Chapter 11 - Bedside Manner

- The Baroness offers some friendly advice;

The following twelve hours were like nothing Priscilla had experienced in her life.

Getting to her room had proven more difficult than she expected despite her initial bravado. The newly developed limp lengthened the journey significantly and caused her other foot to cramp while she held on to Juliette for dear life. By the time she reached her bed she was exhausted. She struggled to keep up with the young girl’s questions and proclamations of demon curses and haunting spectres. Wondering at the stiffness of her body, Priscilla also noticed she was stone cold, the effect of the marble floors on her feet had been gradual but steady over the course of the night, permeating through her entire body.

With the help of the stuttering and paling Juliette, she was put to bed with repeated assurances the doctor would be with her shortly but although Priscilla was convinced she would not be able to sleep for weeks after all she had witnessed, she found herself drifting into unconsciousness immediately. The doctor woke her up an hour later to clean the wound and bandage her foot properly and the cut must have been worse than Priscilla thought, as she found the sting of his treatment as bad as the original incision.

By the time the doctor left, with strict instructions that she walk as little as could be expected of a young lady trying to secure a match at an upcoming ball, Priscilla was ready for sleep once more.

For the first time in her grown up life, Priscilla did not wake until midday, oblivious to the frantic mood in the rest of the house. Two floors below her, Angus veered between a conviction that sleep would be the most potent cure for her and a growing anxiety to check she had no raising fever or infection. Several times he was on the verge of calling on doctor Graham again, but was none-so-gently dissuaded out of it by his aunt, who was even more impatient with overseeing the last minute preparations for the evening.

When Priscilla finally woke up she was relieved at her escape from the nightmares that haunted her. Her mind still buzzed with the events from the night before and she remained uncharacteristically faint, relishing in the safety of the covers.

She had thought it was the Earl’s behaviour and presence causing her anxiety, but since the scene at the South wing the previous night she was finding it more and more difficult to deny the feeling that the building itself rejected the Earl. That the spirit was seeking vengeance for old grudges.

She didn’t know how long she lay in bed, too stunned to move, to ring for Juliette and be forced to retell the events yet again or watch as the girl looked at her piteously. Eventually however the decision was taken out of her hands as a loud knock on the door interrupted her reverie.

“Enter.”

Seeing not a flustered Juliette but a stern Lady Basington, Priscilla raised herself and tried to smooth her stray curls in a vain effort to seem more presentable.

“You are awake,” her ladyship pronounced matter-of-factly and drew a chair so she could sit next to the bed and meet the patient at eye level. “That is certainly good news. How are you feeling?”

“Tired.”

“That is to be expected considering how little sleep you have had. Do you think you have a fever?”

Priscilla shook her head, “I don’t think so.”

“Even more good news then.”

“For whom?” Priscilla frowned at the Baroness unsure how to decipher the meeting.

“Do not be churlish, Miss Keane. You are a smart girl. Though perhaps a little too brave for your own good.” Her tone clearly stated brave was not the Baroness’ original choice of word but she was trying to be patient with Priscilla.

“Don’t worry, madam, the Viscount already warned me to stay in my room next time I hear clear signs distress and wreckage. You can rest easy I would not go hunting for an interloper on my own again.”

After a moment, during which Lady Basington seemed to attempt to assess Priscilla’s sincerity, the older woman spoke:

“I am glad to hear it, Miss Keane, but that is not what I wish to speak to you about. I know you do not believe in the rumours about this place. You have been vocally negligent of the warnings both my nephew, I and even the servants have tried to give you. I can only assume it was that same disregard for the truth that gave you the impetus to travers the house in nought but your stockings and directly in the way of danger armed in nothing but a burnt candle and your extravagant wit. I think we have seen now that, while those particular weapons in your repertoire might be enough to dazzle my nephew, there are forces that search for significantly more reconning than you are capable of handling.”

“Is this your way of warning me I am no match for your sister’s spirit, my lady?”

This won Priscilla a rueful smile.

“Mis Keane, you would be no match for my sister were she crippled and on her death bed, let alone reincarnated as a force of nature. I’m sure you will come to terms with the reality soon enough if you haven’t already. No, Miss Keane, I am here to remind you that what you saw last night is not to be repeated to anyone outside of this house.”

“Of course not!” Priscilla exclaimed, ashamed that the Baroness would think it necessary to state the obvious.

Lady Basington lift an eyebrow in a challenge and, after a moment’s consideration, Priscilla swallowed sense of propriety and said:

“Does that mean I am allowed to ask questions within the house?”

“I figured a warning would not go amiss,” the Baroness snorted unceremoniously. “Well, I suppose if you are to ask anyone, you will be best off asking me.”

“Was Countess Astley murdered?”

“To the point,” the Baroness mused.

“I just saw a sign spelling ‘Murderer’ in blood in the Earl’s bedchambers, not far from where I sleep might I add. I don’t think now would be a good time for subtlety.”

