Chapter 2 (Part Three)

Henry’s New Assignment!

The Alistair Duchy

Cottage of Henry and Lyra Dorran

Henry's POV

~DAY THREE~

The Transition

“COCK-A-DOODLE-DOO!”

I lay still.

Unable to bring myself to open my eyes.

Last night was the first time in a long while that sleep had evaded me…

Like a plague of disease.

But there was something more that I seemed to be avoiding.

Without turning my head, my eyes traveled to the woman beside me.

A woman who I believed to have known quite well, seemed oddly unfamiliar at that moment.

I frowned, shifting ever so lightly, for fear the slightest movement might rouse Lyra, stirring her into conversation.

I exhaled deeply at the ridiculous notion.

What kind of man had I become?

Was I now, not only a man who spoke ill of children, but also one to avoid his loving wife?

I examined her sleeping form, another blurred mass among many in the darkness of the room…

Our conversation from last night rang clear as ever in my head.

Amid her barrage of questions, surely out of innocent curiosity, only one thing stood out.

Our lives were simple, and I would confidently say we have always existed harmoniously.

That existence, simple as it may have been, was one we'd crafted from scratch and shared joyfully through marriage.

When I first met Lyra, much like now, she was bold and opinionated.

A righteous woman, never one to stand by and allow others to suffer if it was within her power to do something about it.

I admired that about her.

A beautiful, intelligent, and strong woman.

From the beginning, I knew she was the one I wanted to share every second of the rest of my life with…

I thought I knew everything about her, but last night...

Her complete lack of response, while I had felt so strongly about Lady Isadora’s injustice, was… strange.

She simply remained silent.

The image of her flat, unchanging expression lingered in my head all night.

Then, when sleep wouldn't come, that horrid conversation replayed in my mind's eye as if forced by some cruel god.

I found myself desperately searching for something I'd missed. 

Maybe she was just tired? I’d felt so strongly about the matter, perhaps my tone frightened her?

“COCK-A-DOOLE-DOO!”-

“Henry?” I flinched, as Lyra's groggy voice called out from beside me.

“...yes.”

A moment passed. She did not respond.

“..you'll be late,” She said, sitting up in the dark room.

I paused for a second before sitting up as well.

“You're right,” I replied, pushing myself off the bed. 

Although I couldn't see her, that gaze set my body aflame, as I dressed for the day.

After shuffling around the room in silence, my hand landed on the door.

“Is... is something wrong, Henry?” Lyra asked.

I stood frozen in contemplation.

Was there something wrong?

Was there something so wrong that warranted allowing the seeds of discord to sprout in our lives?

“No.” I replied, opening the door.

It wasn't necessary to expect her to share my guilt, nor my views on the Lady's injustice, and certainly not my fears for the future.

“Everything's fine. Get some more sleep, my love,” I said as the door closed between us with a soft clack.

---------------

I fiddled with the small glass vial of test strips in my hand, as Mr. Murphy finished plating the breakfast tray.

A full bucket of coal sat ready at my feet.

“A little antsy this morning, Sunshine?” He asked, setting the tray down with a clink.

Yes. You egregious bastard.

“Of course not, Mr. Murphy,” I replied, with a faint smile.

I set to work testing the food, before collecting the tray in one hand and the handle of the coal bucket in the other. 

Giving him a slight nod, I turned, and walked out of the kitchen. 

If there was one thing to note about Mr. Murphy, the man was at least consistent in his dogmatism.

There was nothing particularly capricious about him, just his blatantly annoying consistency.

As I turned down the corridor towards Lady Isadora’s bedroom, my eyes locked with those of Sir Ashborne.

His eyebrows were furrowed, deep frown lines marking his youthful face. 

I had half the nerve to ask him what brought such a look of disdain so early in the morning, but the answer became abundantly clear as I approached.

The sound of retching echoed through the slightly ajar door.

“...Maisy…” Lady Isadora’s faint whisper stung my ears.

“Yes,” Maisy’s reply was the softest I’d ever heard her voice.

“...you know.. I’m really not-” Lady Isadora stopped short and continued to purge herself.

