing the door behind me, resisting the urge to slam it and show my annoyance at her interruption.

"I'm perfectly fine Marie, there was no need to disturb me."

"Désolée."

She pauses and I feel her eye on me as I lock the door, top bolt first, then bottom.

"I haven't been sleeping much either."

I turned to face her, giving her a puzzled look. Marie and my Grandmother were close. They met when Grandmother was the age I am now, back when she was travelling the world and made a stop in France. Without even realising, she was robbed in a market by a sheepish teenage Marie who later returned the purse to her- declaring it was too "belle" to steal and offered her a simple apology. My grandmother was charmed by such boldness and indefinite honesty, so much so that she welcomed her into her home, offering her a steady income and most importantly, a companion.

Marie and I aren't close. I am aware of how she feels about me. Once I was born, her friendship with my Grandmother never quite returned to its initial state. Her time and attention was suddenly taken up mostly by me. Marie never forgave me for that.

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"Are you sleeping well?"

"I'm sleeping as well as I always have."

"Are you sure? All alone in the room at the top of the house. I never liked that room."

"You're not alone in that. The hatred for that room was contagious."

She nodded, staring through me, letting my words pass through the midnight air.

"Contagious is an interesting choice of words."

"Then what word would you choose?"

She stayed silent, and I gave her a half smile before passing her on the stairs and going back to bed.

-

Knocking. Light at first, and polite. Faster knocking- impatience echoing through the halls. Banging. Shouting. From my high-up position, the irritated echos swallowed any potential words of sense and it wasn't until I made my way to the hallway that I heard:

"Jade, stop hiding, we're here!"

I shake my head. Surley not? Who has any reason to come and see me? Especially at this time in the morning. The funeral isn't for a few months and there have been no complications other than the guest list. The guest list. It couldn't be? I run a hand through my hair and meet eyes with myself in the mirror. My hair falls in dark waves to my waist, framing my pale face, which is unnatrually taut with tiredness. I blink away my exhaustion, as I dash down the stairs and through the maze of doors. Forcing a flicker of a smile I reach for the door handle.

"Jade! Thank heavens, do let us in, it's freezing out there."