With Love, Louisa by Ashtyn Newbold

Chapter 6

“Drat it all,” Louisa muttered under her breath. She let out a sigh as she grasped angrily at the back of her dress. Her candle had already burned out, and changing in the dark was proving a difficult task. Why had she worn this old, out-of-fashion dress? The many buttons down the back were much more difficult to manage than the dresses of current fashions. She tugged at the fabric, no longer caring to preserve the gown. If it tore, then she wouldn’t feel guilty throwing it out.

But the buttons held firm, surprisingly well-sewn. She stopped struggling, blowing out a puff of air. It seemed she would have to try to fall asleep with her dress half-unbuttoned down the back. She couldn’t see enough to accurately unbutton it, and even if she could, she doubted she could reach. With the new strength of a good night’s sleep, she would attempt the task again in the morning. Her eyes had begun drooping again.

Working quickly, she felt all around her head, pulling out the pins she could manage to find. Her hair fell heavily over her shoulders, and she massaged her scalp as she sat on the edge of her bed. It was quite a…firm mattress. She shifted, kicking aside the thin blanket to crawl inside. Shivers ran over her arms. She would not even be able to see if there were any insects or spiders in bed with her. A scuttling sound across the room made her freeze. Was that a rodent?

She shunned the horrific thought, wrapping the blanket around herself. So long as she didn’t feel any tickle on her skin, she would be safe. But that thought caused her skin to tickle all over, and she slapped at her arms and legs each time she felt it.

Stop, Louisa. You are imagining things.She drew a calming breath. She would most likely not have to sleep in that bed again. There had simply been a miscommunication between Mrs. Irwin and her staff. Yes. Louisa refused to believe any different.

She stared at the dark ceiling for a long moment before closing her eyes. How could she sleep with the way her thoughts were racing? By now it was far past midnight, perhaps even later, and the housekeeper had told her to be awake at dawn.

She tossed and turned, attempting to relax her mind. After at least an hour without success, she gave up, sitting up at the edge of her bed. She pushed her hair back from her forehead. What a mess she was. Her dress was half-buttoned down the back, her hair hung loose and tangled, and her stomach grumbled viciously. Had she eaten anything at all the day before? The Lovells had offered to feed her but she had felt too guilty to take any of their food. Her throat was also dry…she needed water. If she could find something small to eat and drink, perhaps then she could finally sleep.

The idea set her stomach grumbling again. Of course. All she needed was a full stomach and she would be able to finally relax.

She stood up too fast, a faintness coming to her head. She stumbled through the dark, but hesitated at the door. Was it wise to wander through the house in the middle of the night? What if she awoke Mrs. Irwin? Or worse…the housekeeper? How embarrassing would it be if her aunt found her sneaking through the kitchen like a stray cat? She couldn’t even begin to think of how she might explain herself.

As if in protest of her hesitation, her stomach gave a furious grumble, much like a child throwing a tantrum. “Oh, hush,” Louisa whispered. Oh, dear. She was speaking to her stomach. Was her hunger causing madness now? Her fingers slid over the door handle, and much to her surprise, the door didn’t even creak when she opened it. Thankfully, her eyes had adjusted to the darkness already, so she didn’t need a candle as she walked on the tips of her toes toward the stairs.

One benefit to being so small was the ability to sneak around when necessary. The floorboards made only the rare creak as she walked.

The house was quiet and still. She would have believed she was completely alone inside it if she didn’t know better. The trees outside the windows cast faint shadows over the floor by the staircase, causing an army of chill bumps to cascade over Louisa’s arms. It still rained outside, heavier now, and the wind carried a slight whistle, combing through the branches that hovered by the window. Her heart picked up speed and she walked a little faster. With so little light, her mind had begun creating all kinds of scenarios involving ghosts and monsters.

At Larkhall, the kitchen was on the second floor. Louisa decided to try the same here, despite the manor being much smaller. She hurried up the stairs, careful to keep her steps light.

Kitchen. Kitchen. Kitchen.She scoured all the doors that she passed, walking with quick steps.

A sound made her pause, her heart leaping to her throat.

A man’s voice. Deep and mumbling—so quiet that she wasn’t certain if she had really heard it or if it had only been a product of her imagination. She strained her ears, pressing a hand to her chest in an attempt to quiet her heart.

There it was again. The mumbling. Then the sound of two staggering footsteps. A thud.

“Devil take it,” the voice muttered.

Louisa jumped back like a spooked horse, moving backward. A door down the hall had a small flicker of light beneath it. To her dismay, the door began to open. Was that the kitchen? She certainly couldn’t go toward it now. Her pulse hammered as she slipped down the adjacent hallway and pressed her back against the wall. She hadn’t been seen. Had she?

Cold fear wrapped around her chest, making her breath come faster. Mrs. Irwin was not married, so there should not have been a man in that house, aside from the servants. Could it have been the butler? Or a footman?

Louisa froze. A ghost?

She nearly laughed at the ridiculous thought, but her laughter stopped in her throat when she heard the staggering footsteps resume…

…down the hall toward where she was hiding.

Her hiding place was not much of a hiding place at all if the man were to come around the corner. She was standing against the wall in the open hallway. All she relied on was the darkness to conceal her, but it wouldn’t be enough. Her gaze darted to the staircase that led to the next floor. If the man was indeed a servant, he would be going down, not up.

