Daring Romance

Chapter 23

In the three weeks since she had arrived at Eversby Priory, Garrett had discovered that, contrary to popular opinion, one did not sleep more deeply in the peace and quiet of the countryside. Without the familiar lulling mixture of city sounds, she was surrounded by silence so comprehensive that even the hopeful chirp of a cricket or the croak of a lonely toad, would bring her sitting bolt upright in bed.

Since she couldn't resort to medicinal remedies to induce sleep, she had tried reading, with mixed results. A book that was too interesting only made her even more awake, but if it was too dull, it couldn't hold her attention long enough to help her relax. After searching through the extensive library on the ground floor, she had finally found Livy's History of Rome condensed into five volumes, which suited her perfectly. So far, she had finished the first volume, ending with the first Punic War and the destruction of Carthage.

Her rest was especially difficult tonight. She tossed and turned in the broken hours past midnight, never descending into a full sleep. Her brain refused to stop milling, grappling with the knowledge that they would return to London the day after tomorrow. For a brief, longing moment she considered going to Ethan's room for reassurance and comfort. However, she knew exactly where that would lead, and he needed rest far more than she did.

Wishing she had thought to bring volume two of the History of Rome upstairs with her, Garrett debated whether it was worth going down to the library in the middle of the night. After plumping her pillow, she lay back in her rumpled bed and tried to concentrate on something monotonous. Sheep marching single file through a gate. Drops of water falling from a rain cloud. She recited the alphabet forward and backward. She went through the multiplication table.

Finally, she gave an exasperated sigh and went to squint at the mantel clock. It was four in the morning, too late and yet too early, the hour of dairy farmers and coal miners and insomniacs and the History of Rome, Volume II.

Yawning, she donned a dressing robe and a thin pair of shoes, and carried the oil lamp by its finger handles as she left the room.

The common areas of the house were dimly lit by tiny pilot lights in the hallway gas lamps. In the entrance hall, the grand staircase was illuminated by the very faint glow of a pair of bronze cherub lamps affixed to the newel posts below, and the pilot lights of the chandelier. If the house's main gas supply line were completely shut off each night, it would entail too much risk and work to relight all the lamps every morning.

The house was still and quiet, pleasantly cool and fragrant with rosin and furniture oils. After passing through the entrance hall, she walked along a shadowy hallway and approached the library. But just before she crossed the threshold, she heard a sound that gave her pause.

A series of distant but raucous cries was coming from somewhere, from . . . outside?

Garrett went down a small passage that led toward the back of the house, and entered a cleaning room used by the valets and footmen to polish shoes and boots, and clean and brush coats. After setting the glass lamp on a small cabinet, she unlocked and cracked open a window, and listened intently.

The sound came from beyond the kitchen gardens. It was the aggressive honking of the geese in the poultry yard. They were raising a veritable war council. They've probably seen an owl, Garrett thought. But her heart had begun to beat unevenly, as if with a drunkard's gait. She had a momentary feeling of weightlessness, as if the floor had dropped out from her feet. As she bent to the lamp, she had to work for enough air to blow out the flame.

Her nerves were crawling. Stinging. The "creevles," she'd once heard it called, by a patient who said his nerve disorder made him want to jump out of his skin.