We could hear light shuffling in the room.

Maisy repositioning the Lady, no doubt.

“..I’m not myself… maybe that’s why I feel…like I’m dying,” Lady Isadora coughed, weakly.

Then nothing. 

There was a long silence that grew more unbearable by the second.

“You,” Maisy started before pausing.

“...have faced many trials already, I know your efforts feel like that of a fading light,” I flinched as I heard the sliding of a chair against the floor.

“Fear not, you shall glow bright once again. Rest now,” Maisy finished, pushing the door open allowing Sir Ashborn’s frame to disappear behind it, my tray and coal bucket with him.

“Henry, a word,” Maisy said, gesturing for me to follow her down the corridor.

I frowned.

We walked in a brief silence until we were a great distance from the bedroom.

I stared into her empty brown eyes, searching for some semblance of emotion, but found nothing. Then…

She smiled at me lightly.

An action that caused an internal shiver to shoot through my body.

“I have an assignment for you,” She said, her hands neatly folded at her abdomen.

I nodded, her dead gaze beginning to make me more uneasy by the second.

“The east wing pleasaunce hasn’t received due care in many years. I’d like to task you with preparing the area for Lady Isadora’s use in the near future,”

I looked at her, unable to make sense of that damn unreadable expression.

How in the world could she possibly think Lady Isadora would be well enough to galavant about the gardens?

This woman really was unbelievable.

“I will inform Anita to prepare the meals, as you will be otherwise preoccupied. Please follow this corridor to the end and take the staircase down. There you will find a door leading to the east estate lawn. On the far west end of the lawn you’ll find the area you’ll be renovating,” Maisy instructed, gesturing toward the end of the corridor.

I swallowed what little reluctance I had, making my way toward the staircase.

One thing was for sure, she certainly had quite the commanding tone for a commoner maid.  

On the first floor, I pushed open the back door leading to the east lawn with some force. Covering my face as the air grew thick with dust and debris.

Just how long has this wing been unoccupied?

The overgrown lawn was wild from years, no doubt, of neglect. I carefully maneuvered around the unchecked grass, tall and thick.

Wild flowers swallowed the cobbled stones, recessed in the hard dirt, that were once a pleasant walkable path, I'm sure.

I approached an iron gate woven through with weeds and vines. 

Turning the rusted handle with some force, I shoved the gate open, only to stare in awe at how much worse the enclosure was. 

It was a stronghold.

The plants had grown so rampantly that they'd merged into a solid, impenetrable wall of green.

The Lady’s personal garden was an absolute mess.

Chaotic tangles of untamed growth and aggressive weeds seized complete control over what once, I’m sure, was a beautifully tended garden.

What in the world happened here?

I shuffled around the area for a bit, unsure of where I should even start trying to tame the unruly space. 

That’s when I noticed it.

Off to the back, near the foot of a shady oak, lay large pieces of a broken stone bench.

I slowly approached to survey the damage. Heaving over a large section of broken seating with a grunt.

Underneath, revealed what looked like polished granite with an engraving of some sort.

Pulling out a handkerchief from the breast pocket of my livery, I kneeled down and slowly wiped away stubborn moss and other weathering debris from the surface.

Sighing deeply, I pulled my hands back, resting them on my thighs.

Who would have thought the memorial for the late duchess would be out here in such a deplorable state?

It looked as though it had lost a fight with a sledgehammer.

Among the chiseled blows that marked the smooth granite, only one had landed successfully enough to split the memorial completely in two. 

Despite the damage, the epitaph was still legible;

In mortal memory of the Beloved Duchess,

Ophelia Alistair,

The Verdant Heart, who,

Taught us to learn character from trees,

Value from roots,

and change from leaves.

Her spirit,

Though departed,

Remains a constant guide.

“Who would do such a thing?” I mumbled.

“..that would be the work of Duchess Beatrice,”

I jumped at the sudden noise, my head snapping behind me.

My eyes narrowed at Maisy, her eerie voice still echoing in the air. 

Damn this woman.

She stood a mere 5 to 6 feet away from me and I had not heard her at all.