“Very well.” Lady Basington took a deep breath and answered in the matter-of-fact tone of someone clinging to the facts with all their might so they have no attention left to spare for the emotion. “The coroner said Countess Astley died from a fall. My sister had been feeling extremely ill for a little over a year. That much I can confirm myself. She wasn’t eating well, or at all, some days. She was struggling to move long distances. The garden outside was the farthest she managed the last time I visited her before the accident. Supposedly her body simply... gave out one day.” There was a long pause before Lady Basington could meet Priscilla’s eyes again:

“The truth is, Miss Keane, no one knows what happened the night she died. But I do know what was happening to my sister prior to it. Hers was.. not a happy marriage,” she said, tight-lipped, paused and expelled a gentle cough as if to center herself.

“Which is one of the reasons I would like to ensure no one else in my care suffers a similar fate. Despite your best attempts to the contrary." Scorn replaced the tension in her voice at the words. "In any case, the season is setting up to be quite a challenge,” she continued undeterred, “I would hate for the wrong kind of gossip to dominate the conversation tonight.”

“What kind of gossip would you like hear instead?

"Of glowing couples and beneficial matches. But you can let me take care of that. You just focus on Lord Foster. And stay out of Mademoiselle de Bonneville’s way if you can. I suspect my nephew would stand in his own way enough for two.”

“If I may ask, Lady Basington,” Priscilla said after a long moment’s hesitation. "There seems to be a consensus that Lord Bertram is unwelcome in Astley Hall.”

“Is that a question?” the Beroness lift a challenging eyebrow.

Priscilla licked her lips and resettled in the bed, feeling like she needed to buy time.

“I just wonder… if it were one's goal to see the Earl away from London, surely a rumour about his late wife's suspicious death would help deter his arrival in future.“

Lady Basington's face remained inscrutable and she let the silence drag between them, relishing the longer Priscilla's discomfort increased.

"You could say that," she allowed at last. "You could also say that has been the reason Lord Bertram has been so absent until now. And that it is thanks to this absence, that my nephew has been able to step into his role of heir sooner than expected and overtake his father's most significant political and business partnership. If you were in the mood for guessing that is."

"Then why would you be against these rumours?"

The answer passed somewhere in the back of Lady Basington's eyes, but their pits were too deep to decipher. After a moment, Priscilla decided to extend an offering:

"I have promised not to repeat anything you say outside of this room."

"Actually, you haven't."

"Then, I will promise now. And I will add that whatever doubts you may have about my allegiance to you, you can have no doubts about my allegiance to your nephew."

The Baroness considered this for a long moment and finally spoke in the punctuated tone of a frugal customer counting out their coins:

"I don't know what happened the day of my sister's funeral. That is unusual for me," she insisted with a directed look at Priscilla, in order to leave no doubt. "I am not used to being in the dark. But there were one too many surprises to keep track of that day. The first was Angus' arrival. I don't know if he mentioned his father tried to keep him out of the funeral. I tried to reach out to him after Katherine died but... Well, in any case I wasn't sure he would make it. The second surprise was seeing that Lord Bertram had invited Monsieur and Mademoiselle de Bonneville. Not his own son, but his business partner," she paused to fix a fold in her skirt. "I don't think Angus took their presence any better than me. Though for different reasons. Him and Hélène had not spoken in a few years, since Lord Bertram had sent him into service. They got into a fight after the service, dissolved the engagement right before Mademoiselle sailed back to France two days later. The Earl was... unseemly. So much so that he deserves a less elegant term. He wanted to send Angus away back into service and threatened to banish him to one of my brothers' estates in Scotland."

"It's not so bad there," Priscilla offered a faint smile, and when the Baroness did not return it, she decided to move on: "What changed the Earl's mind? About sending Angus away?"

"That was surprise number three, I suppose depending on how you're counting."

"What was?" Priscilla prompted hesitantly when Lady Basington seemed lost in her memory.

"My sister."

"What do you mean?"

"The night after her funeral was the first time her spirit appeared in this house. It seemed, to no one's surprise but Lord Bertram's, that her will was stronger than his.

"But all of this is beside the point, Miss Keane. What is relevant is Angus and Hélène de Bonneville's engagement, or rather its dissolution. I would hate for a reminder of my sister's passing and that faithful day to form a cloud over tonight's reunion."

"I see. Well, you have my word, Baroness, I will do nothing to endanger Angus' future."

"That is wonderful news indeed. Let us keep that sentiment in mind as we progress through the evening shall we?"

And with that, Lady Basington stood up and headed for the door. Before she could leave however something ocurred to Priscilla:

"Did you ever discover who got word out to Angus ahead of the funeral?"    

The Baroness stoped with her hand on the door knob and directed one of her signature piercing stares at Priscilla.

"It was Sergeant Wincroft. For which he has my gratitude. And that is also why you are here, Miss Keane. I would advise you not to spend the goodwill he earned frivolously."