Birdie and the Beastly Duke by Sofi Laporte

Chapter 4

He’d seen her arrive earlier.

He’d observed from his window in the tower room how the coach rattled over the drawbridge and stopped in the bailey. He’d seen her emerge from the coach, wrapped in what appeared to be countless layers of shawls. He’d seen her wait for a footman who never came and watch as the coachman unloaded the luggage unceremoniously in the yard. Then the coach left. The girl in the shawls remained behind, looking around helplessly until she marched up the stairs decisively and hammered on the door. So, that was Miss Cecily Burns.

He’d given Higgins orders to bring the girl to the room. He hadn’t forgotten about supper, had he? Higgins was a loyal soul, but he really was getting rather old.

He sighed.

He felt the girl’s presence in the castle almost viscerally. She’d changed the entire atmosphere. When was the last time a woman had set foot in this place? The old Duke hadn’t spent too much time here, and his wife had passed away when she was young.

Gabriel turned away from the window. He froze.

“Is anyone here?” the voice echoed faintly. What was she doing in this part of the castle? Didn’t he tell Higgins to put her in the old duchess’ room on the other side?

Dash it, Higgins had left and forgotten the supper after all. Now what to do?

He cursed under his breath.

He’d promised his father he’d honour the engagement to Burns’ daughter, and by Jove, he’d do that if it was the last thing he’d ever do, even if it went against every fibre of his being. He felt black despair course through him. It had been the last thing his father had asked of him. The girl’s own father had passed away with the smallpox. She would be destitute unless he honoured the engagement. “Do the right thing, I beg of you, son.” He’d read his father’s letter before he charged into battle. Before chaos broke out and he’d come close to death; not knowing that, at that very moment, his father was lying on his deathbed.

He’d forgotten all about the promise and the letter until he’d found the crumpled sheet of paper in the inner pocket of his old military coat. The ink was barely legible, and the paper was splattered with blood and mud. It had taken him months to find Miss Burns. He’d almost given up the quest of finding her, when, to his surprise, the vicar of a small town in Yorkshire had written to him that, indeed, he cared for the orphaned and destitute Miss Cecily Burns. So now he had to marry her.

It had been his father’s last request. He’d sworn to himself he’d honour it at all costs. But if the lady was reluctant to wed him, and well she should, there was nothing he could do.

Gabriel took a shaky breath.

He’d marry the girl tomorrow. Then he’d have paid his dues and would be relieved from it all.

The plan was to meet her then. Should he be a gentleman and greet her now? It would be the right thing to do.

He’d rather not, though.

He broke out in a sweat. Coward!

Yet he had to make sure she was taken care of.

He went to her room. He knocked. No one replied. He lifted his hand to the latch, hesitated, then pressed it down.

The room was empty. Where the deuce was she?

The smell of fried sausages suddenly permeated the air. Was Higgins frying sausages?

He stealthily descended the stairs to the main hall, before turning to the stairs to the servants’ hall.

There she was.

Standing by the stove. Frying sausages.

He was so stunned he nearly gave away his presence. He peered around the corner.

He saw her turn and tilt the contents of the pan onto a plate. She took the plate and lantern, carried both to the table in the servants’ hall, sat down and ate like there was no tomorrow. His stomach grumbled.

Suddenly, she paused with the fork halfway to her mouth and stared in his direction. He pressed himself against the cold stone wall.

“Hello? Is anyone there?” she called out. When there came no reply, the girl sighed. “I swear there is someone watching me. Bah, what a creepy place this is! I warn you, whoever you are: ghoul, ghost, gnome or poltergeist, don’t cross my path! I refuse to faint or be afraid. In fact, I don’t faint. I couldn’t even if I tried. Now go back to your coffin, crypt or whatever unhallowed ground you ventured forth from. Because I am not amused. Especially when I’m hungry. Dear me, I’m hungry.” She bit into the sausage with gusto. “Hm. This is good.”

It looked like his bride not only had a good appetite but also a head full of common sense.

This, he decided, wasn’t bad at all.

He crept back up the stairs whence he’d come from, stunned. He nearly stumbled on the top stair, giving himself away. Coward, he scolded himself again, as he returned to his room.

Birdie was lost.

With only the lantern to show her the way, she’d ventured into a chain of corridors, taken a right turn instead of a left, and ended up in a series of dusty rooms, where the furniture was draped by holland covers. One thing was clear to her: this place was empty; there wasn’t a single soul in the entire castle. Not even a ghost. It was entirely dark, with only occasional rays of moonlight flitting through the grime-smeared windows.

She hadn’t come this way before; she thought uneasily, as she shifted the lantern from one hand to the other. She remembered coming down a winding staircase, and there was a stone staircase right there, except it was to her left, when it should have been to her right. On the other hand, maybe it was correct, and she’d simply been too hungry to pay proper attention when she’d come this way earlier.

Birdie pushed the heavy oaken door open and climbed the stairs.

Dear me, those stairs never seemed to end. She should be coming out in the main hall. Why did she have the feeling she was climbing a tower?

She’d recently read a book of brand-new fairy tales written by German brothers named Grimm, translated to English. One story, called “Rapunzel”, was about a girl with long hair, who was walled up in a tower. The Brothers Grimm must have envisioned a tower like this. Without the stairs.

Reaching the top, she found her way barred by another door. Through the gap between the door and the stone floor, she saw glimmers of light. Someone was in the room. Was this where Higgins slept?

Relieved to finally find another living soul within these walls, she pushed the door open.

She found herself in a round tower room, with only a weak fire in the fireplace that barely lit up half of the room, leaving the other half in the dark. She made out a bed and an armchair in front of the fire. But no one was there.

A storm howled around the tower, and the wind rattled against the small window.

“How excessively odd,” she mumbled, lifting her lantern.

Then she heard it. A scraping coming from the fireplace. From the armchair, the back of which faced her.

Birdie’s mouth dried up, and her heart hammered painfully in her chest.

A dark shadow unfolded itself from the armchair, growing to tremendous proportions. The shadowy figure grew, nearly touching the roof beams. Orange tongues flickered about it, hissing, spitting like the flames of hell.

Goodness, there were phantoms in this place, after all.

“Away with you, you ghoul!” she screamed and threw her lamp at it. She squeezed her eyes shut to cut off the terrifying vision. She stumbled backwards, down the stairs, half falling, half crawling, scraping her knees, getting up again, and running down the corridor. Somehow, she found her room. Gasping, she threw the door shut and drew the bolt.

For good measure, she pushed her dresser in front of the door.

Then she crawled into bed, drew the blankets and pillows over her head. Eventually, she fell into an exhausted sleep.