With quick steps, she sneaked up the stairs, too afraid to look back. She cringed at the way her skirts rustled. Turning the corner, she stopped by a closed door, one that likely led to a bedchamber. Was it her aunt’s room? Louisa held her breath, careful not to make too much noise.

A groan and a cough echoed in the empty house. Louisa’s skin went cold. It had come from the bottom of the stairs.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

The shadow of the top of a man’s head came into view, moving up the stairs with that same staggering gait.

Had he seen her? Was he following her? Something was amiss. If this man was a servant in the house, he would not have been making so much noise. Only a madman would be so loud and be muttering to himself for so long. Could it be an intruder? The idea sent a spiral of terror through Louisa’s head, bringing back the faintness she had felt from her hunger. Without thinking, she eased open the nearest bedchamber door. She had no choice if she hoped to remain unseen.

The moment she was behind the door, she scanned the room. To her relief, the bed was empty. At least she hadn’t trespassed on her aunt’s bedchamber. The large room was neat and empty, aside from a large bed, fireplace, writing desk, and tall wardrobe. The drapes were drawn open, letting in the smallest hint of moonlight.

Her heart still hammered as she listened for more sounds from the hallway. The thick door drowned out any noise. How would she know if the man was close? She backed away from the door, pausing by the fireplace to grab the steel poker. The wardrobe caught her eye, the wide doors beckoning her like a warm blanket. She would feel much safer if she were hidden in a smaller place, one that completely concealed her.

It would merely be a precaution.

Her mind raced as she darted toward the wardrobe, pulling open the doors and slipping inside. With a tug, she brought both doors in toward her until they settled into place.

She let out the breath she had been holding, inhaling deeply to calm her nerves. Her hands and legs shook. Why had she left her room? Could she not have waited until morning to eat? Now she had no food, and she was hiding from an unknown man in an empty wardrobe. She scolded herself in a whispered voice as she tried to calm her heartbeat.

She gripped the fabric behind her with one hand, tightening her hold on the poker with the other.

Fabric?

Her brow furrowed as she touched the clothing inside the wardrobe, rubbing the starched material between her fingers. Was that a collar? She reached to the other side, tracing her fingers over the long row of buttons on a silk piece of fabric. The inside of the wardrobe brought a new level of darkness, so she couldn’t even see her hand in front of her face. There was no telling exactly what her fingers touched, but in her blindness, it reminded her of a waistcoat. Her hands moved more frantically now. Thick, soft, leather. Breeches? A long line of wool buttons. A tailcoat, perhaps? She was sure of it now.

This was a man’s wardrobe.

Her skin went cold as the realization washed over her. Could it be…the man’s wardrobe? The man who—

Her heart jumped to her throat. A low creak indicated that the bedchamber door was opening once again. Then came the staggering footfalls, thudding heavily across the room. Had he seen her? Was he following her? She turned the poker over in her palm, letting the cool metal keep her alert and anchored. Had she missed something? Had her aunt married and she hadn’t known? Why else would this man have a room in the house? Dread crept up her throat, and she felt very near to vomiting.

Louisa closed her eyes, even though she could already scarcely see a thing. Her breath shook, but she kept it as quiet as possible. If she remained silent enough, he might not find her. She would wait until he fell asleep and then slip out of the room. That was all she could do. She was not, under any circumstances, leaving her hiding place until she heard the man let out a loud, monstrous snore. A man with such a heavy gait and deep, muttering voice could only be of the snoring sort. He was probably short with a round belly, with his facial hair far too overgrown. At least that was how she imagined him as she listened to him muttering curses under his breath.

She opened her eyes. A candle had been lit in the room; she could see a faint glow in the crack between the two doors of the wardrobe. If she leaned her eye close enough to the crack, she would probably be able to see into the room. No. She didn’t dare move a single inch and risk being heard. She had already acted with enough stupidity for one day.

The candlelight flickered brighter, then dimmer, as the man moved, his footfalls still ridiculously loud. Louisa held her breath as the sounds moved closer.

The man inhaled deeply, then groaned, as though it had caused him pain. Fabric rustled, then fell with a soft thud to the floor. As she listened, her horror intensified. Was he—was he…undressing?

An even more unsettling thought followed. If he was indeed undressing, then he would soon be opening the wardrobe for his nightclothes.

She stifled the squeaking noise that had begun escaping her throat with each shaky exhale.

Compose yourself, she ordered, standing up straighter. Before she could gather more than a small portion of her wits, the wardrobe doors jolted open.

A chest. A man’s bare chest and shoulders were the first things she saw. Lean and muscled, the torso was far from what she had imagined from hearing the man’s staggering gait. Then she saw his breeches, thankfully still in their proper place. She witnessed all of it in a flash, leaving only one instant between her shock at seeing his bare torso and the shock at seeing his face.

Although the round belly was absent, the beard was not. The man held a candle in one hand, lifting it to illuminate the inside of the wardrobe, and consequently, his own face. Louisa gulped, her breath catching in her throat with horror.

It was not a beard.

It was blood, covering the entire bottom half of his face.

His familiar face.

Her skin went cold, and her heart all but stopped. It was the man from town.

Jack Warwick.

Her heart flipped when she saw what he held in his other hand. A white bundle of fabric, stained with even more blood.

Oh, no, no, no. Dread puddled in Louisa’s stomach. Her throat dried up like an autumn leaf. Dash it all.

All the signs could only point to one thing.

Jack Warwick—the deranged, wicked, mischievous man—had broken into Benham Abbey and murdered Mrs. Irwin.